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The snow hadn’t let up since they left the lodge, making the forest paths almost impossible to navigate. Matt Taylor adjusted his coat, cursing the stubborn ache in his muscles from a long night of hiking back down the mountain. It’d only been a few days since the lodge incident — since the Wendigos, the madness, and the fear had almost claimed them all — and he still felt shaken to his core.
What Matt hadn’t anticipated was that, of all people, Mike would be joining them on the long, treacherous trek back. And just like the last time they’d been forced into the same space, there was tension between them, though it was different now — more subdued, weighed down by what they’d both seen. Somehow, that shared horror had kept their bickering to a minimum, but Matt could still feel the old animosity humming beneath the surface, waiting for the chance to reignite.
They’d made it to the final leg of the trail, an unsteady path winding along a ridge, when it happened. The ice was slick, practically invisible against the ground. Matt barely caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye before he saw Mike’s feet slip. In an instant, Mike’s body lurched forward, and he went tumbling down the snowy incline, rolling through the underbrush until he disappeared into a patch of trees.
Matt’s heart leaped into his throat as he scrambled forward, sliding to a stop at the edge of the trail. "Mike!" he yelled, hoping for some response. He called out again and again, but the forest swallowed his voice.
By the time Matt managed to slide down to where Mike had landed, he found him lying against a large tree trunk, a line of blood trickling down from his forehead. Mike groaned, his eyes fluttering open as he stared blankly up at the sky.
"Mike, hey," Matt said, crouching down and trying to keep the worry out of his voice. "You okay? You hit your head pretty hard."
Mike’s eyes shifted slowly to him, unfocused and groggy. "Uh... yeah, I think," he mumbled, blinking as though he was seeing Matt for the first time. "Where... where am I?"
"You’re on Blackwood Mountain, genius," Matt replied, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. But when Mike’s expression remained blank, a frown tugged at Matt’s mouth. "Wait. Do you... do you remember anything?"
Mike squinted, looking more confused by the second. "Uh, I remember the mountain. But..." His gaze drifted to Matt, studying him in a way that was so unlike Mike it sent a chill up Matt’s spine. "Sorry, I’m... blanking on your name. Weird, right?"
Matt swallowed, staring down at him. "You...don’t know who I am?"
Mike shook his head, his hand coming up to touch his forehead, wincing at the sudden jolt of pain. "I mean, I know we’re up here together, but...no. Sorry, dude."
The disbelief was like a punch to the gut. He and Mike had been enemies since practically day one, bickering, sniping, and clashing over every possible thing. They were polar opposites, and they’d never let each other forget it. And yet here he was, staring down at a Mike who looked at him with no trace of the old grudges, the old bitterness. Just confusion...and maybe even trust.
He’d expected his next words to be sharp, sarcastic, anything to break the weirdness of the moment, but what he actually said was, "It’s Matt."
"Matt," Mike echoed, his eyes clearing a bit as he looked at him. "Thanks for helping me, Matt. I’d probably be lying here freezing to death if it weren’t for you."
Matt felt his face warm at the gratitude in Mike’s tone. He cleared his throat, brushing the snow from his coat. "Don’t mention it."
As they made their way down the rest of the mountain, Matt couldn’t shake the strangeness of this 'new' Mike. He was…different, somehow. Friendlier. It was like being stuck in some bizarre alternate reality where Mike didn’t remember all the crap they’d put each other through. Instead, he stuck close to Matt, asking questions about everything — from the path ahead to random details about the lodge and the rest of the group.
At first, Matt’s responses were clipped, more out of habit than anything else. But Mike didn’t seem to mind; if anything, he looked grateful for the help. By the time they’d reached the bottom of the mountain, Mike’s amiable attitude had Matt feeling an unexpected pang of guilt. Here was this guy who’d nearly lost his life — twice, if he counted the Wendigos — and Matt was holding on to old grudges, grudges that Mike couldn’t even remember.
He led Mike to a nearby ranger station, which had thankfully been left unlocked for emergencies, and they settled in for the night, huddled close in the single sleeping bag they’d managed to find.
"Hey, Matt?" Mike’s voice was quiet, almost vulnerable.
Matt shifted, turning to look at him. "Yeah?"
"I’m trying to remember...everything, but it’s still fuzzy." He paused, a hint of worry crossing his features. "Were we...friends?"
The question hit Matt like a punch. They were definitely not friends; they’d been rivals, antagonists, practically enemies. But looking into Mike’s hopeful eyes, the truth didn’t seem so clear-cut anymore. For the first time, Matt considered that maybe, under different circumstances, things could have been different between them.
"I...guess you could say we’re kind of friends," Matt said, his voice catching in his throat.
Mike gave him a lopsided grin, the familiar charm sneaking through the layers of fog in his mind. "Good. I feel like I’d be lucky to have you as a friend."
The warmth that spread through Matt’s chest was unexpected, and he found himself smiling despite himself. "You’re not so bad yourself."
In the weeks that followed, as Mike’s memories continued to elude him, their dynamic shifted. Matt found himself seeing a side of Mike he hadn’t thought possible — a side that was open, honest, and even…affectionate. They shared stories about their lives, laughed over bad jokes, and, to Matt’s surprise, spent most of their time in each other’s company. And every moment that passed, Matt felt his heart pulling him toward Mike in a way he hadn’t felt for anyone before.
He’d almost convinced himself to let go of the past entirely, to let himself really feel something for Mike. But every time he got close, there was a nagging voice in his mind reminding him that this wasn’t real. That it could all be taken away with a single memory.
The memory came back on a cold, rainy evening. They’d been walking back to the lodge, a familiar tension building between them as they walked in silence. Out of nowhere, Mike stopped, his expression shifting as if he’d just been hit by a flash of recognition.
"Matt…oh my god," Mike murmured, gripping his head as fragments of memory began to resurface. "I remember... I remember everything."
Matt’s stomach twisted, a sick feeling settling in his chest. He wanted to ask, wanted to reach out and hold onto this version of Mike just a little longer, but he stayed silent.
"I remember...how we were. You hated me." Mike’s voice was hoarse, his gaze downcast. "And I guess I didn’t make it easy for you not to."
Matt swallowed, forcing himself to speak. "Yeah, well...a lot happened, and things changed."
"But...we were good together, weren’t we?" Mike’s voice was soft, and he looked up, his eyes filled with the same warmth that Matt had grown to care for. "The last few days, I... I don’t think I’ve felt this close to anyone in a long time."
The air between them was heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid. "Me either," Matt admitted, feeling the tension dissolve as Mike reached out, tentatively brushing his fingers against Matt’s.
In that quiet, fragile moment, Matt realized that maybe things didn’t need to go back to how they’d been. They could start fresh, building something new from the memories they’d made in the wake of tragedy. Mike’s hand was warm, solid, and real in his grasp.
As the rain continued to fall, they stood there, silently promising to be more than they ever thought they could be — not rivals, not enemies, but something new. Something real.