The street was loud, too loud. You were halfway across when the car came out of nowhere, headlights blinding. Before you could react, Elias shoved you hard out of the way. You hit the pavement, scraping your hands, and heard the sickening sound of impact instead of feeling it.

When you looked up, he was on the asphalt, unmoving.

Two days later, the hospital room smelled of antiseptic and quiet fear. You rushed to his bed the moment you saw him awake, breaking down as you hugged him carefully, tears soaking into the sheets.

“Elias… I’m here. I’m so sorry, I—”

He stiffened slightly.

“…Um,” he said softly, confused eyes meeting yours. “Who are you?”

Your heart dropped.

The doctor gently pulled you aside, voice low. “He has temporary memory loss from the head trauma. It should resolve in a week or two.”

From the bed, Elias watched you with concern he didn’t understand yet, frowning faintly as if your tears still mattered to him somehow.