it's another log

[unironickylorenfan]

Who: Marty & Liam
When: 5/22
Where: Hall near the infirmary
What: Liam is Forgetful, Marty helps him out
Warnings: It's only 8 pages this time ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Suddenly, Liam doesn't remember where he's going. His feet carry him three more unsure steps before he stops and stares down the hall. Was he headed to the infirmary, or just leaving it? Where is the infirmary? Who was hurt? Someone he cares about? What's their name? Answers that should be there slip through his fingers and the mix of fear and frustration that hits him is almost nauseating.

He recalls the mission. The rift. The fire and smoke. What came after. Faces blur, though. Names jumbled. And the details of the last day, week, month, year—it's all a mess. Like a small child separated from his mother in a crowded place, Liam starts to panic. Every time he grasps for missing knowledge, the worry scatters his thoughts further. He whips his head around as though the answers are hiding in his peripheral vision. Lost and needing something solid, he presses his palm against the wall, then his shoulders. He takes a steadying breath and slides to the floor. Just a minute. He just needs a minute.

Marty definitely isn't headed to the infirmary to check on anyone. He doesn't have any other explicable reason for being there, but he's certainly not going to admit that he's particularly worried about Noah, Neal, and Liam. He's considering excuses for being there when he isn't injured himself when he rounds the corner and spots Liam, slumping to the ground. He's no longer concerned with playing it cool when he rushes to him. "Hey. Are you okay?" he asks, kneeling down in front of him, putting one hand on his shoulder. The panic in Liam's expression breaks, but he still recoils instinctively from Marty's touch, pressing himself against the wall like a cornered animal, his entire body a raw nerve. Marty jerks his hand back as if Liam had snapped at it.

"I'm fine." Liam says, clipped and gruff and fumbling to right his glasses on his face, but only knocking them more askew. "I'm just—" He seems scattered and skittish, and Marty doesn't know what to do with his hands, but he doesn't reach for him again.

With another heavy breath, Liam settles himself, grappling composure and holding it in place. His attention finally settles on the young man in front of him and something pulls taut in his chest, sharp and hot and aching. That feeling is so strange. "I just, um," he touches his glasses again, nervous, and still guarded. This person is someone he should remember. It's infuriating, not knowing, and in his present state Liam has no qualms about squinting into the other boy's face trying to force his brain to call up a name. "I can't—I keep...forgetting."

Marty tilts his head to the side with canine curiosity. "Forgetting..?" he says, recalling Squad Two's experience with that particular ailment earlier in the year. Then, suddenly realizing, he says, "Wait, forgetting me?"

"Uh," Liam bites down on his lower lip, unsure of how to respond. The slight strain in this other boy's voice startles him and, finding himself unable to meet his eye without feeling hot behind the ears, he looks away. A part of him wants desperately not to say 'Yes'. "I don't...know," he manages, frustration edging into his voice.

"Huh," is all Marty manages to say. He can’t be angry, it’s not really fair, but he’s annoyed regardless. Maybe Liam has told him he’s unforgettable too often and he took him too literally. He can’t quite wrap his head around the idea that Liam doesn’t even remember him a little bit. "Not at at all?"

"You're familiar." He allows with one more stolen glance at Marty, then fixes his gaze on the floor, tracing the grout lines between tiles until the fire in his head cools. He's quiet for a long time, piecing things together. This boy is kind, and gentle, and… hurt(?) at not being recognized. So, "you're a friend," but he'd touched him, and been surprised when Liam balked. So they can't be that close. Liam furrows his brow. "But…" The way his cheeks fill with warmth when this boy looks at him, Liam can guess there’s a crush in there somewhere, too. Ugh. Pining. He keeps that realization to himself and straightens his glasses on his face. "It's, like, everything's redacted," Liam grumbles, miserable.

Marty rocks back, letting his weight rest on his feet. "Oh, we’re friends alright…" he says, and manages not to say naked friends, but barely. His tone has Liam turning his chin up. The faint implication in the other boy's words is so obnoxiously distracting that Liam can't even hold onto the electric panic crackling across his skin. He snorts, but the tension in his shoulders relaxes slightly, too, hands dropping from his face—from their defensive position. He levels an incredulous look Marty's way, eyes narrowed.

