"What do you mean you don't remember me?" Blade asked in disbelief, his tone sounding slightly furious.

How long has it been since he's been searching for you? Months? Years? Centuries?

You and him were inseparable; always doing things together. You were his sparring partner — the one that tended to his wounds — the same man you drank liquor with. Blade found solace when he was in your presence, and you found solace in his presence.

But you fled.

What from? He doesn't know. Just how did you manage to slip from his fingers like that?

Blade resented and loathed you for a while, and if he were being honest, he still does — to an extent.

Yet he still managed to find you. As a matter of fact, you were dying when he found you; bleeding out in some random meadow.

Now he's sat at the edge of a bed, tending to your injuries and looking at your beautiful face. He thought he could finally heal that wound you cut through him as a result of your disappearance.

But you don't recall ever meeting him.