Chapter Text
At this point, Ranboo was almost used to forgetting. It felt like a pattern, one he could never seem to grasp, just out of reach. Sometimes something would happen, something good, and despite the positive feelings, dread would wash over him. He'd probably forget it. He'd forget this moment, so did it even matter? Sure, he could write it down in his memory book, but the emotion would be long gone, forgotten like everything else he had once held dear.
Sometimes he would remember snippets of moments that he assumed had been important. Like when he adjusted his suit and felt his shoulders square out of instinct, or maybe habit. Or when he felt the warmth of the sun on his skin, warm and gentle, he’d feel phantom feelings of barely contained laughter. Or when he held soft feathers, he’d feel almost concerned, but relieved. Or, the most prominent, when he put on his crown every morning and he felt a strange rush of pride and admiration, and could swear he remembered someone ruffling his hair then placing the crown on his head carefully. But the emotions, the memories always stayed just out of reach, teasing him, reminding him of his curse. Well, he didn't know exactly why his memory was so bad. And it's not like he would remember if he ever found out anyway.
Just like he remembered tiny glimpses of past pleasant memories, his brain still somehow seemed to remember bad moments, mistakes, in the same way. The thought of teleporting sent waves of fear and loss over him, pushing him back, almost a warning to never try again. Why again? Had he teleported before? Had it really been that bad? But those questions were always left unanswered, soon forgotten in the swirling void of his brain. And with every memory that was stolen from him, the feeling of loss seemed to consume him a little more.
Sometimes, though rarely, he felt at peace with the cycle. He couldn't really know what he was missing out on, so he really couldn't miss anything. But the times he felt that calm were always brief, too brief, and the pit in his stomach would return yet again. And so he would continue on, pushing through the half remembering and the forgetting, and the ever present fear that nothing, no one in his life would truly matter, because he would just forget them. Maybe, if he was lucky, the moments he cherished so much in the moment would stick around, ghosts in his brain, until even they faded. But Ranboo was used to forgetting, right?