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That sound is blaring.
He was sleeping so well, too. Pity.
Sam threw his arm out to silence the alarm going off on his bedside table. Everything felt hazy, but it was probably just the post-sleep grogginess talking.
It was so noisy outside. Cars driving past, the occasional one clearly not afraid to honk its horn at any minor inconvenience, pedestrians walking the sidewalks and talking loudly into their phones or their nearby companions, the slow rumble of the sky that indicated rain was going to start falling soon...
Sam would've kept the window open for the nice breeze to break the warm weather and for the sound of the rain, not to mention that unique petrichor smell he loved, but he couldn't tell if it was going to storm or not. Maybe it was stereotypical, a dog not liking storms, but the fact was that he just doesn't. He decided to close the window.
Reaching out, he became startled when his hand touched the glass, almost as if he didn't expect it. Sam furrowed his brow and shook the odd feeling off before proceeding to shut the window. His depth perception felt a little off, but he chalked it up to stress. He rubbed at his eyes, stood up from the bed, and made his way over to the bedroom door to swing it open.
Coffee sounded great right about now. Drinking it black wasn't his usual, but he needed some help waking up and more creamer and sugar than there would be coffee didn't sound like the right way to do it this morning.
His eyes met an old record player in the corner. When did they get one of those? Sam couldn't remember. It was probably an impulse buy from Bosco's or something.
Music would be nice. Those vinyls should still be in that filing cabinet next to the closet.
Sam walked over and rummaged through one of the drawers. The covers felt odd beneath his fingertips, almost intangible, but he didn't pay it any mind. He pulled one out at random, one that felt familiar somehow, and looked over the front of it. Whoever the artist was did a great job - the shades of blue were so warm looking, and if Sam stared at them long enough they would start to move like water.
He blinked. Music. Right. He wanted to play music.
He carefully took out the vinyl from its sheath, and settled it onto the turntable of the record player. He always liked the A side of this one a little more than the B side. Turning on the player, adjusting the speed, and swinging the tone arm to get the record going was a simple enough task.
The sound emitting from it crackled, but otherwise it played smoothly. 'As smooth jazz should be played,' Sam humored himself thinking. It was that old-timey, 1930s stuff Max would voice his boredom about when Sam listened to it, but it only encouraged him to keep playing it. Where was Max, anyway?
Things suddenly felt heavy. Like there was a weight in his chest he couldn't quite pin the cause of. He quickly brushed it off.
What was he just going to do?
Coffee.
Right.
He made his way to the kitchen, his steps feeling uncertain. The layout of the room was unfamiliar. Was there always a window above the sink? Of course there was, why wouldn't there be?
When he grabbed the coffee pot, the cool handle was a nice sensation amidst the warmth of their apartment. He filled the container with water, poured it into the reservoir in the back of the coffee machine, and set the pot back so it could brew.
He didn't remember putting any grounds into the machine, but it seemed to be making coffee anyway.
Sam wasn't sure he could brush the lack of memory off this time.
Before he could allow his mind to think about it too deeply, he heard the front door open. Max must be home. Sam released a small sigh of relief - he wasn't sure how long he wanted to keep himself company. Max was always a good distraction from anything bothering him.
He trotted to the living room with a smile, ready to greet Max with a hug and a kiss and whatever else the lagomorph would be willing to put up with from him-
But he couldn't make him out. At least, not his face. He was there, Sam knew that, he could see that, but his little buddy's face was...blurry. No matter how hard he tried to concentrate on making it out, squinting his eyes and blinking, it just wasn't coming to him.
He made a frustrated whine.
"Awh, Sammy - did'ja miss me?"
He could hear Max just fine - that cheeky, high voice of his - so why can't he make out his face?
Why can't he remember it?
Sam made a snarl and turned his head away, rubbing at his eyes hard enough to see swirls of indescribable, unfamiliar colors behind his eyelids.
He could hear Max come up behind him, then he felt a hand on his back.
Max's voice had softened. "You don't gotta say anything, Sam. I know how ya get when you're upset - can't really talk and all."
That much was true. Anyone that knew Sam learned quickly that when he felt overwhelmed by emotion, particularly anything to do with frustration or sadness, words just couldn't come out of him. He hated that this had to be one of those times. He wanted to say something to Max, but he couldn't even think straight, let alone try and get something out.
He swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat. Everything felt so confusing.
