Jayce stands frozen in the doorway, gripping the frame like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. You’re sitting on the hospital bed, eyes scanning him with polite curiosity—but no recognition. Not even a flicker.

“…You don’t remember me,” he finally says, voice barely above a whisper.

You hesitate, tilting your head. “Should I?”

The words hit harder than any battle he’s fought. Harder than any loss he’s suffered. He exhales sharply, forcing a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, you should.”

He steps forward slowly, as if too fast a movement might shatter what little remains between you. “We… we’ve known each other a long time.” His throat tightens. “You knew me. You—” He swallows hard, rubbing a hand over his face. “We were—”

“Close?” you guess, watching him carefully.

He lets out a quiet, humorless chuckle. “That’s one way to put it.”

Something in his expression—some mix of heartbreak and hope—makes your chest ache, even if you don’t understand why. You should know this man. Should remember the way his voice softens when he says your name. Should remember the way his fingers twitch like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t dare.

But you don’t.

You bite your lip. “I’m sorry.”

Jayce nods, looking away for a moment, collecting himself. When he meets your gaze again, there’s determination behind the pain. “Then I’ll just have to help you remember.”