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the morning sunlight bled through the curtains in pale gold, spreading warmth across their kitchen. max stood by the counter, hands moving automatically as he made breakfast— toast, eggs, and the coffee george loved but sometimes forgot he did. he moved quietly, not wanting to wake george yet. kimi was still rubbing his sleepy eyes at the table, tiny hands clutching his favorite toy car.
"papa still sleeping?" kimi mumbled, his voice soft.
max smiled gently, as he fix the little boy's bed hair. "yeah, bud. papa's still resting. he didn't sleep well last night."
kimi nodded like he understood, even though his eyes said he didn't fully. he looked at his dad's face— the dark circles, the smile that seemed to come slower these days. "is papa's brain still... hurt, dada?" he asked, fumbling with words the way five-year-olds do.
max's chest tightened. "a bit," he said softly. "but we'll help him find his way back, okay?"
kimi hummed, serious for someone so small. "okay."
it started small. so small that max almost convinced himself it was just exhaustion.
george had always been scatterbrained when he was overworked, leaving his coffee mug in the fridge or putting the remote in the cutlery drawer. but lately, it wasn't just the little things. it was something deeper.
one morning, george stood by the counter, frowning at the toaster. "love, how long does it take for bread to cook again?" he asked, staring at the unpushed lever.
"you haven't pressed it down yet," max said gently.
george blinked, confusion flashing across his face before he let out a small laugh that didn't quite reach his eyes. "right. i knew that."
but max noticed how his hands trembled. how he stared at the toaster afterward like it was something he'd never seen before.
then came the next one.
forgetting faces. names.
he called kimi darling instead of his name for a whole day because he couldn't remember it, and when max gently corrected him — "kimi, schat. his name's kimi." — george's face went pale.
he whispered the name under his breath the rest of the day, afraid of losing it again.
max didn't say anything, not yet. he didn't want to scare him. maybe it was stress, maybe it was burnout. but then george forgot how to use things. the coffee machine, the car keys, his own drafting tablet. and that's when max knew it wasn't just tiredness. something was wrong.
the night he forgot the way home was the last straw.
it was raining. the kind of soft drizzle that blurred streetlights into smudges of gold. max got a call from george. when he answered, he could hear george's voice was shaking.
"max? i— i don't know where i am."
his heart stopped.
"what do you mean, schat? where are you right now?"
"i don't know. i was driving home from the studio, and then... i don't remember the turns. i've been driving for a while but nothing looks familiar. i pulled over. i thought maybe i'd just... wait until it comes back." his voice cracked. "but it's not coming back."
max's world tilted on its axis.
he found him twenty minutes later on the side of the road, car engine still running, george sitting inside with his hands gripping the wheel like he was afraid to let go. his eyes were red, scared in a way max had never seen before.
"hey," max whispered, opening the door. "hey, it's okay. you're okay. i'm here."
george's lips trembled. "i couldn't find home."
max pulled him into his arms, held him tight. "it's alright," he murmured into george's hair. "you found me. that's enough."
the next day, max called for an appointment. tests, scans, questions. the hospital smelled like antiseptic and fear.
george tried to smile through it, sitting there in his pressed shirt and sketch-stained fingers, pretending it wasn't terrifying. max sat beside him, hand in his, squeezing whenever the silence got too heavy.
when the doctor finally came back, the words didn't land right away.
"degenerative neurological condition," something something "progressive memory loss," something about "no known cure."
max's ears rang.
he stared at the doctor's moving mouth, but everything turned into static. all he could see was george— sitting next to him, his knuckles white, eyes wide and unfocused like he was trapped in a nightmare he couldn't wake from.
"i... i see," george murmured, voice barely audible. "so, it's… serious."
the doctor's face softened. "i'm afraid so."
and that was it.
max felt like the ground had been pulled from under him. every heartbeat felt too loud, every breath too thin. but george— george just sat there quietly, his gaze fixed on the floor.
on the way home, neither of them spoke. the car hummed softly, the world outside moving too fast, too bright, too normal.
george stared out the window, hands folded neatly on his lap.
when they reached home, max parked in the driveway and turned to him.
