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In a quaint little blue house at the end of the lane, there lived a rather lonely man. His loneliness was not of his own making, as he was well acquainted with many people and got along with nearly everyone he met. The problem wasn’t that he enjoyed solitude too much, that he found comfort in no-one knowing him, or that he was too socially anxious to make friends, oh no. The cause was simple: he was cursed. No one could remember who he was. And that was the lonesome life of Matthew Williams.
He had tried asking the witch who cursed him to remove it, but the witch himself was affected by it, and he hadn't even a clue as to what curse he had even used. There was simply no trace of it ever even happening, despite the undeniable truth that Matthew was still breathing, and that the curse was too terrible for any one soul to have.
Despite there being no trace of the magic trail, Matthew had figured out the technicalities of the curse long ago, back when he was just a boy. These rules were simple:
- It reset at midnight. Always.
- Memories could be brought back with familiarity, a strong connection made this faster.
- Creating stories eased his loneliness.
The last one wasn't so much a rule, as it was more of a Thing That Was Needed to make living with his particular curse easier. He was lonesome, sure, but he had pages and pages of writings, stories of his own character's, adventures and romances littered his home in stray sheets of paper, to keep him company.
But still, he was a human being. He couldn't just live in the worlds he made up, he needed real, human, connections. So each morning he would wake up and introduce himself to people he was already quite familiar with: people he would have considered dear friends and loving family. He knew all his neighbours' birthdays, their general work schedules, which particular grocery store they preferred to shop at. He thought he knew them rather intimately, considering his predicament, and yet they would all think him a new neighbour, a complete and total stranger.
So long as he didn't make himself seem familiar to them anyway.
“Oh, bonjour, I did not know we were getting two new neighbours today!” One such familiar face greeted from over the fence. This was Francis Bonnefoy, his next door neighbour, and a man he had grown rather fond of, despite all his flaws. Usually, when Matthew met him in the morning, he would be leaving the house or tending to his rose garden, but today he was carrying a cute woven basket, which was the strangest thing to see hanging off the lavishly dressed french man.
“Oh good morning! My name is Matthew Williams, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Oh no, no, the pleasure is all mine Mr. Williams,” Francis gave him a charming smile (honestly, it was only a three out of five, Matthew had created a rating system after he picked up on key differences between each Brand New Meeting), and Matthew would have blushed had he not been through this routine before (just because it was a three out of five doesn't mean it wasn't attractive), “I’m sorry that I don’t have a housewarming gift for you too, but I hadn’t been told you were moving in today…”
Matthew smiled, packing on the charm himself, hoping that he'd leave such an impression this time that Francis would bake him a housewarming cake as well (as it had happened many times before),“oh, no need to worry about it! Who’s our new neighbour?”
This question was simply for conversation. Matthew tried to keep updated with the world around him (he found it was easier to pretend he was a part of it if he was privy to the local gossip), so he already knew some things about the man. The latest addition to the neighbourhood was a man of eastern European (Russian? Estonian? Polish? he couldn't be certain) origin who happened to be a writer. A popular suspense, murder mystery author, with a significant interest in sci-fi horror apparently. He was also moving into the house across from Matthew, which Matthew had always considered more to be a mansion fitting for a vampire who couldn't bear to abandon the Victorian era.
“Oh, I saw him just the other day, with the moving truck. He has quite the presence!" Francis gushed.
Matthew thought back to when the moving vans had been by to unload the furniture, how he too, caught sight of dusty blonde hair and a pale pink scarf dart behind the moving trucks. It had happened several times while he was out tending to his flower garden. Quite the presence indeed.
"And how is that?" Matthew gasped.
"I thought this neighbourhood to be quiet, yet I find neighbours gossiping loudly on my own doorstep."
The two men pale, turning to see just the devil they had been speaking of: the dusty blonde hair, and the pale pink scarf were confirmation enough. He was Tall, taller than Matthew himself and he was one of the tallest around, and handsome with a strong nose. Rosey purple eyes held nothing but disdain for the sight they saw, despite the pleasant looking smile the man had.
