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The light in the room is too bright. It makes Hop’s head ache, or maybe that’s the worry coiling tight in his chest, a physical thing. Gloria sits on the edge of the bed, her hands folded in her lap. She’s tracing the stitching on the blanket with a fingertip, a small, lost gesture that makes Hop’s breath catch. She doesn’t look at him. She hasn’t, really, since she woke up two days ago.
“How’s your head?” he asks, his voice softer than he intends.
Gloria shrugs, a slight movement of her shoulders. “It doesn’t hurt.” She pauses, finally lifting her gaze to meet his. Her eyes, usually so full of spark and defiance, are just…empty. “I just don’t know anything. The nurse says my name is Gloria.” She says the name like it’s a foreign word. “She says you’re my friend.”
The word friend hangs in the sterile air between them, a flimsy bridge over a chasm of lost memories. His throat feels tight. “Yeah. Best friends.”
“I don’t remember,” she whispers, and the vulnerability in her voice is a punch to the gut. “But…” She hesitates, looking back down at her hands. “I feel…safe. When you’re here. I don’t know why.” A faint blush rises on her cheeks. “It’s the same with…with the bouncy one. The Pokemon with the big ears.”
Hop’s heart gives a painful thump. She doesn’t even remember her own starter. He forces a smile that feels brittle on his face. “That’s Cinderace, Glor. He’s worried sick about you.”
“Cinderace,” she repeats softly, the name a ghost on her lips. She finally looks at him, really looks at him, and for a second, the emptiness is replaced by a flicker of something else. Curiosity? Longing? “Tell me about him. Tell me a story.”
So he does. He talks about the Wooloo in Postwick, about her muddy boots and his constant research. He talks about the first Gym Challenge, the victories and the close calls. He’s aiming for comfort, for familiarity, but the stories keep flowing, and with each one, a realization dawns, bright and terrifying.
Because he’s not just listing their shared history. He’s cataloging every reason he loves her, right here in this too bright room, watching the girl who forgot him remember the shape of his smile. He’s been in love with her for years, and it took her forgetting everything to make him see it.
His voice trails off into the hum of the machines monitoring her. The silence that follows is heavy, filled with all the things he didn’t say. He’s a fool. A complete, oblivious fool.
“What about the story?” Gloria’s voice is small, pulling him back.
Hop looks up, startled. “What story?”
“The one you were telling.” She frowns, a faint line appearing between her brows that’s so familiar it hurts. “You got…quiet. Did I say something wrong?”
“No!” The word bursts out of him, too loud. He winces. “No, you didn’t. Sorry. I just…got lost in it, I guess.” He swallows, the truth of it sitting like a stone in his throat. He got lost in the realization that the feeling blooming in his chest isn’t just concern or grief for what was lost. It’s love. It’s always been love.
“Hop,” she says, and it sounds like she’s testing it out, like she’s trying to remember how it feels on her lips. “Hop,” she repeats, just a bit more sure, and she meets his eyes. “I hope you have a lot more stories like those ones. I could listen to you talk forever.”