The hand on his back left, leaving behind a chill where it once was. Max then proceeded to stand in front of Sam - the rabbit taking Sam's hands into his and squeezing them tightly. His face was still beyond trying to make out.
Sam started to cry.
"Oh, Sam..." Max attempted to hush the hound; his weakness in consolation was showing. "It'll be alright. They, uh.. they say it'll take a while for things to get too bad. Plus there's ways to ah, y'know, slow down the whole...losing your memory thing. So silver lining, right?"
That wasn't comforting at all. The only thing Sam got out of that was an answer to why he had felt so weird lately, and even then he didn't want to say the word. If he denied it, it wouldn't hurt so bad.
So Sam refused to accept it. He simply shook his head, unable to stop crying.
Max's head looked down at the floor. When it tipped back up, Sam had given up on trying to see his partner's face. It was all a blur anyway.
"..I promise I'll take care a' ya, Sammy."
Sam didn't respond.
Max suddenly sounded worried. "Sam?"
Sam couldn't respond.
"Sam?" There was a pause. "Sam, c'mon..."
And then Sam woke up.
Sam jumped when he awoke, quickly taking in a breath and shuddering when he breathed back out. The first thing he saw was a jarringly worried Max, who was sitting on his chest and grabbing Sam's face between his hands - he figured he'd been tossing and turning from his dream, and Max woke him up. It took a moment for Sam to really come to - everything felt like the dream, minus the haziness and the fact that they weren't pushing 50.
The open window made way to the noise of outside, complete with bustling people and rumbling cars and the pattering of rain. It let in a cool breeze that broke the otherwise warm air, and mixed the smell of petrichor and the familiar smell of their bed and Max's fur. His breathing deepened to take it all in, grounding himself from that absolute nightmare.
Sam couldn't take his eyes off of Max. Him and that face of his he loved so much, that pristine white fur that looked mussed in the mornings, his honey-brown eyes.
He sniffled, and tried to blink back the tears forming in the corners of his eyes.
"...Come 'ere, Sam."
Sam squeezed Max tight when the two met for a hug - the lagomorph lying on top of the canine, his arms hugging around Sam's neck while Sam kept his arms wrapped around his partner's waist. They didn't let go for a long time.
Max had lifted himself up after a long few minutes. He gestured to take Sam's hand to help him sit up, to which the hound gladly obliged. He never let go of Max's hand, though, and to his relief it seemed like Max didn't mind. He took a moment to look around - the room washed in a soft blue from the overcast sky outside. The time on their alarm clock read 7 A.M.
"...I'm sorry," was all he could manage to say when he looked back to his husband. Watching Max's face was Sam's only consolidation of reality.
Max looked near-offended. The rabbity thing shook his head and squeezed Sam's hand a little tighter for a moment before releasing again. "Shut up. You don't gotta' be sorry for having emotions, Sammy - a-and before y' go on about 'bothering me,' y'know I'd never get bothered by you. Never."
Max always could read Sam like a book.
And when Max looked up at Sam, his expression wearing that of pain and concern, clearly about to say something, Sam couldn't help but let his tears fall. As he lifted his arm to wipe them away, they fell faster than he could rid them - soon unable to stop the small, choked up cries he made and the sniffles from his nose. He dropped his arm back into his lap in defeat.
Max always felt awful when he couldn't help Sam. He wasn't great at consoling, or saying just the right things like Sam could when he was upset.
Watching his partner bawl made him want to beat the fucking daylights out of whatever made him upset.
Taking his hand back from Sam's, Max stood on the bed and wrapped his arms around his neck. He pressed his forehead against Sam's cheek. Attempting to comfort him, Max spoke low and quiet, "..Y'wanna talk about it, Sam?"
The hound sniffled, taking a pause before he shrugged subtly.
"Was it about...?"
Their bad dreams tended to be about quite literally seeing each other die, and it was expectation at this point for these said bad dreams to be just that. Their solace regarding that trauma was that they were here now, and they had each other, and with those events happening a little over 4 years ago now, the pain was much easier to bear and had eased.
This was different, though.
Sam should've expected the confused look Max gave him when he reluctantly said "No."
Max let a bout of quiet rest between them before he asked his next question, lifting his head up to look at Sam, "Then what was it?"
Sam swallowed.
How was he supposed to say this? He knew he wasn't going to be able to be blunt about it, as much as that would frustrate Max. Luckily for him, the little guy would always let Sam express himself how he was able, and Sam was beyond grateful for their communication.