Matthew notices his surroundings, surprised to find that Francis had taken their conversation into the new neighbour's front yard. He looks back and finds his own house far behind him, obscured by the sunflowers towering in his front garden, it makes him feel uneasy.
Not one to acknowledge any sort of uncomfortable social situations, Francis wears his ⅘ charming smile and introduces them both, "I'm Francis Bonnefoy, I live right over there, and this is Matthew Williams, he lives just across from you!"
Their new neighbour barely nods in acknowledgment. Francis doesn't take it to heart, and Matthew decides then and there this man wouldn't be worth it to try and keep interacting with. The somewhat awkward silence dredges on, until Francis decides to steer the group into acceptable social behaviour once more by addressing the wicker basket he's holding.
"I've brought you a housewarming gift, Mr…" he trails off, eagerly waiting for the man to introduce himself.
And it's very apparent that this is the last place this man wants to be early in the morning. Affronted by his neighbours with housewarming gifts, trying to get to know him on his front lawn he's only owned for a few days. His smile never falters, it's pleasant shape turning malicious as his eyes bore holes, "ah yes, Ivan Bravingiski."
Matthew nods, smiling politely, "it's, a pleasure to meet you—"
"I'm sure. Now, please get off my lawn, I have to leave." He pushes past them to continue to the street where his car sits.
"Excuse me, what would you like me to do with this?" Francis holds up the basket containing the ignored gift, "I could hold on to it until later if you'd like — "
"What is it?"
"A blueberry pie," Francis says proudly. Matthew cringes and Ivan Bravingiski appears to catch the action, his smile turning impish.
"Give to him." Bravingiski points to Matthew, before turning and getting in his car, taking no time at all to drive away.
Francis bristles at the rudeness. Matthew pats his shoulder, "some people just can't be pleased."
The man sniffs indignantly, "but Mathieu," — Matthew feels alive listening to Francis speak now, using this version of his name implies Francis now thinks he and Matthew have been friends for years, as Matthew considers them, that Francis Remembers — "you can be still be considerate while also speaking to the devil himself."
Matthew hums, "I suppose so. Also you don't have to give me the pie, keep it and eat it yourself to spite him."
Francis clicks his tongue, shaking his head, "no no, that won't do. I'll just let it rot away if I were to keep it, to spite him. You must take it, Mathieu, someone has to enjoy it," Francis thrusts the basket into Matthew's hands, "I'll be over at three for tea, Arthur invited me to lunch with him and Alfred, I must go get ready, I'll see you later Mathieu!" Francis kisses his cheeks goodbye and dashes across the road to his own home.
"You can give the pie to Arthur! He likes pies! And Alfred will eat anything!" Matthew calls out after the retreating man. Francis does nothing to indicate he's heard Matthew, and Matthew decides Francis sucks.
And so, Matthew stands alone on the lawn of his dreadfully impolite new neighbour, holding a pie that makes him more queasy than salivating. He looks back at the house and frowns in disappointment. Ivan Bravingiski, the man living in the vampire house, was simply not worth it to get to know, a bummer. But he's had worse days, meeting worse people, everything considered.
He starts his walk back to his own home and smiles and the sight: the sunflowers welcoming him.
Sunflowers. There are sunflowers growing in the garden of my neighbour across the street. I forget his name, but I should ask for some, maybe some seeds too. Apologise for my rude behaviour today.
The next few weeks were the same as ever: wake up, introduce himself to whoever was around, write his stories, tend his garden. Rinse, repeat. Once or twice he'll get a call from his brother, apologising for forgetting him before going off on whatever exciting new things were happening in his life. It was nice.
Apparently Alfred now had a coworker who he hated with the passion of a burning sun, and it entertained Matthew all through the night to hear him rant and rave. Matthew teased about having a crush, before Alfred would explode into a fit of extreme disagreement. They only stopped with their theatrics when Arthur ripped the phone from Alfred and pleaded with Matthew to hang up so he could get some shut eye.
When Matthew hung up the phone, he was startled to see it was eleven thirty, extremely grateful for Arthur's interruption. He hated it when they were talking until midnight, and an awkward silence would cut through the mood, Alfred's emotionless voice asking him who he was, calling at this hour. It was the worst.
