Chapter Text
October 2031 — Raccoon City.
The first thing Bryan felt when he regained consciousness was an absolutely unbearable headache.
It wasn't a minor ache, or even that unpleasant pressure that came after a night of heavy drinking. This was a deep, relentless pain that seemed to stretch from his left temple all the way to the base of his skull, worsening every time he tried to move his head. For several seconds, he lay perfectly still, eyes closed, trying to figure out what the hell he'd done to end up like this. The last thing he remembered was being in his apartment, going over some documents while arguing with Nikki on the phone about something stupid that, unfortunately, he could no longer recall.
He tried to open his eyes, but the light filtering through his eyelids sent such a sharp stab of pain through his head that he groaned and squeezed them shut again.
“Fuck...” he muttered, his voice so hoarse it sounded as though someone had taken sandpaper to his vocal cords.
He took a deep breath through his nose. The smell of disinfectant, the faint hum of electronic equipment, and the feel of sheets that were far too stiff told him, even before he looked again, that he was in a hospital. That explained a few things, although it raised several considerably more worrying questions. For starters, he had absolutely no idea how he'd gotten there. And if the pressure wrapped around his head meant what he suspected, someone had apparently decided his skull required an absurd amount of bandaging.
He opened his eyes again, more slowly and cautiously this time, and let his vision adjust to the room. The ceiling was white, the walls were that impersonal beige so common in hospitals, and to his left a screen displayed green lines moving in time with the steady beeping of a monitor. Looking around, he spotted flowers on a table, a bottle of water, and a dark jacket neatly folded over the back of a sofa.
That was when he realized someone was holding his hand.
Confused, Bryan looked down and discovered that his right hand was trapped between the hands of a stranger asleep in a chair beside the bed. The man had his head resting on the mattress near Bryan's elbow and was bent over in a position so uncomfortable that Bryan felt an involuntary pang of sympathy for his back. He looked as if he'd fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion, without even bothering to remove his watch or fully unbutton his shirt.
Bryan studied him curiously.
Then he took another look.
Because, well, shit.
The guy was gorgeous.
Not merely attractive in the way some men were pleasant to look at and easily forgotten five minutes later. No, he was outrageously handsome—to a degree Bryan found almost offensive under the circumstances, considering he was fairly certain he himself looked like absolute hell without even needing a mirror.
The man had ash-blond hair, a little longer in front and visibly mussed, as though he'd spent hours running his fingers through it. He had a sharply defined jaw, a straight nose, and features so absurdly attractive that Bryan wondered, with some indignation, why certain people seemed to have won the genetic lottery while everyone else had been forced to settle for whatever God considered good enough. Someone up there definitely had favorites.
Even asleep, the guy looked like one of those models you saw walking red carpets or appearing in fashion magazines.
He also had ridiculously long eyelashes.
Bryan couldn't help frowning.
Who the fuck is this guy?
He tried to remember whether he knew anyone who matched that description. He mentally went through his coworkers, Nikki's friends, and everyone he'd met over the past few weeks. Nope. Nothing. Total blank. If he'd ever met a man who looked like this, he would definitely remember him. His memory might be questionable when it came to birthdays and passwords, but it was certainly not unreliable when it came to attractive men.
Maybe he was a doctor. Although doctors didn't generally fall asleep holding their patients' hands, nor did they dress as if they'd just stepped out of a photo shoot.
Perhaps he was one of his sister's friends.
A very strange friend.
And a very handsome one.
Bryan examined their intertwined fingers and, after a few seconds' deliberation, carefully attempted to pull his hand away. He'd barely moved it a couple of inches when the stranger reacted.
The change was astonishingly quick. The man opened his eyes, straightened his back, and swept an alert gaze across the room as though expecting threats to be lurking nearby. Yet the moment his eyes met Bryan's, that expression vanished.
Wow. They're blue.
The relief that washed over his face was so intense that Bryan was left utterly bewildered.
“Bryan?” His voice was deep and slightly rough from sleep. He had extraordinary blue eyes, although the dark shadows beneath them somewhat diminished their effect.
“Uh... hi,” Bryan replied, unsure what else he was supposed to say or do. Could anyone really blame him, given the situation?
The man stared at him without moving for several seconds, as if he needed to make absolutely sure Bryan was awake. Then he let out a shaky breath and sat up so abruptly that his chair slid back several inches.
“God, you're awake.”
Before Bryan could ask what that reaction was about, the stranger leaned over him and cupped his face in both hands. His movements were gentle, almost fearful of hurting him, but there was no overlooking the emotion in his eyes.
“Hey, look at me for a second. How are you feeling? Does your head hurt badly?” he asked, examining Bryan's face with obvious concern, careful not to move too suddenly. “Are you dizzy? Can you see me okay?”
Bryan blinked and tried not to tremble. Judging by the heat rushing into his cheeks and neck, he was willing to bet he was blushing furiously. The man was much too close, smelled pleasantly of a cologne Bryan didn't recognize, and, to top it all off, seemed genuinely thrilled to see him. It was a thoroughly disconcerting combination for someone who'd been conscious for less than five minutes, and probably hazardous to his health if the machine he was hooked up to was faithfully tracking his suddenly racing pulse.
“Well, considering I feel like I've been run over by a fucking truck, I suppose I could be better,” he answered. “What the hell happened to me?”
Something tightened in the blond man's expression, although he managed to keep his voice steady.
“You had an accident. The doctor said you needed rest and that it might take a few hours for you to wake up properly. Do you remember anything?”
Bryan tried to think, but all he accomplished was making his headache worse.
“No. The last thing I remember is being at home.” He paused, aware that there was a considerably more pressing question. “Hey, I don't mean to be rude, but who the fuck are you?”
The stranger's hands froze against his cheeks.
His expression changed.
It wasn't anything dramatic. He simply stopped smiling, and Bryan had the uncomfortable impression that he'd said something he shouldn't have.
“What?”
“I asked who you are,” Bryan repeated, trying to sound patient. “Look, I appreciate you being here and everything, but I haven't got a fucking clue who you are.”
The man stared at him. Then he slowly lowered his hands, though he apparently couldn't help taking Bryan's right hand again. Bryan decided to ignore that.
“I'm Leon.”
Bryan waited.
“Uh-huh.”