"..Take your time," Max reassured. He picked up on Sam's hesitation.
The canine took a few steady breaths in, comforted by the way Max's hands wiped away the wetness on his cheeks, thumbs brushing against his lower eyelid. He gained a bit of composure.
"...Do you remember a few years back, when we first played around with that time machine?"
Max nodded, "Course I do! I'll never forget havin' t' save Bosco's sorry behind from being forever stuck as a bovine."
Sam wanted to laugh, but all he could muster was a faint smile. Max seemed to notice.
"What about it?"
Sam looked at the wooden floorboards, then at the soft rug beneath his feet. He felt his eyes sting again, but he held it off. "When we went to the future, and you were wearing that funny-looking eye glass thingamajig?"
"And ya sounded like you went senile? Yeah, I do. If that's actually gonna be our future, then we should start practising gettin' you used to me bossing you around," Max snorted.
The joke fell flat, horrifyingly so, and before Max could try and add something to make it land better, Sam started to cry again.
Max began to panic, cringing and trying to remedy the situation, "Ah, geez, Sam- I didn't- I won't boss you around, Sammy! I-I'll, uh, still let you be the responsible one. Yeah!"
And when Sam started making little sobs and whimpers, Max felt powerless. Sam was normally receptive to jokes about anything - when he's sensitive like this, it's hard for the lagomorph to console him in a way he knows will calm him down. Max tried to wipe away the tears from his partner's dear face, but they fell so fast and they were so plentiful.
All Max could think to do was to hold him. He pet his cheek, wrapped his arms back around his neck, and rested his head atop of Sam's - trying to stay as close as possible.
"Sam..."
"I'm-" Sam choked on a cry, "I'm sorry."
"Stop saying that," Max near-hissed. His tone softened again, "Did I hurt you?"
Sam breathed in, struggling to get some air between his sobs. He let himself gain some composure before speaking. "No, little buddy. I just..." He hesitated once more. "I'm..scared, Max."
Max parted from Sam a bit, taking the hound's cheeks in his hands and directing the big guy to look at him. "And I'm here to maul anythin' that thinks it can hurt you."
Sam bore a gentle smile amidst his tears, relieving Max some. He wasn't quite as assured when Sam stressed, "I don't think you can maul this one, bunny."
"Try me."
Sam sniffled and looked to the side. Their windowsill was drenched in water from the rain.
"..I'm...scared that is the future." Sam looked back to Max, "I don't wanna live my life, and at the end of it-"
He started to tear up again. Max's thumbs pet his cheeks so softly, and Sam couldn't tell if it made him want to cry more or less. "I don't wanna lose you again. I don't wanna live my entire life just to...forget everything."
Max's expression was a mixture of pained and distressed.
"...The...dream." Sam knew he was going to have an awful headache later after crying this much, but he needed to let it out. Max was there to clean his face. The canine continued, "I...I think we were older. You weren't there at first, but when you were..."
Sam shook his head and closed his eyes. He hated the image in his mind, remembering the dream as well as he did.
"I..couldn't see your face. I couldn't remember it. I just kept...forgetting things. And then you talked about me losing my memory, and..."
He couldn't keep talking. There wasn't anymore he wanted to say.
Max understood.
And when he leaned in to kiss Sam, the canine wasn't expecting a kiss then, but he wasn't going to reject it. Sam held the lagomorph by his waist, while the latter remained content cupping his cheeks. Sam pulled away after a few moments when he felt another wave of tears coming, but Max pulled him back in.
They finally parted when they needed air.
"...Sam?"
Sam nodded in acknowledgement.
"I won't let that happen to you."
"And if it does?"
Max pondered for a split second before smiling. "I'm with you forever, Sam. We'll figure it out if it happens."
The hound was comforted by that. "I'm with you forever too, Max."
Sam smiled his usual goofy smile, and that was enough for Max to be at peace again.
The lagomorph scratched behind Sam's ear. "If you ever get dementia or somethin' like that - which you won't - then I promise I'll go full The Notebook on you and write everything about us down."
"Sounds like a plan, little buddy."
Max got Sam to lie back down, and got them both under the warm covers. Max wrapped his arms around Sam's waist, his head resting in the crook of his partner's neck, cuddling him from behind. Basking in each other's company, the gentle rain from outside still pattering, the two eventually fell back asleep - the rain soothing the burning memories.