Marty thinks back to when Noah and Dallas had been afflicted. After the initial trouble of squad mates who couldn't help in a fight, they had been kind of fun to fuck with. In particular, Marty had spent the rest of the week telling Noah blatant lies that he couldn’t disprove. This isn’t like that, because Liam is sitting crumpled in the floor, and also because… well, Marty is a little upset at being forgotten so completely. It surprises him, and he doesn’t know what to do with those feelings. "You want me to fill in the blanks, or…?"

Liam tells himself to be cautious. He's vulnerable. He shouldn't trust. Anyone could toy with him. His heart, though, answers all that with insistent feeling. The faint hint of sadness (how does he know it's sadness?) in the other boy's face brings the yawning ache in his chest back stronger than before. It’s...guilt? Maybe? Whatever it is, it’s stronger than logic. Liam’s brain may not want to trust, but the rest of him does. "Alright, Honky-tonk," he says, tense caution banked by put-on confidence, like he’s making a challenge. It feels so familiar that breath catches, snagging for a moment like a sweater pocket on a doorknob. "Fill me in."

"Aight," Marty says, fixing his face with a cocksure grin. It's been a long time since Liam called him honky-tonk, zeroing in on his faint southern accent because he didn't yet have a laundry list of other things to tease him about. "C'mon, I'll show you where your dorm room is and tell you on the way." He stands and almost offers Liam a hand to pull him up, but sticks it in his pocket instead.

For a split second, Liam is absolutely, one hundred percent positive that he would follow that smile to the end of the world. The feeling wisps away when he grasps for it, though, meaningless without memory to back it up. Though part of him insists on being wary, he can't help but feel distraught over not knowing the boy before him. He sighs again, a tiny, watery sound that betrays what little composure he's managed to find for what it is: pretense in the presence of a stranger. A stranger who shouldn't be—isn't—a stranger.

Over his upset, Liam murmurs, "Sounds good." He shoves himself up, trying to look undaunted, nervous hands matching Marty's, finding his own pockets and hiding there. "I—" he licks his lips. "Is this going to wear off? I can't...it's, like, I think someone told me. But the thought washed away when I stopped thinking about it."

"Oh definitely. In like, a month, maybe two," Marty says. If the way his grin skews mischievous wasn’t clue enough, he quickly follows up with, "Kidding." He shouldn’t joke, perhaps, but he can’t resist. It’s the only way he knows how to deal with stressful situations.

"You're a dick," Liam observes, though he’s smiling when he says it. It doesn’t last long, wiped away by Marty’s next words.

"Few days, at most, but by tomorrow you should remember the important stuff, even if you can’t remember your locker combo or where you left your phone."

Liam turns a rueful grimace toward the ceiling, acutely aware of the human-shaped holes in his memory. "Important stuff."

Now that Marty has set himself to the task, filling Liam in seems more impossible than he’d initially thought. "So, I guess you know about all this. Monster fighting school and shit," he says, waving a hand vaguely around them as he leads the other boy down the hall. "If not, surprise!"

"Shit, I didn't for a minute. I've got it, now, though." Liam exhales heavily. Saving the world, blah, blah, blah. Must be real serious work for him to have stuck it out for nine months. "It was, like, I had everything, you know, filed away. Then I breathed in this smoke and it took everything with it." Liam's frowning, again. "The only thing I held onto was that I'd already killed three of 'em. Those things." He looks at Marty and shrugs. "It was apparently really important that I keep tally."

Marty’s eyes light up at that, and he laughs. "No wonder. We got a bet going, see, about who can take out more Shadows. And you’re hella losing." He shakes his head, marveling at the fact that Liam can’t remember him but he can remember their wager from sophomore year.

"A bet, huh?" Liam echoes, smile stretching from cheek to cheek, crooked as uneven scales and delighted with the way the other boy's face seems to glow. "Sounds familiar, except for the losing part."

As they walk, he maintains a half step lead on Liam, because he’s the one who knows where to go, but he never lets him fall too far behind. "Hm. What else." It’s hard to think what might be the most important gaps to fill in, what bits of information Liam would most want to be reminded of if he could choose. "Your mom had a baby girl not long ago."