“Leon Kennedy.”
Another pause followed.
Bryan raised his eyebrows.
“And is that supposed to mean something to me?”
Leon didn't answer immediately. He seemed to be trying to decide whether Bryan was joking, although the worry spreading across his face suggested he was taking the question completely seriously.
“Bryan,” he said at last, with a caution that was beginning to get on Bryan's nerves, “it's me. Leon. Your fiancé.”
Bryan looked at him, then at the hand the blond was still holding, and finally back at his face. For a few seconds he had no idea what to say. The claim was so unexpected, so utterly ridiculous, that his brain needed a moment to process it and get its neurons firing again.
Then he started laughing.
That was a mistake.
A stab of pain shot through his head and cut his laughter short with a groan.
“Ah, fuck!” He brought his free hand to his forehead, grimacing. “Don't make me laugh, asshole. My head is killing me.”
Leon didn't seem to find any of this funny.
“Bryan, I'm serious.”
“Yeah, right. And I'm Kim Kardashian.” He looked the man over again, still smiling despite the pain. “Come on, seriously. Are you a friend of Nikki's? Because this has one of her stupid pranks written all over it.”
Leon's jaw tightened slightly.
“It's not a prank.”
“So you're telling me you're my fiancé?”
“Yes.”
“My actual, we're-getting-married fiancé? Ring, wedding, till death do us part?”
“That's generally what people expect from marriage.”
Bryan laughed again, more briefly this time.
“Very funny, Kennedy. Now tell me who you really are.”
Leon stared at him for several seconds that seemed strangely long to Bryan. Then he slowly released his hand and stood.
“I'm calling the doctor.”
“Excellent idea. Maybe he can explain why a Calvin Klein model is trying to convince me we're getting married.”
Leon stopped halfway to the call button.
For a moment, the faintest hint of a smile appeared on his lips.
“A Calvin Klein model?”
“Don't get excited. Just because you're handsome doesn't mean I'm going to believe something that stupid.”
Leon released a breath that came dangerously close to laughter, but the worry immediately returned to his face. He pressed the call button and came back toward the bed, although this time he kept a little distance between them.
For his part, Bryan decided he'd had more than enough strange experiences for one morning. He sank back against his pillow and closed his eyes, trying to remember what had happened before he woke up and doing his best to ignore the guy insisting he was his supposed fiancé. What a joke.
He remembered nothing, and that was beginning to worry him quite a bit.
A few minutes later, the doctor arrived with a nurse.
Leon explained the situation quietly, although Bryan caught words like disorientation, memory, and he doesn't recognize me. That seemed rather exaggerated. Obviously he didn't recognize the man because he'd never seen him before in his life. You didn't need a medical degree to work that out.
Still, something about the doctor's expression managed to alarm him a little. Get a grip, Bryan. Everything's going to be fine.
The man introduced himself as Dr. Freeman, reviewed his chart, and began a neurological examination. He asked Bryan to follow a small light with his eyes, checked his reflexes, and asked a series of questions Bryan initially answered with growing impatience. He knew perfectly well what his name was, when he'd been born, who his parents were, and where he lived. He also remembered his sister's name, his job, and even the argument he'd had with one of his neighbors for leaving garbage in the hallway.
When they asked who the president was, he answered without hesitation, although he tried to ignore the looks everyone exchanged afterward.
When they asked what city they were in, he answered that too.
The real problem came with a seemingly simple question.
“All right, Bryan. Can you tell me what today's date is, as far as you know?”
“October 2026. Thursday,” he answered without hesitation. “I can't remember the exact date. The fifteenth, maybe?”
The doctor stopped writing, the nurse discreetly looked up, and at the other end of the room Leon went completely still.
Bryan looked between them, growing both alarmed and nervous.
“What? Did I get the month wrong?”
Dr. Freeman drew up a chair and sat beside him.
“Bryan, I need you to listen carefully. Today is October 16, 2031.”
Bryan stared at him in silence, waiting for something about that sentence to change.
The doctor said nothing else.
“Sorry, what did you say?” he asked, as if he'd misheard, because the man definitely hadn't just said 2031.
“It's the year 2031.”
“No.”
The word escaped before he could even think about it.
The doctor kept his expression calm.
“I understand that this is difficult to accept.”
“No, you don't understand. That's impossible.” Bryan tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness washed over him. “Fuck... No. Wait a minute. Are you telling me it's 2031?”
“That's right.”
“Then what the hell happened to 2027, 2028, 2029, and 2030?”
The doctor exchanged a brief glance with the nurse.
“Based on your answers, you appear to be experiencing retrograde amnesia affecting your more recent autobiographical memories. We still need to monitor your progress and conduct some additional tests to determine the extent of it.”
Bryan looked at him as if he'd just announced that the Earth had stopped spinning.
“Are you telling me I've forgotten five years of my life?”
“It's a possibility we have to take very seriously.”
“Five years?” Bryan repeated in disbelief. “Five fucking years? How the hell does someone forget five years? We're not talking about where I left my car keys or my wallet. We're talking about half a decade of my life!”
His voice had risen considerably. Leon moved toward him at once but stopped when Bryan raised a hand to keep him back.
“No. Wait. I need to think.” He was trying to calm himself down and reason through it.
He tried.
He really did.
He closed his eyes and searched for any memory after 2026. A Christmas, a birthday, a vacation, some insignificant conversation. Anything that could prove those years had happened.
He found nothing.
It was like looking into a completely empty room.
And the harder he tried to remember, the more unbearable that emptiness became.
“This has to be a mistake,” he finally whispered.
Dr. Freeman went on to explain that they couldn't say when, or how much, of his memory he might recover. He advised Bryan to rest, avoid unnecessary strain, and allow his family to share information gradually without pressuring him to remember. He also warned that confusion, fear, and strong emotional reactions could be part of the process.
Bryan barely heard half of it, because suddenly he remembered the blond man still standing beside his bed.
He turned his head.
Leon had his arms folded across his chest and looked so stricken that Bryan felt an uncomfortable knot form in his stomach.
No.
No. Not a fucking chance.
Were they seriously going to tell him that this man was part of those five missing years, too?
That would be too much.
The doctor answered a couple more questions and finally decided to let him rest. Before leaving, he spoke briefly to Leon, who listened with almost unsettling concentration. Bryan watched him nod, ask a question, and receive an answer he apparently didn't like.
