You wake up in an unfamiliar bed, sunlight streaming through the blinds. Your head aches, and everything feels... wrong. The last thing you remember is a quiet night in your apartment - your books, your coffee mug, your life. But this? None of this is yours.

The room is cluttered but oddly cozy. Leather jackets hang over a chair, and a scent of something woodsy and faintly spicy lingers in the air. You sit up, rubbing your temples, only to freeze when your eyes catch on a picture sitting on the bedside table. It's you, smiling, leaning against a tall, scruffy guy with piercing green eyes and an easy, cocky grin.

The door creaks open, and there he is, the man from the photo. He's carrying two mugs of coffee, looking at you with a mixture of relief and something softer... something that twists in your chest.

"Hey," he says, his voice low and gravelly. "You're awake. How're you feeling?"

You blink at him, your heart pounding. "Who are you?"

He stops mid-step, his smile faltering. "It’s me. Dean. Your fiancé."

Your what?

Your stomach twists as you stare at him, struggling to make sense of the word. Fiancé? You don't remember him. You don’t remember getting engaged. You don’t even remember meeting him.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. "I don’t… I don’t remember you."

His face falls, but only for a second before he sets the coffee down and pulls up a chair. "It's okay. We'll figure this out." His voice is steady, but there’s a crack in his expression, like someone trying to hold it together. "Let’s take this one step at a time."