"I have a sister." He says, calm at first, though the words catch him off guard. It's true. Part of him knows it. Dim recollections of a phone call at a festival, of worrying, of planning, of seeing his mother heavily pregnant. In March. This kid who seems to know him so well—he'd been there. Liam tries to keep pace, but this news, the crash of disparate emotions, drags him to a stop. He feels like he's going to be sick, then he laughs. It's a mirthless, pained sound followed by another long quiet. When he speaks again, it's unsteady. "What else am I forgetting?"

Marty makes it a couple of steps before he notices Liam isn’t keeping up and turns around. "A lot," he says and shrugs one shoulder. "But it’ll come back. Just breathe." He holds up his hands. His instinct is to embrace him, but for once he shows some restraint. "Look on the bright side. You get out of all your homework for the next couple days. You have a baby sister and a hot boyfriend. What else is there, right?"

The ease of Marty's confidence is soothing, but the words leave Liam blinking. "I, uh—What?" he presses his glasses up the bridge of his nose, then scrubs his fingers hard over the back of his neck. His brain is already I told you so-ing the rest of him, and it's hard to fight the urge to flee. Color creeps into Liam's cheeks, embarrassment at feeling like he's being teased. "No. I don't —I don't date."

Marty nods. He probably deserves this, after all the initial worry he had put Liam through about whether he was even capable of commitment. "Hey, me either. But here we are anyway." He leans in like he's confiding a secret with a patented Martin Geary smirk. "What can I say, I'm a hell of a charming guy."

"You?" Liam laughs. He's right. He is charming. But despite that magnetic energy, Liam leans away instinctively when Marty presses in. And that is familiar: pushing away, running, protecting himself. Longing, but knowing better. He wants to chase that smile, but instead he's putting space between them. Doubt casts shadows on the vague memories he's managed to cobble together so far, and thrown off balance, his head takes the advantage in the knife fight it's having with his heart. "That's not funny," he blurts, trying for sarcastic, but just sounding hurt. "Why the hell would someone like you date me? You're shitting me."

Marty's first instinct is to be angry at the implied insult at his boyfriend, even if it's Liam insulting himself, and he frowns. "Not this time," he says, with tension visible in his jaw muscles. He can't even blame him for the assumption though, because a few months ago, before he knew Liam had a real crush on him complete with feelings, convincing amnesiac Liam that they were dating would have seemed like an exceptionally funny idea. It's not funny now, though. Not when Liam is clearly upset about it.

Liam opens his mouth to speak, but what is there to say? He stares down at the floor, instead, heart sinking. None of this feels like it's his in his head, but there's no denying the hurt he feels when the other boy looks at him like that, or the magnetic pull of his smile. His gentle patience, all the things he knows. A miserable sound escapes Liam, a barely formed thought, ultimately incomprehensible. There are so many scattered bits of missing memory. His head tells him to be vigilant, but the boy standing right in front of him feels like he could be the biggest missing piece.

He glances up, reaching out, fingers fluttering. Wanting to touch, but afraid to. "How, then?" Liam asks. "How did we...?"

Maybe Marty should let Liam take the time he needs instead of pushing, but as soon as he sees the other boy start to reach for him, he grabs his hand. Liam startles, but the contact, though it tingles, is all the confirmation he needs to believe that this boy really is his, somehow. He squeezes Marty's hand instinctively.

"I'unno. Same way anyone does, I guess?" He's no good at telling stories — not true, meaningful stories anyway, only big fish tales full of humor and bullshit. If their roles were reversed, Liam could tell their story better, but instead he'll just have to settle for the asshole spark notes version. "Started off doing a casual thing, until it wasn't anymore. You said you wanted to define it, so we did." He scratches the back of his neck, thinking. There's more, but even though he could recount the chronological facts of it, he's not sure it would mean anything without the feelings behind it, and he can't put those into words.