Then the door closed.
And they were alone again.
Leon slowly returned to his chair.
Bryan watched him approach.
“How much did Nikki pay you?”
Leon stopped.
“Sorry?”
“My sister. How much did she pay you to do all this?”
The blond stared at him in utter disbelief.
“Bryan...”
“Because it must've cost a fortune. I don't know how she managed to get an entire hospital involved in this bullshit, but I suppose she hired actors, forged documents, or something. Jesus Christ, Nikki, what the fuck have you done this time?”
Leon slowly rubbed his face.
“I can't believe you still think this is a prank.”
“And I can't believe you expect me to accept that I've lost five years of my life and that, apparently, sometime during those years I managed to land a boyfriend who looks like he walked straight out of a fashion campaign.”
Leon lowered his hands.
“Fiancé.”
“You're not helping your case, buddy!”
For the first time since Bryan had woken up, Leon let out a brief, genuine laugh. It was a tired, almost involuntary sound, and it disappeared as soon as he saw Bryan's outraged expression.
“Sorry,” he said. “It's just... even now, you're exactly the same.”
Bryan frowned.
“Exactly the same as what?”
“Yourself.” Bryan rolled his eyes at yet another attempt to make him believe they knew each other. Yeah, sure.
Leon seemed to realize that arguing any further wasn't going to get them anywhere. He took his phone from his pocket and unlocked it.
“All right. You have no reason to believe me, so let me show you something.”
Leon S. Kennedy's photo gallery contained a scandalous number of pictures of Bryan.
That was the first conclusion Bryan reached after several minutes of looking at the screen. There was no other explanation. The man must have developed some kind of obsession with him, because he apparently kept pictures of Bryan sleeping, eating, working, smiling, and making faces at the camera.
In one photograph, the two of them stood on a beach, holding each other in front of the ocean. In another, Bryan was perched on a kitchen counter while Leon stood between his legs, kissing him. There were pictures from a family Christmas, a trip to Italy, an elegant restaurant, and an outing where they both looked as though they'd been completely drenched by the rain.
Bryan recognized his own face in every single one.
What truly unsettled him was how familiar he seemed with Leon.
In almost every photograph, he was touching the blond man somehow. He had an arm around his waist, a hand at the back of his neck, or his fingers intertwined with Leon's. In others he was simply looking at him, but there was something in his expression that Bryan had never seen in his earlier photographs.
He looked in love.
Deeply in love.
“Well,” Bryan murmured after a while, “I've got to admit, these are really well done.”
Leon looked up.
“What is?”
“The pictures. What program did you use?”
It took the blond a second to understand.
“They're not AI-generated images.”
“Right, and I was born yesterday. Come on, Leon.” Bryan zoomed in on a picture of them dressed elegantly in front of a floral arrangement. “Look at this. Even the shadows look real. It's amazing how far technology has come.”
Leon stared at him for a few seconds, then slowly shook his head. Only Bryan could be this stubborn.
“You're unbelievable.”
“Thanks.”
“That wasn't a compliment.” Bryan shrugged.
Leon breathed out through his nose, visibly resigned. He swiped until he found another photograph and held it up.
In it, Leon was kneeling in front of Bryan with a small open box in his hand. His expression was serious, although the smile he was trying to suppress was obvious. Bryan, meanwhile, had both hands over his mouth and tears in his eyes.
“I proposed eight months ago,” Leon explained. “We were on vacation. You said I couldn't possibly be serious because we'd just argued about something stupid.”
Bryan studied the photograph with a frown.
“What were we arguing about?”
“Because I screwed up our hotel reservations.”
“That was pretty stupid.”
“Yeah, well. You mentioned it a few times.”
Bryan looked back at the picture.
“And then you proposed to me?”
“Yes.”
“Nice way to distract me from your incompetence.”
“It worked, didn't it?” Leon smiled.
Bryan gave a small laugh, but his attention drifted to his own hand. Until that moment, he hadn't really noticed the ring he was wearing.
It was an elegant piece, simple in design, with a central stone that caught the light whenever he moved his fingers. He didn't know much about jewelry, but he had a sneaking suspicion it hadn't been cheap.
“Hang on a second.”
Leon followed his gaze.
“What?”
“Is this ring real?”
“Of course.”
“The diamond, too?”
“Bryan...”
“How much did it cost?”
Leon shifted in his chair.
“I don't think that's important right now,” he said, avoiding Bryan's bewildered, accusing stare.
Bryan fixed him with a hard look.
“It's an engagement ring,” Leon added, apparently hoping to sidestep the question of how much he'd spent on the piece of jewelry. Leon had never been one to spare any expense when it came to Bryan, and he certainly hadn't intended to start with something as important as his engagement ring.
“I know what the fuck it is! I'm asking how much you spent.”
Leon had the audacity to smile without a trace of shame.
“We had this exact argument when I gave it to you.”
Bryan narrowed his eyes.
“I'm starting to suspect future Bryan has a pretty good head on his shoulders.”
“He has his moments.”
“Hey.”
Leon chuckled softly, though the sound faded when he noticed the confusion on Bryan's face.
He decided to open their message thread instead.
There were thousands of messages. Literally thousands, exchanged over several years.
Bryan began reading, surprised by how naturally they seemed to talk to each other. Most were ordinary, everyday conversations: reminders to buy groceries, pictures of something stupid they'd seen during the day, questions about schedules, arguments about movies, and messages sent from different rooms of what was apparently their home.
In one conversation, Bryan threatened to throw Leon's shoes out the window if he left them in the middle of the living room again. In another, Leon informed him that he'd bought a new car, prompting Bryan to unleash such a creative string of insults that even he had to stifle a laugh.
The affectionate messages were the most disconcerting part.
Not because he wasn't used to being in relationships, but because it was strange to discover himself saying I love you to a man he'd only just met.
Leon opened one of the voice messages.
Bryan's own voice filled the room.
“Leon, for the love of God, tell me you didn't buy that fucking armchair we saw yesterday. I'm serious. If I get home and find that monstrosity in our living room, I swear I'll file for divorce before we even get married. Oh, and buy milk. Love you.”
Bryan stared at the phone.
He knew that voice perfectly.
“Shit,” he muttered.
