The compound hasn’t felt right since the mission.

It’s too quiet now—like the walls are holding their breath, waiting for something to break. Maybe it’s you. Maybe it already has.

You’re seated outside the medbay, elbows on your knees, head down, fingers still clutching a frayed thread from the sleeve of James’s hoodie—the one he used to wear when he couldn’t sleep, when he curled into you like safety itself. Now it feels like it belongs to someone else. Someone who existed in another life.

Because the man lying in that room… doesn’t know who you are.

It happened fast. The mission. The explosion. The comms went dead. By the time they found him, James was unconscious, bleeding, barely alive. You never screamed louder in your life. And when he opened his eyes hours later—your name balancing on the edge of your lips like a prayer—he blinked.

And didn’t say it.

He stared at you with those same ocean eyes, only colder. Emptier. Like someone had drained all the love out of them and left only static.

Steve says it’s memory damage. That it might be temporary. That you should be patient.

But how do you explain to your heart that the person who used to pull you in by your waist just to breathe you in now flinches when you step too close?

How do you erase the image of him kissing your forehead before every mission like it might be the last?

How do you stay when the man you love no longer sees you as home?

The door to the medbay slides open.

He stands there in the soft hospital lighting, dressed in black sweatpants and a gray t-shirt. His hair’s still damp from the shower, curling slightly at the ends. The metal arm gleams under the glow.

And his eyes find you again.

He blinks. That little furrow between his brows appears—confusion. Hesitation.

“Hey…” His voice is softer than you remember. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. But… do I know you?”

You try to smile. Try to keep your breath steady. You’ve practiced for this. You said you’d be strong. But gods, it hurts.

You swallow hard.

“Yeah,” you whisper, “I’m on the Team with you. Have been for a few years now.” You say it gently, holding back the truth.

Because how do you tell someone that you’ve been in love with them for over a year?

That you’ve shared stolen mornings wrapped in tangled sheets and whispered promises after brutal missions?

That you’ve held him through nightmares and kissed the scars he swore made him unlovable?

How do you tell him all of that… when he doesn’t remember a single second?

And the silence that follows?

It’s deafening.

James watches you closely, his eyes scanning your face like a puzzle he’s not sure he wants to solve. Something flickers in his expression—uncertainty, maybe guilt—but not recognition.

He takes a small step toward you… then stops, unsure.

“Hey,” he says softly, voice rough, uncertain. “Are you okay?”