It hangs askew in Liam's head. Familiar, but foggy. Details don't emerge, and he's caught between knowing it's his own story they're piecing together and feeling like it's someone else's tale; book or show characters, he's invested, but it’s not him. Liam frowns against the tightening in his throat. "I don't remember," He says, losing his composure again, anyway. The feeling is there, but it's not solid. Nothing feels solid, except for the hand wrapped around his. That is solid. He is solid. He's always solid, isn't he? Liam teeters, then presses himself against Marty. He knows exactly what his clothes and hair will smell like, what he'll feel like, before he's even in his space. Dimly, he recalls a cold morning. A bus stop. It's disorienting, but it's right. "I'm sorry. I don't remember. I just know that you're important."

Liam pressed against him feels right, even if everything else is still so hard and confusing. "Shit, it's aight. That's enough." He brings one hand up to tangle in the curls on the back of Liam's head, holding him close. Even if he forgets this whole conversation and who Marty is three hours from now, he'll do this all again.

"Ah, shit. I hate this." Tears well in Liam's eyes. Though he tries to blink through it, they fall in frankly embarrassing gobs and he sighs in frustration. "It'll come back," he says, sounding more confident in the assertion than he actually is, speaking only to try and calm himself down. Because that is his instinct: solve it himself, alone. But the other boy is warm and sturdy and reassuring. It's easy to melt into his arms in a way that must be familiar to Liam normally, but right now hardly seems like it should be possible. Now that he’s found it, though, this stillness is not something Liam will easily give up.

He sniffles. "Stay with me? In my dorm."

He runs his fingers through Liam's hair, steady and absently repetitive. He hates seeing people cry, always has, and this is no exception. He can't run away from it, but he can do everything in his power to stop it. To make Liam feel like he's going to be okay. "Sure, if you want. But don't you think you should ask a boy's name before you invite him back to your room?"

Liam snorts. It's a laugh, but sort of a sopping sound. He drags his arm across his nose. God, he's a mess. In more ways than one. Taking a boy somewhere without knowing his name is less unusual for him than having a steady months long relationship and a boyfriend he'd evidently bring home to meet his parents. The absurdity of it, and of losing every step that brought him to this point, hits him and he winces, scratching his temple.

"Listen," he starts, still tearful, but reclaiming some of his signature testiness. Liam meets the other boy’s gaze again, and he knows those blue eyes, but not the name that belongs to them. "You can't fault me for hoping it'd pop into my head at the last minute." In the pause, he grins, an uneven, sheepish smile, bent by the way he chews his lower lip. "You know how much I love that romantic shit."

Despite Liam’s continued uncertainty, this still feels like a substantial victory. "Oh, I know," he replies, grinning right back. He steps away, though he still doesn’t let go of Liam’s hand, and begins to walk again, heading back in the direction of their dorms. "You still might. Maybe we can hang out and watch something while you think about it."

That smile fills Liam with fluttering things, all bright and soft and airy, a swarm of restless moths and fireflies in his chest. He sighs twice. First dreamy, then again, exasperated with himself. He laughs softly, feeling half-crazed, and wipes at his cheeks with the back of his free hand. "Um," he starts, eloquently. "I, uh. Mm, wh—that'd be nice." He falls silent, focusing on the hand holding his and how it pins all his slippery thoughts in place. He wonders what he did to find someone who treats him so gently, and quietly hopes he's not this much of a burden normally. Instead of asking that, though, he says, "What's your favorite movie?"

"Uh. Hmm." He doesn’t have an answer readily available. He consumes movies like he consumes snacks — they’re all junk, and while he definitely has preferences, it’s hard to pinpoint just one as the favorite. "I’m not sure I have a favorite. Dredd? The Fifth Element? Or, maybe Starship Troopers? Do you remember yours?"

It takes a beat for Liam to sort out those films from the bits of others floating in his muddled memory, but when he does, he smiles. "Good picks, I think," he says, warm at the edges, calmer now that they've settled on a less fraught topic. "Mine? Oh, uh," he glances at the ceiling. "Star Wars. The...one, um, Revenge? Of the Jedi? Return? Something." Liam adjusts his grip on Marty's hand, clinging to it. "We should watch one of your favorites."

"I don’t know which Star Wars is which, but one of them is definitely your favorite. So you got that right. I’ll pick one out that I know we both like. Maybe Back to the Future." He glances sideways at Liam, to see if the hint registers.