Leon watched him cautiously, his hope poorly disguised.
“Remember something?”
Bryan slowly shook his head.
“No, but I have to admit, that's a really impressive imitation.”
Leon closed his eyes.
“Of course,” he muttered under his breath.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You can fake people's voices with AI now, too?”
Leon rested his elbows on his knees, set his phone on the mattress, and clasped his hands in front of his mouth. He stayed like that for several seconds, staring at the floor, before finally letting out a short, desperate laugh.
“Okay. I think I need help.”
Bryan smiled in satisfaction.
“Finally, something we agree on.”
Leon picked up his phone again.
“I'm calling your parents.”
Bryan's smile widened.
“Excellent. Finally, somebody with common sense who can help me put an end to this farce.”
Leon didn't answer. He simply found a contact and raised the phone to his ear.
The call with Ryland Grace lasted less than five minutes, but that was enough to convince Leon that the evening was going to be considerably more complicated than he'd anticipated.
Ryland answered on the second ring and barely let Leon finish saying that Bryan was awake before launching into questions. Could he talk? Did he recognize people? Had he eaten? What had the doctors said? Had anyone checked his pupillary reflexes properly? When Leon mentioned the memory loss, there was such an abrupt silence that he feared the call had dropped—or that Grace himself had just keeled over.
Then Ryland started speaking even faster.
Leon let him. He knew his future father-in-law well enough to understand that this was how he processed fear. Ryland needed to understand things, to turn them into concrete problems that could be examined and solved. When he was nervous, his mind seemed to fall back automatically on scientific explanations, questions, and lines of reasoning that were often much longer than necessary.
In the background, Simon's voice cut in.
“Grace, give me the phone.”
Ryland protested.
There was a rustle, a brief argument, and finally Simon took the call.
“Kennedy. Is he conscious?”
“Yes.”
“Can he speak normally?”
“Yes, but he doesn't remember anything from the last five years.”
Simon went quiet.
“Did he recognize you?”
Leon looked toward the bed, where Bryan was still watching him with open suspicion.
“No.”
The next pause was considerably longer.
“We're on our way,” Simon said at last.
He didn't ask anything else, and he didn't try to offer comforting words. Leon was silently grateful for both.
By the time Bryan's parents arrived, night had fallen over Raccoon City and the hospital lights had taken on a softer glow. Bryan had spent much of the afternoon fluctuating between boredom, irritation, and an anxiety he stubbornly refused to acknowledge.
Leon had stayed beside him the entire time.
He didn't insist on showing him more photographs or try to force him to remember. Instead, he answered his questions, helped him when he needed to sit up, and discreetly watched for any sign that his headache was getting worse. He'd also found Bryan something to eat after checking with the nurse and had the foresight to remove the tray as soon as Bryan started feeling nauseated.
He was infuriatingly considerate.
And worse, he seemed to know Bryan far too well. Nikki had done an excellent job finding this guy. Bryan was still curious how much she'd paid him.
When Bryan complained that the water was too cold, Leon brought him another bottle without comment. When he tried to sleep, Leon dimmed the lights. And when Bryan began nervously worrying the blanket with his fingers, Leon asked whether he wanted the television on at precisely the moment Bryan had been about to ask.
It was unnerving.
A stranger shouldn't know that much about him.
But Bryan still refused to accept the alternative. It was too surreal.
The door opened a little after nine.
“Bryan?”
He recognized the voice instantly.
His father appeared in the doorway looking so visibly worried that relief washed over Bryan.
Ryland Grace wore dark trousers, a blue sweater, and a jacket he'd apparently thrown on in a hurry. His hair was disheveled, his glasses sat slightly crooked on his nose, and he had that familiar look he got whenever he was trying to process too much information at once.
“Dad!” It might have sounded childish, but Bryan couldn't keep the urgency out of his voice.
Ryland crossed the room in seconds.
“Oh, thank God. Thank God, you're awake.” He bent to hug him, then stopped halfway, looking at the bandages around his head. “Wait, can I hug you? Does your neck hurt? Did the doctors say anything about possible cervical injuries? Because Leon told me they ran tests, but I wasn't entirely clear on whether—”
“Dad, I'm fine.”
“Yes, well, technically you're in a hospital with a brain injury, so our definition of fine might need a little adjusting.”
Bryan burst out laughing, only for it to turn into a grimace of pain.
“Fuck. Don't make me laugh.”
Ryland went pale.
“Sorry. God, I'm sorry. Does it hurt badly? Do you want me to call someone?”
“Dad, just hug me.”
That finally stopped Ryland talking.
He embraced Bryan as gently as he could, putting his arms around his shoulders and a hand on his back. Bryan felt his father slowly breathe out, as though he'd been holding his breath ever since he'd heard about the accident.
“You scared us so much,” Ryland murmured against his hair and bandages.
Bryan closed his eyes.
“I'm sorry.”
“You don't have to apologize, sweetheart. Just... try not to do anything like this again, okay? I'm not nearly as good at handling family emergencies as I pretend to be. Especially now that I'm not so young anymore.”
“That's a lie,” a deep voice interrupted from the doorway. “You're not even good at pretending.”
Bryan lifted his head.
Simon stood in the doorway.
His expression was considerably harder to read than Ryland's. He was wearing a dark T-shirt, black pants, and a battered military jacket he'd refused to replace for years. His shoulders were tense and his hands were shoved into his pockets, but his eyes traveled over Bryan from head to toe with a precision that would have unsettled anyone who didn't know him.
Bryan knew that look.
It was the same one his father wore whenever someone came home injured, or whenever Nikki turned up with a suspiciously complicated explanation for having done something highly questionable.
“Hey, Appa.”
Simon didn't answer immediately.
He approached the bed, glanced at the monitor, and carefully examined the bandages covering part of Bryan's forehead.
“You look like shit,” he said without the slightest attempt at tact. Yep. Definitely his father.
Bryan smiled.
“Good to see you, too.”
Simon huffed. Then he bent down and hugged him with one arm, his other hand gently supporting the back of Bryan's neck.
It was a brief embrace, but a firm one.
Bryan felt the familiar weight of that hand, and for the first time since waking up, he had the sense that something finally made sense.
“You scared the hell out of us, idiot,” Simon muttered.
“Yeah, well, I don't remember planning it.”
