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It was such a little thing to affect him so deeply.
He had just gone out for a walk around the city. Ellie had turned on the radio back at the Agency, and Travis was playing nothing but Christmas carols. Normally he didn’t mind; he even liked how they reminded him of his life before everything went to the dogs. But today, a memory he didn’t know he had cropped up in his mind and wouldn’t go away.
He remembered the first Christmas he spent with Jenny.
They had only been going steady for a few months at that point. He was still so nervous around her, still putting on a show, still hiding his astonishment that she seemed to like him just as much as he liked her.
It was actually the day after Christmas that they exchanged gifts; they had spent the holiday itself with their families. He got her a fountain pen, handmade from a dark wood the same color as her eyes. But it could not compare to the gift she found for him: a signed copy of The Hound of the Baskervilles . After all his doubts, the gift confirmed that she had been listening. That he didn’t bore her with his constant bookish ramblings. He didn’t ask her where she unearthed it. He didn’t care, because in that moment it finally clicked, finally became clear with a breathtaking finality that this gal was the last one he would ever love. And that was it. He was done for.
It was the first time he kissed her without holding back. No walls, no hesitation, just the conviction that they were a match. A match that burned with all the fervor of a bonfire. He wondered that it didn’t melt the snowflakes that rested like stars against her dark hair.
Now it was snowing in Diamond City, and he struggled not to let it dredge up the memory. His insides rattled, but he could not tell if it was from the cold or from the sheer effort it took to keep his mind occupied.
That was when it happened.
He glanced up from the boardwalk to see a young couple walking ahead of him. They were holding hands, but paused in their path long enough for the young man to press a kiss to the back of the young woman’s hand.
The sight gutted him. It was such a small thing—so small that it should not have mattered, should not have even caught his eye—but it was precisely the fact that it was small that sent a jolt of pain through him. Hundreds of memories came crashing on him all at once, all of little things: of a quick, stolen kiss, of a touch on the shoulder, of a playful nudge, of their fingers brushing as they shared a cup of hot chocolate. He stopped in his tracks, overwhelmed by the images and the ghosts of sensation.
It hurt more than anything the Commonwealth had ever thrown at him.
He forced himself to look away, but the pain lingered. He had to get away. But he couldn’t go back to the Agency, not with those songs still playing. He couldn’t stay out in the snow, not when its fall made him think of her. And he couldn’t leave the city, not with his mind as dull as it was then. He looked around for another option. When none presented itself, he opted to turn around and walk in the other direction. He weaved through the back streets at a quick pace, unaware of the people he passed. Soon he found himself in a deserted gap between the buildings. Here, the snow didn’t reach, and neither did the people. He let out a breath. He was alone.
Yet even here, the memories followed.