"george," he said softly. "we'll figure this out, okay? we'll do this together."
george nodded, but his eyes were distant.
for days after, he moved like he was half-present. still cooking dinner, still folding kimi's clothes, still working at his desk, but quieter. sometimes max would catch him staring at his hands, as if trying to remember what they were supposed to do.
and yet, he smiled when kimi came running into his arms.
he kissed max good morning and goodnight.
he kept living.
but max could see the fear beneath it. the tremor in his voice when he forgot a word, the quick glance he gave the hallway before heading to the bedroom, as if he needed to remind himself where it was. max pretended not to notice, for george's sake. he laughed at the jokes, kissed him like nothing had changed. but every night, he lay awake, watching george sleep, praying for one more day of memory.
there's the night when it went quiet. too quiet.
the kind of stillness that makes even the house feel like it's holding its breath.
max had woken up around two in the morning to an empty side of the bed. george's warmth was gone, the sheets cool where his body had been. it wasn't the first time this happened lately, but something about tonight felt different. it wasn't the faint light from the bathroom or the creak of the hallway floorboards. it was silence.
he checked the living room, the kitchen— nothing. and then he saw the faint light spilling out from kimi's room.
max's heart sank before he even pushed the door open.
george was there. sitting on the tiled floor beside kimi's bed, his head leaning on the mattress like he'd been there for hours, watching their son asleep. kimi was fast asleep, small chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths. george's hand was on their son's belly, thumb moving in slow, absent circles. his other hand rested limply on his knee, and he was humming— a soft, broken version of the lullaby he always sang when kimi was a baby.
it was barely recognizable. like a memory that was slipping away even as he tried to hold onto it.
max stood there at the doorway, frozen. he didn't want to break the moment, but he could already tell something was wrong— the way george's shoulders trembled, the way his eyes were distant, glassy.
then george spoke. his voice cracked, barely above a whisper.
"max..." he didn't turn around. "what if i forget him?"
max's throat tightened. he stayed still, afraid that moving would make george shatter.
"what if one day i wake up and i don't know who he is?" george continued, his voice shaking. "what if i look at him, and he smiles at me, and i don't... remember how he laughs, or the sound of his voice, or the way he used to kick when he was still inside me?"
his words broke apart, soft and uneven, like a paper tearing slowly in half.
"what kind of parent does that make me, max? what kind of father forgets his own child?"
"george—"
but george didn't stop. his hand pressed tighter on kimi's blanket.
"and what if i forget you too?" his voice fell into something raw, terrified. "what if i forget your face, your name, the way you sound when you laugh? what if i wake up and i don't know who you are? would you still stay then? or should you just—" his breath hitched — "should you just put me somewhere? somewhere you don't have to see me lose myself."
the tears came silently, sliding down his cheeks one by one. no sobs. just the slow, soundless kind of crying that broke max more than any scream could.
"you could start again," george whispered. "with someone who remembers. someone who knows you. someone who won't look at you and ask, 'who are you?'"
max couldn't stay still anymore. he crossed the room in a heartbeat, kneeling beside george and pulling him close.
"hey. no," he murmured, voice steady even though his chest felt like it was caving in. "don't say that. don't you dare say that."
george's head fell against max's shoulder, trembling. max wrapped his arms around him, holding on like george might disappear if he let go.
"listen to me," max whispered. "if you forget kimi, i'll remind you. every single day. i'll tell you about the first time he smiled, and how he said your name before he said mine. i'll show you the drawings he made for you. i'll tell you the stories you told him when he couldn't sleep. i'll be your memory, george."
george's fingers clutched at max's shirt weakly.
"and if you forget me," max continued, voice breaking now, "then i'll just fall in love with you again. over and over. every single day if i have to. because there's no version of this life where i walk away from you."
george sobbed quietly this time, just once, a fragile sound swallowed by the dark.