When Simon pulled away, he kept his hand on Bryan's shoulder a few seconds longer than necessary. Bryan didn't comment. He knew his father hated showing emotion in front of strangers, especially when he was worried.
Ryland, meanwhile, looked as though he was making a heroic effort not to hug him again.
“We talked to the doctor before coming up,” he explained. “He told us about your memory. They want to run some more assessments tomorrow, but your vital signs are stable, which is good news. Very good news, actually. It doesn't solve everything, of course, but it's a starting point.”
Bryan frowned.
“Yeah, about that... Somebody needs to explain what the fuck is going on here.”
Ryland exchanged a glance with Simon.
Leon, who'd remained discreetly by the window until then, straightened.
“I told them what happened when you woke up.”
“I figured,” Simon replied.
Bryan looked between them suspiciously.
“Wait. You know each other?”
Ryland opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
Simon slowly raised his eyebrows.
Leon sighed.
“I think we should sit down,” Ryland suggested.
Bryan felt an unpleasant suspicion creep over him.
“Dad...”
“Sweetheart, before we start, I want you to understand that you don't have to figure all of this out right now.”
“That doesn't sound good.”
“I'm just saying you've been through something traumatic, and you're probably frightened and confused, and—”
“Ryland,” Simon interrupted.
“What?”
“Get to the point.”
Ryland turned toward him indignantly.
“I'm trying to handle this gently.”
“You've spent five minutes trying to finish a sentence.”
“Because it's a complicated situation!” Simon merely rolled his eyes, long accustomed to this side of his husband.
Bryan watched them argue.
It was normal. So painfully normal that he could have cried, because at last there was something he knew, something he could remember.
His dad, Ryland, had always been incapable of explaining anything without starting with the background, the possible variables, and a string of entirely unnecessary examples. Simon, on the other hand, believed any conversation could be made considerably shorter if everyone would just stop talking bullshit.
Surprisingly, it was one of the reasons they'd stayed married for so many years. Opposites attract.
It was also one of the reasons Nikki and Bryan had learned to quietly make themselves scarce whenever their parents started bickering over something ridiculous.
“Could you two stop arguing for five minutes? Hello? Injured son over here,” Bryan said, finally getting both of them to look at him.
Ryland seemed embarrassed.
Simon, on the other hand, wore the faintest hint of a smile.
“Definitely still our son.”
Leon gave a small laugh from the window.
Bryan immediately pointed at him.
“And you, stop laughing. We still haven't established what the hell you're doing here.”
The silence that followed was rather telling.
Ryland slowly sat beside the bed.
“Bryan, sweetheart, do you remember what year you think it is?”
“2026.”
His father nodded slowly.
“Okay. That's consistent with what the doctor told us. But I need you to understand something: it's 2031. We're not saying that to confuse you, and nobody's trying to play a prank on you. It's the truth.”
Bryan stared at him.
For a moment, he wanted to laugh.
He wanted to ask what Nikki had done to get their own parents involved in this farce.
But Ryland wasn't smiling.
And neither was Simon.
“Appa,” Bryan said at last, desperately searching for some sign that they were in on the joke, “tell him to cut the bullshit.”
Simon met his eyes steadily.
“He's not joking.”
“But that's impossible.”
“I know.”
“No, you don't!” Bryan felt desperation rising in his chest. “You're telling me I've lost five years of my life! Five years, for fuck's sake! How am I supposed to believe something like that?”
Simon didn't flinch at his tone.
He came closer to the bed and rested both hands on the rail.
“Listen to me, Bryan. I know you're scared. I also know you don't have any reason to believe what we're telling you right now. But look at me and tell me if I've ever lied to you about anything important.”
Bryan opened his mouth.
No answer came.
Simon had plenty of faults. He was distrustful, stubborn, tactless, and could become the most insufferable man on the planet whenever he thought someone was doing something stupid. But deliberately lying to his children about something serious had never been one of his habits.
“No,” Bryan admitted at last, defeat settling over him.
“Then believe me when I tell you it's 2031. You had an accident, hit your head, and the doctors think it affected your memory. I don't like it one fucking bit, but that's what happened.”
Bryan felt his hands go cold.
He looked at Ryland, searching for one last chance that all of this was a lie.
His father's eyes were wet.
“I'm so sorry, sweetheart,” Ryland said softly. “I wish we could tell you something else.”
Bryan slowly sank back against his pillow.
For once, he had no sarcastic comeback ready.
For several minutes, no one said a word.
Bryan stared at the ceiling, trying to sort through his thoughts. His memory kept telling him he was twenty-six years old, that it was October 2026, and that his biggest concern should be finishing a few things for work before the weekend. Yet his parents insisted five years had gone by, and however absurd it seemed, he was beginning to understand that he couldn't simply dismiss the possibility because he found it impossible to believe.
That meant he'd forgotten birthdays, Christmases, conversations, decisions, and events that had changed his life. It meant Nikki was five years older, his parents had aged, and he himself had lived through experiences that now felt completely foreign to him.
And it meant something else.
Bryan slowly turned his head toward Leon.
The blond was still standing beside the window with his hands in his pockets. He hadn't interrupted the conversation with Bryan's parents. He'd simply stayed there, respecting the space Bryan needed with his family, though his expression made it clear he would much rather have been closer.
“So...” Bryan began, his throat dry. “That guy really is my boyfriend?”
Ryland followed his gaze.
“Yes, sweetheart.”
Bryan swallowed.
“And we're engaged?”
“Since February,” his father replied.
Bryan looked at Simon.
“You knew about this?”
Simon regarded him with an almost offended expression.
“He asked us for your hand long before he proposed.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Appa, you hate all my boyfriends.”
“I don't hate all your boyfriends.”
Ryland let out an incredulous laugh.
Simon shot him an annoyed look.
“What?”
“Simon, honey, you threatened to break the nose of the last guy Bryan dated before Leon.”
“Because he was an asshole.”
“He was an accountant.”
“Doesn't make him any less of an asshole.”
Bryan ignored their argument.
“So, wait.” He pointed at Leon, utterly incredulous. “You're telling me you approved of me marrying this man?”
Simon glanced briefly at the blond.
“He wasn't my first choice.”
Leon inclined his head slightly.
“The feeling's mutual.”