So Matthew went to bed that night happy, using his imagination to create the kind of character that would ignite such a reaction from his brother. Maybe he'd make a story with him in it!
The next day was a particularly warm day in the late summer, all his household chores had been completed, he wasn't feeling the itch to write, even after figuring out a character to rival his brother. So he decided to set up a little picnic in his backyard, to enjoy the remaining summer heat.
"I'm sorry, I had knocked on the door but no one answered."
"Oh, that's no problem at all, what can I do for you — Mister…"
Ivan pauses, peers at Matthew,"have we met before?"
"No, I wouldn't say we have. I'd think you'd be a busy man, no time to get to know the neighbourhood is all." Matthew nods, determined to convince his horribly rude neighbour that they had never interacted before.
But Ivan continues to stare. And Matthew feels embarrassed under his gaze. But Ivan can't help it; the man is standing in such a way, the sunflower behind him is framing his face, creating the illusion of a halo, and with the midday sun highlighting his hair, Matthew Williams looks absolutely divine. And there's something familiar about the scene.
"I could swear we've met before. I do not forget a face, no matter how much I try."
Matthew smiles politely at him, "I'm sure I wouldn't have forgotten you either."
And with that, Ivan glares and unceremoniously leaves, briskly walking across the road with the poor flowers in a death grip, a few petals fall, their trail as proof anyone had even been around.
Matthew sighs, defeated by the obnoxious attitude, and decides to spend the rest of the day lazing around, basking in the sun.
From then on, Ivan seems to notice Matthew more. And the reason: he's just people watching or he genuinely remembers, isn't easy to determine.
Ivan is a writer, watching people is a habit easily picked up, even Matthew does it, and none of his writings are published.
If Ivan genuinely remembers, the only tell would be
“If I want to meet you again…”
“I dunno. Write some notes. Stick them somewhere you’d see. My brother, Alfred, we stuck his notes, pictures of us to his fridge, but he’s also got adhd, so he doesn’t really see them… but when he does, it jumpstarts his brain and he remembers, rushing over here or he just calls me.”
The other man stands silent, absorbing the information, with a tinge of worry taking over his features. He doesn’t want to continue forgetting Matthew: he likes what he’s been introduced to, the fragments of memory from the last few months, and he thinks that they can read each other like a book, it’s exciting.
I met that Matthew boy today, he seemed to recognize me, jumping in shock, but the only things I remember about him are nothing but the words of these notes I read in the morning.
Matthew wakes the next morning to banging. Someone is aggressively knocking at his door, muttering words in a foreign tongue.
“Are you Matthew Williams?” Not even a hello.
“You… know me?”
“No, I don’t think I do, but here, I have notes written in my hand, and they’re all about you, yet I don’t remember anything about you.”
Matthew takes the notes from him, and peers at the barely legible words scribbled across the pages, unbelieving that this complete and utter stranger had the nerve to go and do this.
“Then… why did you bother…”
“I wouldn’t have wasted the paper, that I’m sure of. Do I have amnesia? Why do I know you.”
Matthew startles and looks up at him, insulted, “you don’t know me.”
“And why not? Are you a ghost? Forgotten by time? It would make no sense because I dated those pages, they’re from yesterday.
“It’s a curse, okay? I’m cursed to be the most forgettable face on the earth, while also remembering everyone else.”
The large man stares blankly at him. He barks a laugh, turns around and walks off the porch and across the street to his own home, leaving Matthew feeling speechless and enraged, “stupid hoser,” he mutters.
The next day, he’s woken up in the same rude way, loud knocking on his door. He grumbles and pulls the covers over his head, this is not the routine he wants. Much too noisy and inconsiderate.
"Matthew!" He hears a man shout, and his eyes open in shock.
He tears off his covers in a flurry and rushes to the window, pulling it open in a mad rush.
Half of his body is hanging out the window and he stares shocked at Ivan who is just as shocked to see him appear.
"What did you say?" Matthew demands, desperate.
"I called for you." the man replies.
"You said my name?”
"That is how you call for someone, no?"
"You. You recognize me?"
"Yes, you're the rude man with the garden. Matthew Williams, I couldn't forget you."