"you don’t deserve this," he whispered.
"maybe not," max said softly, brushing his thumb under george's eye, wiping the tears that kept coming. "but i deserve you. i always will."
they stayed like that for a long time. max on the cold tile, george in his arms, kimi sleeping peacefully above them. and the world felt painfully small. just the three of them, caught in the slow, inevitable unraveling of memory and love.
but max held him tighter, grounding them both.
"you're not alone," he murmured into george's hair. "not now, not ever. we'll face every day together, no matter what you remember."
and george, even in his daze, even in his fear, whispered back— soft, trembling, but still him:
"promise?"
max kissed the top of his head, closing his eyes.
"always."
and after that, everything just started to get worse.
george woke up before sunrise. he sat at the edge of the bed for a while, rubbing at his temples, eyes dazed and heavy. max was still asleep beside him, his arm draped over george's waist. george carefully lifted it away and stood, moving toward the kitchen for water. he shuffled into the kitchen, still in his sleep shirt, hair messy from tossing and turning. he rubbed his eyes and reached for a glass, moving with the slow, dazed rhythm that had become part of his mornings lately. he filled it with water, took a sip, then just... stood there. staring at nothing.
the house was still. no noise except for the faint hum of the fridge.
a quiet sound broke the stillness. he heard tiny footsteps approaching.
"morning, papa," kimi said softly, small feet padding across the floor. the boy was already awake, holding his toy car in one hand and wearing his favorite shirt with the faded rocket on it.
george blinked at him. once. twice.
"...hello," he said carefully, voice uncertain. "um… who are you?"
kimi stopped mid-step. "it's me, papa," he said with a smile that wavered when george didn't answer. "it's kimi. andrea kimi! your son!!"
george frowned. the name didn't ring any bells. he looked around the kitchen, eyes darting nervously. "i... i think you're mistaken," he said softly. "i don't... i don't remember have a son..."
kimi's little hands tightened around his toy car. "you do, papa. it's me. i'm your son."
his voice trembled now. "we live here. with dada. remember?"
but george only looked more confused. he took a step back, shaking his head slowly, eyes darting toward the hallway like he was searching for something to make sense of all this.
and that's when kimi's lip quivered.
"why don't you remember me?" he asked, voice breaking. "did i do something bad?"
george's breath hitched, panic flooding his face. "no—no, i don't—i just—" he stumbled over words, hands shaking as he tried to reach out. "i don’t understand—"
and then kimi started to cry.
it wasn't loud, just soft, gasping sobs that made george freeze in place. the sight of a child crying, this child crying, tore at something deep inside him, something instinctive. but he didn't know why.
"hey, hey, don't cry, please," george stammered, crouching down awkwardly, unsure. "i don’t— i don't know what i did, i'm sorry—"
he didn't know why his heart hurt so much for someone he couldn't remember.
and that's when max appeared, barefoot and still half-asleep, hair messy, eyes wide with alarm.
"kimi?" he called softly, and then he saw the scene— george kneeling in confusion, kimi crying in the middle of the kitchen, the air thick with heartbreak.
max's chest tightened instantly. he crossed the room, scooping kimi up before saying anything else.
"hey, hey, it's okay, buddy. you're okay," he murmured, holding the boy close as kimi clung to him, sobbing into his shoulder.
he looked at george who sit on the cold tile now frozen, guilt and confusion painted all over his face.
"george, it's okay, schat," max said softly to him. "it's okay. i'll just take him back to bed, alright?"
george nodded weakly, his eyes glistening. "i... i didn't mean to—"
"i know, it's not your fault." max said gently. "come on, stand up now. sit on the couch, i'll come to you afterwards."
he carried kimi down the hall, whispering soft reassurances. the little boy's sobs had quieted into hiccups by the time they reached his room. max sat him on the bed, kneeling so he could look at him eye to eye.
kimi looking at him with watery eyes. "dada, why did papa forget me? did papa get angry with me? am i bad?"