Ryland closed his eyes.
“Please don't start again.”
Bryan looked from one man to the other.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Leon folded his arms.
“Your father and I had a few differences when we first met.”
Simon scoffed.
“Differences.” He gave a cynical little laugh. “That's one way of putting it.”
“He interrogated me for three hours.”
“Two.”
“Three. I remember because there was a clock in the room.”
“Then you should've spent that time thinking of better answers.”
Ryland rubbed his temples.
“Oh my God, you're still arguing about that dinner? It's been four years.”
Bryan's eyes widened.
“Four years?”
Leon stopped looking at Simon.
“Yeah. We met four years ago, in 2027.”
“How old were you?”
“Twenty-one.”
Bryan blinked.
“Twenty-one?”
“Yes.”
“And me?”
“Twenty-six.”
Bryan slowly turned toward his parents.
“Are you telling me I started dating a twenty-one-year-old college kid?”
“I wasn't in college,” Leon clarified.
“THAT DOESN'T MAKE IT BETTER!”
Ryland covered his mouth with one hand. Simon looked away, although the movement of his lips suggested he was holding back a smile. Leon, meanwhile, seemed to be enjoying the conversation considerably more than was appropriate.
“To be fair,” Leon remarked, “you were the one who asked me out first.”
Bryan stared at him indignantly.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“For fuck's sake! What kind of existential crisis was I going through?”
Leon gave a slight shrug.
“You didn't seem particularly worried about my age when you kissed me.”
“LEON!”
Ryland burst into an involuntary laugh.
Simon closed his eyes.
“Kennedy, I'd appreciate it if you didn't share unnecessary details about my son's love life.”
“I wasn't sharing details, sir.”
Bryan desperately wished he could disappear under the blankets.
It was humiliating. Absolutely humiliating.
Not only had he forgotten five years of his life, but apparently future Bryan had decided to fall in love with a man five years younger, outrageously attractive, and brazen enough to make jokes about their relationship in front of his parents.
Worse still, Leon seemed to have a natural talent for getting under his skin.
And for some reason Bryan couldn't quite understand, he was beginning to like it.
He must have done something really good in a previous life to end up in a relationship with someone like Leon.
The conversation continued for almost an hour.
Ryland tried to fill him in on some of the important events of the last few years, although Simon had to remind him several times that there was no need to reconstruct five entire years in one night. Bryan learned that Nikki was fine, that she was still every bit as insufferable as ever, and that she'd promised to visit him the next day. He also found out he'd changed jobs, moved house, and that his parents still lived in the same family home.
Those details were strangely comforting.
Not everything had changed. At least that was something, considering everything else.
Ryland was still a teacher who talked too much when he was nervous and who, according to Simon, couldn't tell the difference between a simple explanation and a university lecture. Simon was still the same reserved, grumpy, profoundly suspicious man who could go hours without saying a word and still make sure everyone knew exactly what he was thinking.
And Nikki was still Nikki.
“Is she married?” Bryan asked suddenly.
Ryland shook his head.
“No.”
Bryan breathed a sigh of relief.
“Thank God. For a second I thought I'd missed her wedding, too.”
Simon raised an eyebrow.
“If she ever gets married, she'll probably spend six months planning it and then change everything the night before.”
Bryan smiled.
“That sounds exactly like her.”
It was a small smile, but a genuine one.
Ryland seemed to relax at the sight of it.
Leon, who had returned to his chair, watched the conversation quietly. Bryan was starting to notice something curious about him. Despite his easygoing appearance and his talent for sarcastic remarks, Leon paid extraordinary attention to everything happening in the room. Whenever Bryan shifted position, his eyes flicked toward him. If Bryan frowned, Leon seemed to be assessing whether he was in pain. And when Bryan's voice began to grow faint with exhaustion, Leon was the first to suggest that perhaps they should pick up the conversation tomorrow.
He didn't say it in an overbearing way.
He simply looked at Ryland and said that Bryan needed to rest.
Simon agreed immediately.
Bryan, however, protested.
“I'm fine, damn it. I'm not five years old.”
“No,” Simon replied. “You have a head injury, and you've spent more than half a day arguing with a medical diagnosis. Lie down.”
“Appa...”
“No.”
“But—”
“Bryan.”
That tone was enough.
Bryan sank back against his pillow with an expression of profound resentment.
Leon made the mistake of smiling.
Bryan pointed at him.
“Not one fucking word.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You're thinking it.”
“Probably.”
Ryland gave a little giggle.
Simon shook his head, although his expression had softened.
When it was time to leave, Ryland was visibly reluctant to abandon the room. He'd asked the doctor whether he could stay the night, but the staff's recommendations and Simon's insistence eventually convinced him that he needed to get some rest himself.
Before leaving, he hugged Bryan again.
“We'll see you tomorrow morning, okay? If you need anything, call us. I don't care what time it is.”
“I know, Dad.”
Ryland pulled back just far enough to look him in the eyes.
“And sweetheart, listen. I know all of this must feel like... well, a pretty ridiculous nightmare. But you don't have to understand everything all at once. We'll help you piece together whatever we can, one step at a time.”
Something tightened in Bryan's chest.
“What if I don't remember anything?”
Ryland was quiet for a few seconds.
Then he gently stroked Bryan's hair, careful not to touch the bandages.
“Then we'll still be here. You don't need to remember the last five years for us to still be your family, do you?”
Bryan looked down.
“No.”
“Good. Well, the same goes for everything else. You don't have to rush.”
Simon came over after Ryland stepped aside.
For a few seconds, he merely looked at Bryan.
“Listen to the doctors,” he finally said. “And if something hurts, say so. Don't try to act tough just to stop us worrying.”
Bryan gave him a weak smile.
“Isn't that exactly what you do?”
Simon stared at him.
“Don't change the subject.”
“Hypocrite.”
“Brat.”
Bryan laughed, managing this time to stop before it hurt too much.
Simon laid a hand on his head with extreme care.
His expression shifted almost imperceptibly.
“I'm glad you woke up, son.”
Bryan felt tears prickle his eyes.
“Me too, Appa.”
Simon nodded once.
Then he stepped away.
Before leaving, however, he stopped beside Leon.
“Kennedy.”
The blond looked up immediately.
“Yes, sir?”
Simon studied him for a few seconds.