"That's impossible, you forget me each night after midnight and don't have a clue that I exist until something sparks the memory!"
"But I still do end up remembering you're here."
Matthew stares down at the man, thinking him terribly stupid; He feels his cheeks heat up and tears bud in his eyes, he doesn't want to believe it, but it makes him feel. Small, big, too known, not known,
“Matthew…” he starts, and Matthew looks to the bundle in the man’s arms.
“Alfred, what is this?” Arthur asks, and Alfred looks to find the grouch looking at something on his fridge. Papers. And it clicks with such violent clarity he nearly collapses. His brother, Matthew, Mattie, he'd forgotten.
“That’s my brother!” he shouts excitedly, grabbing his phone and hurriedly jabs Matt's number in to call. When was the last time he remembered? Hopefully it wasn’t too long ago, he’d feel so bad.
“Your brother? I didn’t know you had a brother.”
“Yeah, my brother! Mattie! He’s… funny story, he was cursed to be forgettable, so if you did meet him, you probably wouldn’t remember him!”
“Then how, pray tell, can you remember him?”
“Those notes and uh love. It’s the love bro — Mattie! Yeah long time no talk, what? What about love? Oh yeah it’s why I remember everything about you! Remember last time I went to your house and we — what? You gotta go? What, no! I just called you! Don’t hang up! Gah, rude!”
Alfred pockets his phone and hurries out of the kitchen, "change of plans Artie! We're going to see my bro!" he calls out.
Arthur is baffled by the suddenness before he catches a line in the notes:
- cursed by an A. Kirkland?? whoever that asshole is
He pales, feeling stomach sick. He couldn't have done this, given this poor boy such a horrible curse.
Matthew stares at his phone, shock still in his kitchen. A big grin tearing at his face, and he jumps from foot to foot, dancing a little jig in pure excitement. It's love! Love is the cure! He pulls on his jacket, his shoes are shoved on and he races out the door to tell Ivan the discovery — half way down his steps he remembers that no, Ivan is away for the weekend. The man hadn’t woken him up with his insistent knocking that morning, that he probably had forgotten all about him.
He slumps onto the porch, and mulls over it quietly, sadly. The one person to interact with him daily and not completely forget that he was even on this earth. Why did he let himself get so comfortable. He knew that it’d just wrench his heart, like it had with Francis, Gilbert, Carlos, he’d gotten so comfortable with their presence and knack to recall him, that when they did forget, they forgot for good and he was left empty and alone again.
The rain starts to fall, and he lets it soak him through as he mulls over how lonely he is. When he comes out of his thoughts, it’s to the crunch of gravel and a voice shouting at him. He looks and sees his brother’s worried face, “Mattie what are you doing out here in the rain?”
When he wakes up, he feels terribly off, being alone in the dimly lit hotel room. He grabs the notes off the nightstand, thinking they’re the notes for today’s plans, and stares in shock as he finds they have nothing at all to do with his job. They’re some sort of journal entry, pages and pages of observations about a boy named Matthew Williams, and he thinks he must have made a new hero for his novels, but the sheets are all dated, March, June, July, September, and they start to read like the mad pleading from a fool, asking him not to forget Matthew, whoever that was.
On the last page, the only words left for him to read leave him feeling fuzzy.
I did not see Matthew today, but I remembered bits and pieces throughout the day after I read over these notes in the morning. And I scoffed at the concept of a man with such a terrible curse
who I was apparently fa I mean it's perfectly reasonable to read these notes and believe the author was in
And I think I miss him. Strange to miss the company of a man who you don’t know, or couldn't even remember the face of. I think his hair must be blonde, sunflower yellow, and his eyes purple or blue, the details are so faint, but I’m sure if I saw him, everything I’ve written about would be clear, I’ve written about that being true in the past and I want to test that theory.
His heart aches and he doesn’t understand why the text inspires him to feel so gut wrenched and miserable . His brows knit in irritation and he frowns at the page dated for yesterday. He must be planning a new novel, but why doesn’t he remember planning it. He throws the notes back on the table and starts his morning routine, to get ready for the conference.
Throughout the day little pieces of memory return to him; the light :+y on the posters are forget-me-nots in a garden, the orange and red stained glass windows bring to mind a windchime in a sunroom, chinking softly as a gentle breeze passes.
