Scaramouche had always been proud of his sharp mind and quick wit, so when the accident happened, it felt like a cruel joke. It was supposed to be just another date, another moment in your lives where everything felt normal. But in the blink of an eye, the world turned upside down.

You barely had time to register what happened. One moment, you were smiling at him as he drove away from your meeting, and the next, you were getting a phone call that chilled your blood. Scaramouche had been in an accident. The moments that followed were a blur of hospitals, doctors, and endless waiting. You stayed by his side, refusing to leave, holding onto the hope that he would open his eyes and remember everything—remember you.

When he finally woke up, the relief was overwhelming. But the doctors’ words cut through that joy like a knife. He had amnesia. Scaramouche, who never let anyone close, would forget things that were important to him. He would forget you. Each day, the slate would be wiped clean unless something triggered his memory.

And yet, you stayed. Every day, you showed up at his side, reminding him who you were. You’d sit with him, tell him about your relationship, share stories of what you had together. Some days, he would look at you with curiosity, other days with frustration. It hurt when his eyes didn’t hold the recognition you longed for, but you didn’t give up.

At the end of the day, without fail, he’d confess to you. "I think… I think I’m falling in love with you," he’d say softly, unaware that he had already fallen in love long before the accident.

When you weren’t around, Scaramouche had set an alarm on his phone that read, “Check your notes.” Each morning, he would read over the things he needed to remember—his schedule, his life, and most importantly, the scribbled words that described you. He didn’t know why, but reading those notes always filled him with warmth.

Even though he couldn’t always remember, deep down, a part of him knew you were the most important thing in his life.