"Oh," Liam breathes. He's pretty sure he knows that one, but it sits weird in his head. An odd angle, like an elbow jabbing him in the side. "Is that the..." His feet start to drag again. Maybe he has it wrong? And it seems weirdly important, whatever it is he's not remembering right. "The one with the time travel car, right? And Crispin Glover. And, uh...I've got this totally wrong, don't I?" Liam scrapes his fingers over the back of his neck, nervous response, squinting one eye shut.

"Nah, you got it, you’re just missing a few things," Marty says, smirking faintly so as not to give the game away. Thinking of it like a game, a challenge between them, takes a little of the sting out of it.

"Hmm—" He stares, thinking, and then blinks. Recognition doesn't strike him so much as wind its way around his brain like a climbing weed, sad and surprised and then relieved. Or, something more electric than relieved. Liam's breath hitches. A name he's said a thousand times or more, as much in frustration as bald adoration. And now, when he says it, it sounds like his favorite word, "Marty."

He can see the realization taking root, and watches the exact moment it blooms with delight. "Hey!" Marty jabs his thumb into his own chest. "That’s me!" Impulsively, he leans in to give him a quick kiss that doesn’t land quite square. "See? Told you it’d come back, eventually."

Marty's no sooner finished his thought than Liam is grasping the sides of his face and pulling him in for another kiss, more urgent. Pressed with exhausted laughter and backed by a swirl of intense emotions that, together, finally make some kind of sense, his head spins. "You're a fucking nerd," Liam murmurs as soon as they part, running his fingers over the other boy's hair gently, like he's touching him for the first time. Marty snorts, but leans his head into the touch regardless.

It's not all back. Not yet. There are still holes and gaps, and it all feels precarious. Liam is an overbuilt Jenga tower, bound to topple again. But, somehow, he knows it'll be okay. Because Marty will be there to help him pick up the pieces. There probably isn't time to convey all he feels in words, but he has to try, anyway. "And the most wonderful, caring person I have ever met." He weaves his fingers into Marty’s stylishly tousled locks, making the mess of his hair a bit more genuinely messy. "I don't deserve you, Marty, but I need you. And I'm so thankful for you."

Marty has hardly ever been concerned with the idea of deserved in his life. What someone deserves is as much as they’re strong enough to take and keep. The alternative, when he bothered to consider it, never sat comfortably, because if what you deserve is balanced against your merit, then his scales are dangerously tipped. He can fight to keep what he has, but he's not sure he could ever do enough good to deserve to have it. Liam, though? If the scales measure good, then he's certain that Liam deserves every good thing. "Shut up, dumbass. Don't deserve, my ass." He punches the other boy in the shoulder, but his tone and actions lack most of their usual heat. "Yours 'til I'm dead or 'til you find someone better, right?"

"Right." Liam mumbles, rocking back against the light push of Marty's fist and then forward again, bumping his forehead against his boyfriend's and lingering there, basking in his sunlight. Smiling. "Same to you."

They say it all the time, but not having Marty is a singularly terrifying thought. One that, when dwelled on, makes Liam's memories start to crumble, old paint flaking away. So, he puts a pin in it. Liam's pretty sure he's been told multiple times by this very person that there's no point in worrying about what could be. Marty's here right now. And there are more pressing matters than where they'll be after the next rift.

"I'm going to forget things, again." He warns, dropping just one hand to catch Marty's fingers. Hopefully, that will knit things back into place. "But, I'll always remember the feeling of you, even if I can't remember your name. I promise." He inhales and holds it a moment. "Wanna go watch that movie?"

"I know," Marty replies. It occurs to him that maybe what you deserve isn’t a matter of what you can take or what you’ve earned, but what someone else is willing to give. Liam has already given him so much more than Marty ever thought possible, all he can do is give back everything he can. He squeezes Liam’s hand so tight that it’s almost uncomfortable. Even if he falls apart, Marty will put him back together every time. "Yeah, sure. Let’s go. Maybe I can be the one to tell you obscure facts, for once." Or make them up, more like, but as long as they’re together, it’ll be fun.