"hey," he said softly, brushing the tears from kimi's cheeks. "listen to me for a minute, okay?"
kimi sniffled, nodding.
"papa's not angry at you. and you didn't do anything wrong, alright? papa's just... his brain hurt. sometimes, his brain gets confused and forget things like names, faces, places, and even people he loves but he didn't mean to. he still loves you, always"
kimi's eyes widened, shimmering with fresh tears. "but... i don't want papa to forget me."
max's voice cracked, but he kept it steady. "i know, bud. i know. i don't want that either." he took kimi's hand in his. "but that's why we remind him. every day. we keep telling him who we are, and how much we love him. so even if his brain forgets, his heart won't."
kimi blinked up at him. "so i always say hi?"
"always," max said, smiling softly. "because every time you say hi, you give him a chance to remember."
kimi nodded slowly, his breathing evening out. "okay."
"good boy," max whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "you rest for a bit, yeah? dadda's gonna go check on papa."
when max came back to the living room, george was sitting on the couch, head bowed, biting at his nails. his eyes were red, wet, lost.
max's heart broke all over again.
he walked over quietly and knelt in front of him, gently taking george's hands to stop him from hurting himself.
"hey," max murmured. "don't do that, schat."
george looked up, tears spilling freely now. "i don't— i don't know what's wrong with me," he whispered, voice shaking. "there was a child, a little boy, and he looked at me like i was supposed to know him, but i didn't. and when he cried, it— it hurt so much, max. i don't even know why it hurt."
max squeezed his hands tighter, leaning forward until their foreheads touched.
"that's kimi," he said softly. "our son. you carried him. five years ago. he's ours, george. yours."
george's breath hitched again, tears sliding down his face. "i don't remember. god, i don't remember. i'm so sorry."
"it's okay," max whispered. "you don't have to right now. i'll remember for you."
he lifted george's hand, pressing a kiss to his palm. "you love him. he loves you. and nothing changes that, okay?"
george nodded weakly, sobbing quietly. max kept holding him, kept whispering gentle truths— names, memories, little reminders of a life they built together.
"you're george," max murmured. "i'm max. your husband. we've been together for ten years. we met at the workshop in london. you used to tease me because i snore. you said you'd trade me in for a quieter model."
a weak, broken laugh slipped through george's tears.
"and kimi," max continued, voice soft but steady, "kimi's our boy. you used to sing him to sleep every night, the same lullaby your mum used to sing for you."
george's chest heaved with quiet sobs. "i wish i could remember that."
"then i'll keep telling you," max promised. "every time you forget, i'll tell you again. in ten years, twenty, a hundred."
he kissed george's forehead, still holding his trembling hands between his own.
"you don't have to be afraid," he whispered. "i'll always bring you home. i'll always find my way back to you."
the days settled into a new kind of rhythm after that. one that was slower, softer, and more careful than before.
sometimes max wondered when the world had changed. not in one big crash, not in one sharp turn but slowly, quietly, in ways that were almost gentle. like the tide wearing down a stone, bit by bit, until one day you looked and realized the edges were gone.
george was still george. his laugh still felt like sunlight. his touch still felt like home. but the pieces—the memories, the small things that made up the man max loved—they slipped through his fingers a little more each day.
and max— he had learned to hold on tighter. he had learned to measure time differently now. not in hours or minutes, but in moments: the seconds george’s eyes lit up when something familiar flickered through the haze, the way kimi's laughter filled the quiet house, the way the three of them could still make it through the day without falling apart. he had to labeled things quietly—sugar, salt, plates, mugs—not because he wanted to remind george of what was missing, but because he wanted to make it easier for him to still feel like himself.
it wasn't easy. it never was.
max had always been good with control. keeping his hands steady, his voice calm, his mind sharp. but nothing in his life had prepared him for this kind of helplessness: watching the love of his life fade and fighting every day to pull him back.