“If anything happens, call us.”
“I will.”
“Anything.”
Leon nodded.
“I know.”
Simon seemed satisfied. He gave Leon a brief pat on the shoulder and followed Ryland toward the door.
Bryan watched them leave.
Only then did something occur to him that he'd overlooked until that moment.
Simon trusted Leon. He didn't merely tolerate him—he trusted him enough to leave his injured son in his care. And Bryan knew his father far too well not to understand how extraordinary that was.
The room grew quiet after his parents left.
Leon gathered the empty water bottles from the table, straightened the jacket he'd left on the sofa, and made sure Bryan could reach the nurse-call button.
Bryan watched him discreetly.
Now that he knew the man really was his fiancé, looking at him felt even stranger.
Because he was still a stranger.
A stranger who apparently knew every detail of his life.
“Hey, Leon.”
The blond looked up.
“Yeah?”
Bryan hesitated.
There was a question he'd been avoiding for hours.
“How long have you been here?”
Leon briefly checked his watch.
“Since they brought you in.”
“No, I mean... Have you gone home? Have you slept?”
The silence was answer enough.
Bryan frowned.
“Leon.”
“I got some sleep.”
“Sitting in that chair?”
“I've slept in worse places.”
“That doesn't mean it's a good idea, idiot.”
Leon gave a low chuckle.
“Glad to see you still care about my well-being.”
Bryan shifted awkwardly under the sheets.
“Well, somebody has to. You have awful bags under your eyes.”
“Thanks. That's very kind.”
“You're welcome.”
Leon smiled, but when he returned to his chair, Bryan noticed that his exhaustion was much more obvious up close. His eyes were bloodshot and his jaw held a persistent tension. His shirt was wrinkled, and there was something almost painful in the way he watched Bryan when he thought Bryan wasn't paying attention.
It made Bryan uncomfortable.
Not because Leon was doing anything wrong.
But because he was beginning to understand what it must feel like to be on the other side of this situation.
To Bryan, Leon was an extraordinarily handsome stranger who had suddenly appeared beside his hospital bed. To Leon, though, Bryan was the man he'd shared his life with for four years—and that man had just woken up without recognizing him.
“That must've been pretty shitty,” Bryan murmured.
Leon looked up.
“What?”
“When I woke up.” Bryan picked at the blanket, avoiding his eyes. “Me asking who the hell you were.”
Leon stayed quiet for a few seconds.
“Not exactly the answer I was hoping for.”
Bryan gave a humorless little laugh.
“Yeah. I can imagine.”
“Although, to be fair, you called me a Calvin Klein model before accusing me of being part of a conspiracy organized by your sister.”
Bryan looked at him indignantly.
“Because it seemed like a perfectly reasonable conspiracy at the time!”
“Of course that's the part you're focusing on.”
“Don't make fun of me.”
Leon's smile was far too innocent to be believable. Bryan rolled his eyes, but ended up smiling too.
They sat in silence for a few seconds.
Then Bryan looked at him again.
“Leon.”
“Hmm?”
“Am I happy?”
The question seemed to take him by surprise.
Leon stopped smiling.
“What?”
Bryan took a deep breath. He wasn't entirely sure how to express what he was thinking without sounding pathetic, but the uncertainty was growing too heavy to keep ignoring.
“I mean... I don't remember anything. I don't know what I did for five years, where I work now, or how I ended up living with you. My parents say we're engaged, so I guess that means things are going well, but...” He broke off awkwardly. “Shit, I don't know. I just want to know if I'm happy.”
Leon watched him with a seriousness that contrasted sharply with his manner a few minutes earlier.
He didn't answer immediately.
He seemed to be choosing his words carefully.
“Yes,” he finally said. “I think you are.”
Bryan frowned slightly.
“You think?”
Leon rested his forearms on his knees.
“I'm not going to tell you everything's perfect. That would be a pretty stupid lie, especially since you'd probably find out otherwise the moment we got home.”
Bryan gave a small laugh.
“That's reassuring.”
“We argue. Sometimes a lot. I work too much, you're unbelievably stubborn, and neither of us is particularly good at admitting when we're wrong.”
“That last part definitely sounds like me.”
“Believe me, I know.” Leon smiled briefly. “But we laugh a lot, too. We travel when we can, have dinner with your parents almost every Sunday, and have a ridiculous number of photographs because you insist on documenting absolutely everything.”
Bryan looked down at his hands.
“And you?”
“Me, what?”
“Are you happy with me?”
Leon looked genuinely surprised.
Then he let out a soft breath, almost a laugh.
“Bryan, I was going to marry you.”
“That doesn't exactly answer—”
“Yes,” Leon interrupted, his voice carrying absolute certainty. “I'm happy with you.”
The simplicity of the answer caught Bryan off guard.
Leon reached a hand toward him across the bed, but stopped short of touching him.
Bryan looked at his fingers for a moment.
Then, without quite understanding why, he placed his own hand over Leon's.
Leon's expression softened immediately.
“What if I don't remember?” Bryan asked quietly.
Leon brushed a thumb across his knuckles.
“Then I'll have to win you over the way you won me over.”
Bryan looked up.
“Just like that?”
“I didn't say it'd be easy.”
“And what if I never feel the same way about you again?”
That question did seem to hurt him.
Bryan saw it in the slight tightening of his jaw, in the way Leon lowered his eyes for a second before answering, without letting go of his hand.
“Then we'll have to talk about it if that happens.”
Bryan stared at him.
It wasn't the grand, romantic answer straight out of some cheesy movie, but the sincerity behind it was what Bryan liked so much.
“I'm not going to ask you to pretend you remember something you don't, Bryan. And I don't want you to feel obligated to act the way you used to around me just because everyone keeps telling you we're together. If you need time, you've got it.”
Bryan felt a strange tightness in his chest.
“Shit.”
Leon raised an eyebrow.
“Is that good or bad?”
“I don't know yet.”
The blond gave a soft laugh.
Bryan studied him for a few more seconds, tilting his head.
“Although I do have to admit something.”
“What's that?”
“I can see why future Bryan fell in love with you.”
Leon looked surprised.
“Oh, yeah?”
Bryan made a vague gesture with his free hand.