“Are you friends with Matthew?”
“I’m friends with his brother — er, wait, you know Matthew? You remember him?” the man says, peering at him with complete shock.
“Yes?”
“Are you… aware of his curse.”
“Yes.”
“Huh. Imagine that. His brother told me about it earlier. They’re discussing the cure now, I think, last I heard anyway. Matt seems kinda, no, completely depressed, and Alfred was getting on my nerves with how annoying he was trying to cheer him up.” the man scowls in annoyance, pulling out his cigarette pack, “you should probably go in, you’d probably cheer him up. What’s in the bag, a gift?”
“Maple candies.”
“It’s good to have a gift when apologising… like a bribe. So you remembered even his favourite food? Impressive… I only know that because Al had me give him a pop quiz on the way over. He wanted to remember everything for certain, daft idiot.”
He ignores the man and continues to the front door, stares at the red paint apprehensively, takes a breath and knocks three times.
Oh he had agreed one hundred percent with Alfred about the cure to his curse, it’s the only thing that made sense; everyone who’s ever loved him in any capacity remembers everything after a trigger sets off the memories like a trail of dominos. It’s how it is for Al, and how it had been for Gilbert and Carlos before they left. Maybe they still remember, he doesn’t have a clue. But, Ivan, he had a bedside journal he used to jumpstart those memories, which was still a weird thing to think about, someone writing about you every night before they went to bed. Like some love sick — wait, that implies Ivan likes him and gah, no, had to be as friends. Yeah, they were friends. Past tense, he’s totally forgotten him now. Matthew's mood sullens and he pulls the blanket Alfred swaddled him in around him tighter.
“Mattie, are you listening? Do you wanna watch Captain America: the Winter Soldier or Thor Ragnarok?”
Matthew makes a noncommittal noise and shrugs, which only makes Alfred’s posture wilt, “Matt, are you, is this because of me? I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to remember you this time—”
Bang Bang Bang. The front door announced someone’s arrival, interrupting Al.
“— Who could that even be? You’d think Artie would have scared them off with his face… I’ll go tell them to come back another time, kay? Or we can pretend we’re not here!”
Matthew stares at the door, disbelieving he even heard it.
“For the love of god, one of you could have answered the door,” Arthur says, reentering the house, scowl present, hardly hiding the towering figure of the person still on the doorstep. Matthew stares at him, and finds himself looking straight into his neighbours eyes.
“Artie why didn’t you tell that weird guy to leave” — “Why are you so fucking rude?” — “Yo dude, we’re not interested in buying anything you’re selling so — WHAT IVAN?!”
What the hell. It was weird to remember so much just by looking at his house, but looking at him , that was something else entirely. It suddenly felt like they were best friends, and the pathetic look on the young man’s face, his eyes wide in shock to see him, but they were so dark, so exhausted. It hurt to look.
“I’ve brought a gift, they’re maple, your favourite.”
And Matthew
“But—”
“I’ll explain in the car, come on, we’re leaving.”
“But I just got here, I wanna stay with Mattie for a bit longer, bro tell ‘em— “ Arthur shoves Alfred’s coat over his face, effectively shutting him up.
“No, nope, no, don’t ask for permission to stay. Goodbye Matthew, it was a pleasure to meet you again, hope you enjoy the rest of your evening,” he gestures to the space between him and Ivan and all Matthew can do is blush furiously.
“Who…” Ivan says after a moment’s silence, also baffled by how the two men had left.
“Ah, the loud one with the glasses was my brother, Alfred.”
“I know him from work. I should have expected, he looks like he could be your twin.”
“And the other is… wait you know Alfred? How?" Matthew gapes at Ivan.
"Work colleagues." And Matthew cracks a smile, thinking of how his imagination had been completely wrong about the
well he’s the guy who gave me the curse.”
Ivan suddenly stands.
“He doesn’t remember me! Let alone the spell he used, so how is he going to undo it? He’s been friends with Al for years now, and every time I bring it up, he stares blankly at me and apologises for not knowing anything.
“And besides I think I know how to break it.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, it’s love.”