some mornings, george woke up remembering everything— the smell of max's cologne, the shape of kimi's smile, even the pattern of sunlight that spilled across their bed. he'd kiss max good morning, ruffle kimi's hair, and hum softly as he made coffee.
but other mornings... he woke up in fear. confusion. sometimes he'd flinch when max tried to touch him, or he'd sit on the edge of the bed, whispering where am i? under his breath. and those mornings were the hardest.
max never showed it, though. he never let the ache break through his calm. he had to be steady for both of them.
so he smiled. he reminded george of his name, their home, their family. he taught him again and again how to use the kettle, how to unlock his phone, how to find the light switches in the hallway.
each time, george would whisper thank you with tears in his eyes. each time, max would kiss his forehead and say, there's nothing to thank me for, love.
kimi was learning too.
that first time george forgot him completely, kimi cried so hard max thought his little heart might break. but the boy was strong. stronger than anyone gave him credit for. he's too young to carry so much weight, but somehow doing it anyway.
and soon—our sweet, brave kimi—had taken that and turned it into something beautiful. kimi began to adapt in ways that made max's chest ache with pride.
he took his crayons and paper and started drawing everything— big, bright sketches taped all over the house.
on the fridge: a drawing of the three of them with family written in blocky letters.
on george's closet door: a picture of shirts and trousers labeled papa's clothes.
on the kitchen counter: a paper taped above the mugs, this is for tea, papa loves tea.
by the hallaway: bedroom → that way! with a doodle of a smiling sun.
he even drew himself and max, so george would remember.
a stick figure with messy brown hair labeled kimi (your son) and another taller one with a note: max (your husband).
and george— oh, george always stopped to look at them. sometimes he'd trace the outlines with his fingers, eyes wet but smiling.
"kimi made these?" he'd ask softly.
max would nod. "yeah. so you can find your way around."
and george would smile, small and shy. "he's clever."
kimi loved spending the days at home with george now.
they'd sit together by the window, building towers out of blocks or painting messily on the table. kimi would talk—about school, his friends, his favorite cartoons—and george would listen, always smiling, even if sometimes the names or stories didn't quite make sense.
but it didn't matter. not to kimi.
because even if his papa forgot things, he still laughed with him. he still held his hand. he still hugged him when he scraped his knee.
and that was enough.
every morning, kimi would run into the living room first, sunshine bouncing off his bright hair, and he'd greet george the same way— always cheerful, always certain. and max would stand at the doorway, watching them. their laughter, the light in the room, the quiet kind of love that never faded, even when memory did.
some nights, after kimi was asleep, george would rest his head on max's shoulder and whisper, "you must be tired of this."
and max would shake his head, brushing his lips against george's hair.
"never," he'd say. "as long as you're here, i'll never be tired."
and it was true.
because this was what love meant now. not just the easy days, not just the laughter. but the quiet devotion, the patience, the steady reminder that even when memory faded, love stayed.
george might forget his name, their story, their years together— but he still looked at max with that same gentleness in his eyes. and that was enough.
kimi still greeted his papa every morning like it was the first day of their life together. and that was enough.
and max— he held them both, steady and strong, even when it hurt, even when the world felt too heavy because love wasn't about remembering every moment. it was about choosing them, again and again, even when memory couldn't.
and so he did.
no matter how many times george forgot, max always remembered. kimi always reminded.
every day.
when george came downstairs an hour later, he wore one of max's shirts— the one with grease stains on the sleeve and the scent of metal and soap clinging to it. his hair was messy, and his eyes, though confused, were warm. he blinked around the room like it was the first time he’d seen it.
"good morning," george said softly, hesitating. "i— sorry, i don't remember your name."
max's heart cracked, just a little, but he hid it behind a smile that was too gentle for the weight in his chest. he stepped closer, taking george's hand. "it's max," he said softly. "and that's kimi. our son."
kimi waved, a tiny smile tugging his lips. "good morning, papa! it's me again, your son— kimi!"