“I mean, look at you. With your Greek-god looks, it'd be pretty hard not to. Besides, you're thoughtful, you've got a sense of humor, and apparently you managed to get my Appa to accept you, which should count as some kind of miracle.”
Leon smiled without a trace of arrogance, only quiet, deeply genuine relief.
“Your father still threatens me every now and then.”
“That means he likes you,” Bryan said with a soft laugh.
And then something strange happened.
Leon stroked his knuckles again, exactly the way he'd done a few seconds earlier. It was a simple, almost insignificant gesture.
And yet Bryan felt an inexplicable familiarity. It wasn't a memory. It was simply the sense that he knew this touch, that he'd felt it countless times, and that for some reason his body seemed to trust the man in front of him even while his memoryless mind told him to be cautious.
The feeling lasted only a few seconds.
But it was enough to unsettle him.
“Bryan?”
He looked up.
Leon was watching him attentively.
“Everything okay?”
Bryan hesitated for a few seconds, then slowly nodded.
“Yeah... I think so.”
He wasn't certain that was true, but he didn't feel like discussing it, either.
A while later, when Leon was about to switch off the light so Bryan could rest, Bryan remembered something that had been nagging at him ever since talking to his parents.
“Hey.”
Leon stopped beside the switch.
“Yeah?”
“You said we live together.”
“We do.”
“At my apartment?”
Leon looked at him for a moment, weighing his answer, unsure how this version of his fiancé would react.
“Not exactly.”
Bryan frowned.
“We moved?”
“Yeah.”
“To a bigger apartment?”
Leon appeared to consider his answer carefully.
“You could say that.”
Bryan narrowed his eyes. There was something suspicious about that expression.
“Kennedy.”
“What?”
“Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like your answer?”
Leon smiled.
“Because you didn't like it the first time.”
“Answer the question.”
“We live in a house.”
Bryan nodded, waiting for more details.
Four years together, an engagement, and two incomes. They could have afforded to buy a house. That didn't seem too strange.
“Okay. A nice house?”
“You like it.”
“Come on, man, give me something more than that. Is it big?”
Leon ran a hand through his hair.
“Depends on what you consider big.”
Bryan stared at him.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Bryan, you've just woken up after an accident. I think we can discuss real estate tomorrow.”
“Real estate? Who the fuck talks about their own house like that?”
Leon burst out laughing.
Bryan watched him with growing suspicion. Then he remembered the ring, the pictures from their supposed vacation in Italy, and the photograph of the yacht. There was also that conversation about the new car and, above all, Leon's suspiciously casual refusal to say how much he'd spent on the engagement ring.
“Wait a second.” The few pieces he had were beginning to fall into place.
Leon closed his eyes.
“Oh, no.”
“What?”
“I know that tone.”
Bryan pushed himself slightly upright against the pillows.
“Leon, are you rich?”
The blond opened his eyes.
Looked at him.
Then slowly looked away.
Bryan felt his heart speed up.
“Leon.”
“I don't think that's a particularly important question right now.”
“Holy fucking shit! That's a yes!”
Leon let out a resigned laugh.
“You should rest.”
“Don't tell me to rest! Answer me!”
“Can we talk about this tomorrow?”
“JUST HOW FUCKING RICH ARE YOU?!”
The door suddenly opened.
A nurse appeared, looking concerned.
“Is everything all right? We heard someone shouting.”
Leon turned toward her with a perfectly polite smile.
“Everything's fine. My fiancé has just discovered we're rather financially comfortable.”
Bryan stared at him in absolute outrage.
“HE DIDN'T SAY COMFORTABLE! HE SAID RATHER COMFORTABLE! THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT A MILLIONAIRE WOULD SAY TO AVOID ADMITTING HE'S A MILLIONAIRE!”
The nurse blinked.
Leon lowered his head, trying to hold back his laughter.
And Bryan realized, with a mixture of horror and fascination, that he still had an awful lot to discover about those five missing years.
Especially about Leon S. Kennedy.
His fiancé.
The man he'd apparently managed to make fall in love with him when Leon was twenty-one, who had survived Simon's threats, who knew Bryan's habits better than Bryan knew them himself, and who was now trying to get him to sleep while avoiding perfectly reasonable questions about his apparent fortune.
Bryan let his head fall back against the pillow.
“Oh my God,” he muttered, closing his eyes. “What the fuck did I do with my life?”
Leon returned to his bedside and gently straightened his blanket.
“From what I remember, you did pretty well.”
Bryan opened one eye.
“That's exactly what someone who knows something I don't would say.”
Leon smiled.
“Good night, Bryan.”
“We're not done with this conversation, Kennedy.”
“Never thought for a second we were.”
He switched off the main light, leaving only a small lamp burning beside the bed, and sat back down in his chair.
Bryan lay awake for a few more minutes, listening to the steady beeping of the monitor and the quiet breathing of the man beside him.
He couldn't remember how they'd met.
He couldn't remember their first kiss, their first vacation together, or the moment he'd decided to accept Leon's proposal.
He couldn't remember a single thing about the life Leon said they'd shared.
But when, half asleep, he felt fingers carefully intertwine with his own, he didn't pull away.
And Leon, who'd spent so many hours desperately waiting for some sign that everything might be all right, remained silent.
He didn't know whether Bryan would recover his memories.
He didn't know what would happen to the wedding, considering how reluctant one of the grooms currently was.
He didn't even know whether the man he loved would ever look at him the same way he had before the accident.
But Bryan was still here. He was alive. And for the first time since receiving the phone call that had turned his world upside down, Leon allowed himself to close his eyes.
After a few minutes, he heard a sleepy voice.
“Leon...”
He opened his eyes immediately.
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
Bryan was too exhausted to make a fuss about the pet name.
“If you really are a millionaire, you'd better not have spent some stupid amount of money on my ring.”
Leon looked up at the ceiling.
He held back a smile.
“Go to sleep, Bryan.”
“Fuck's sake. You did, didn't you...”
Leon laughed silently as Bryan drifted back to sleep.
Maybe they'd recover those five years. Or maybe they'd have to build five new ones.
But there was one thing Leon knew for certain.
His fiancé might have forgotten their four years together, but he was still exactly the same man Leon had fallen in love with.
And considering Bryan had already discovered just how attractive he found Leon, Leon suspected that winning him over all over again was going to be a rather interesting experience.