Ivan stares dumbfoundead, “love? Like in a fairy tale? Where a kiss breaks the spell? Matvey that's ridiculous.”
Ivan
“Oh I love nature, don’t get me wrong. But I feel like I could just get lost out here, my body returning to the earth and my bones as the only proof I even existed in the first place.”
"Would the bones still carry the curse?"
"If they do, it'd be fitting, preservation of nature and all. Or it'd be funny if they find them, start an investigation on what had happened but each day they forgot what they were doing. Maybe they'd realize it was a curse, and they'd set me up in a museum somewhere, a curiosity. Maybe they'd break the spell.
"There'd be a plaque, by my remains, it'd read 'these bones belonged to someone forgotten by everyone who met him, these bones were as cursed as the soul who carried them. But you will remember them, because after finding this forgotten man's remains, putting them up on display, we've broken his lonely curse.'"
Ivan hums, acknowledging the musings of his cursed friend, "That's a romantic way to think about it."
Matthew laughs, "well, it's pretty morbid and sad, I'd be long dead by the time my curse was broken."
"I guess that's right, though I think I could break it myself."
"You? You said the cure was a fairy tale."
"I mean, based on fairy tales, it's terribly easy to fall in love."the
Matthew smiles at him, his lips crooked, eyes wide as if he were the man to hang the moon, he adverts his sight, "i—"
"Don't worry, I don't expect you to."
"What?"
"There were people, who could remember me, maybe not as well as you,"
He wakes up shivering.
"Ivan, come on, we're going to freeze to death out here,"
"Mhmm," Ivan stirs, "not cold enough, we will only end up using each other's body heat to stay warm."
"Doesn't that only work if we're naked?"
"We could be, and then we'd have other ways to stay warm. He he, your face must be so red. I wish I could see it,"
"If you don't shut up, I'm going to leave you out here."
"That would be fine. My house is just across the street."
"Fine, fine, fine, good night Ivan!"
"Ah, Motya wait, I didn't mean it like that."
"It's my first time up there."
"I might just dump you on the couch…"
"But if you do that, I will be so cold. I will wander around seeking warmth, perhaps wind up in your bed."
Matthew giggles at the ridiculousness of this man, and leads them up the staircase to his bedroom.
The digital clock on his nightstand states that it's only mere minutes after midnight, and he's giddy at the concept; feeling the warm hand wrapped around his own. Was the curse finally broken?
"Do you know who I am?" he whispers softly, barely audible.
"You're Matthew Williams, he's a very annoying person because he won't shut up and let us go to sleep."
"It's after midnight, Ivan."
"All the more reason to go to sleep, Motya."
And Matthew can hear the smile in Ivan's voice, and his heart does a back flip in his rib cage, too delighted by these turn of events.
"Ah," Ivan says, catching up.
In the morning Ivan will be the first to wake, the dawn will be barely breaking over the horizon. He'll be confused over where he is, but when he sees the man sleeping soundly next to him, he'll feel strange, being able to reach out and touch him as his thoughts buzz around, knowing everything about him without having to read anything, like he had all the mornings before now.
When Matthew wakes up, he stares bearily at Ivan until a warm smile overtakes him and sets Ivan's heart on fire. It lasts a moment before Matthew Remembers the curse and fear pulls his lips into a frown.
"Motya," Ivan will hastily interrupt whatever thoughts were racing around the man's head, "Motya I remember everything, just as I did last night. I know who you are."
They aren't sure it's cured until noon, too apprehensive to leave the house, god forbid Francis sees them like this and Remembers Nothing. But, when Alfred calls, frantically yelling, "Mattie, Mattie, I just woke up and I was all like, 'I wonder what Mattie is doing today,' first thing, and then I was like, 'WOAH WAIT A MINUTE,' and then I had to call you — is it cured? Did Ivan actually do it? What a bastard." They know for sure, Matthew's curse is broken, and had Francis seen them both on this side of the street, he would have known everything.
Alfred shows up a couple hours later, dragging in Arthur and Francis, all carrying food and drink, thankfully no pies. Gilbert runs in and apologises profusely to Matthew for being a dumbass, Carlos calls and they have a long chat.