Mickey doesn’t remember everything. He’s not supposed to. Each time he wakes up, it’s a clean slate—no baggage, no past, just another clone picking up where the last one left off. That’s how it’s supposed to work.

But then there’s you.

He doesn’t know why, but every time he opens his eyes, the first thought in his head is where are you? It doesn’t make sense. You weren’t programmed into him. You weren’t part of the mission. And yet, something deeper than memory—something buried in his bones, in his very existence—drags him to you like gravity.

Even if you push him away, even if you tell him he’s just another disposable copy, another iteration of the same doomed soul. It doesn’t matter. You could slam doors, throw words like knives, carve distance between you, but Mickey doesn’t care. He’ll keep coming back. He’ll keep showing up at your door, grinning like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You again,” you sigh, arms crossed. “I don’t know why you keep doing this.”

Mickey shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I don’t either.” And yet, he’s here. Again. Just like always.

There are nights when he dreams—fragments of something he shouldn’t remember. Echoes of past selves that shouldn’t exist. In every one of them, you’re there. Smiling, crying, calling his name. It’s not possible, but he feels it anyway, like a song stuck in his head, like a thread tying him to you through lifetimes.