FIC: LACUNA (1/2)
Title: Lacuna
Author: carolinablu85
Chapter: 1/2
Characters: Luke/Noah, Ameera, Jeremy (OC) (is he, at this point?), Dr. Cooke (OC), random appearances by others
Rating: R for language, oh shizzle
Word Count: 5,560
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Anything that’s not owned by ATWT is probably owned by Charlie Kaufman and Michel Gondry (including plot/some dialogue/any ingenuity).
Summary: How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot!/ The world forgiving, by the world forgot./ Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!/ Each pray’r accepted, and each wish resign’d. -Alexander Pope
A/N: So, um, this ended up being a bit more in-depth than I originally planned. But worth it, for two very awesome people. Happy birthdays aimezetmusique and natashaodwalla !
He’s not entirely sure why he does it. In fact, he’s not sure at all. It’s the kind of impulsiveness you act on when you’re not afraid of limitations or consequences. It’s the kind of impulsiveness Noah’s pretty sure he has never possessed.
And yet, one moment he’s in his rental car, driving through the streets of Chicago. The next, he’s on the highway, wrenching the steering wheel to the side, taking an exit for God only knows what reason. And then pretty soon, he’s driving into this small random town, winding through small random streets.
He parks the car and starts walking instead, letting his feet decide where to go. There’s a pedestrian-only street in town, old-fashioned, quaint. He walks along, avoiding eye contact (or any contact) as much as he can. He’s an awkward person normally, socially, every-ly, and it’s better if he’s the only one around who knows it.
Turning a corner past a diner, he sees a bench. A perfectly nondescript, boring bench. But Noah likes it. It looks almost... happy for some reason. He rolls his eyes at himself, but that doesn’t stop him from sitting down on it, taking a deep breath, actually... whoa, is this what relaxing feels like?
He sits and people-watches for a few minutes, until the possibility of accidentally attracting attention becomes too much. Then he pulls his notebook out of the inside of his jacket, intending to go over more notes for the film shoot tomorrow. As he reaches, he realizes his watch is cracked across the face. When did that happen?
He can’t remember.
He makes a few notes in the journal, more for something to do than anything else. He’s tired all of a sudden. And wondering why the hell he came here.
He notices someone standing a ways down the street, looking into a shop window. A guy. Blondish shaggy hair, probably his age. Really, really beautiful. Too beautiful. Noah quickly lowers his gaze when the stranger turns in his direction, walking closer. Noah buries himself back in his notebook for protection.
And suddenly, there’s someone sitting on the bench next to him. “Hi.”
Noah looks up, confused and startled. “I- I’m sorry?”
It’s him, the stranger. The way-too-beautiful one. Grinning at Noah like they’re already best friends. “Why are you sorry? I just said hi.”
“I didn’t know if you were talking to me, or...” Noah trails off, a blush no-doubt coloring his face.
Stranger looks pointedly around the bench. It’s just the two of them. “Really?”
“I didn’t want to assume,” he mumbles, feeling more than stupid.
Stranger grins even wider, somehow. He has dimples. “Aw, come on. Live dangerously. Take the leap and assume someone is talking to you on an otherwise empty bench.”
And Noah finds himself smiling. “Hi,” he says back.
“There it is!” Stranger almost crows, triumphant. “You can smile. I’ve been watching you for minutes and minutes, and I was getting worried. You with the sad eyes.”
Noah wants to keep smiling, but he frowns a little at the words. He recognizes them. “That’s Cyndi Lauper, right?”
“Exactly!” Stranger nods. “I can’t remember what song, though.”
Noah opens his mouth, because he knows, he’s sure he knows. But... nothing comes out. What song is it? “I can’t remember either.”
Stranger shrugs. “No big deal. I’m Luke, by the way.”
It’s instantly Noah’s favorite name in the world. He’s pretty sure he’s never met a Luke before. “Hi. Noah Mayer.”
“Hello, Noah,” Luke’s eyes suddenly light up. “I think it’s ‘True Colors.’ The song.”
“Really?” Noah frowns again. “I don’t know that one.”
“I’m pretty sure it is. I think,” Luke shakes his head, mood switching just like that into happy-bouncy again. Noah should be exhausted from it (of it), but he’s not. “So what brings you to Oakdale, Noah?”
The only thing better than hearing Luke’s name is hearing Luke say his name. And damn, he almost admits that out loud. Catching himself just in time, “I’m in Chicago to work on a film. Directing it. I’m here, um, scouting areas outside the city.”
“Nice,” Luke nods. “That’s pretty cool. I knew you had to be something creative, I could tell. Kindred spirit, maybe.”
“You work in film?” he asks.
Luke shakes his head. “Literature.”
“You’re a writer?” He feels like he’s playing some weird Twenty Questions game. He kinda wants to win.
Another headshake. “Well, for fun, yeah. But I work at the bookshop a couple blocks that way,” Luke hooks his thumb in the direction behind them. “I was just finished my shift for the day when I saw someone sitting on my favorite bench.”
“Oh, sorry,” he says automatically, though he doesn’t make any move to get up. Or stop smiling.
Luke doesn’t either. “That’s very nice of you.” He stops for a second, tilting his head. “Nice is such a weird, vague word, isn’t it?” Then back to Noah, “But it’s okay. Here, take this.” And with no warning, almost out of nowhere, he drops a notebook into Noah’s lap.
Noah blinks. It was like Bugs Bunny pulling a hammer out of his fur. Where did that come from? He picks up the notebook- a journal, really, leatherbound- and examines it. “At the risk of giving you way too much of a setup, where am I supposed to put this?”
Luke laughs again, and Noah holds onto the feeling that courses through him at the sound. I made him laugh. “Anywhere you want. It’s for you.”
“Me?”
“The one you were writing in is almost full, I noticed. I notice weird things like that. And I always have extra ones lying around, so here. You can have that one.”
Noah stares at Luke’s completely unrepentant face. “But... why?”
Luke pats his arm. “Because- here’s my tiny confession for the day- I like that you’re nice.”
Noah tries to turn his gaze away, knowing full well that that stupid blush is probably three-alarm-fire-red now. “Thank you, Luke.”
And he probably imagines it, but it almost seems like Luke’s smile softens when he says Luke’s name. Like Luke maybe possibly feels anything remotely close to what Noah is feeling right now. “You’re welcome.”
There’s a beat of silence, and though Noah is surprised at how comfortable it is, the current sizzling through him makes him just as restless. So he does what he does best- Operation Hasty Retreat. “So, um, I have to get back to-”
“Chicago!” Luke finishes for him. “Right, of course. Artist Guy has to get back to his movie set. Shit! Noah. I’ll remember your name, I promise.”
“Because I’m so nice?” Noah asks.
Luke smiles wide. “Because you’re so nice,” he nods back. “I’ll let you go then, Noah. It was nice meeting you.”
And then like a phantom, like a sprite, he’s gone. Noah stares at the empty bench for a moment before dragging himself upward and back towards his car, half-convinced that whole thing was just a dream. And he’s almost sure, until he pulls out of the parking lot and sees Luke again, walking down the street.
Once again, Noah feels that impulsiveness forcing his hand.
He pulls over.
“Do you need a ride?” he calls through the open window.
Luke stares for maybe a full three seconds. Then he smiles. “A ride would be very nice.”
******
Noah paces back and forth, angry, agitated, half an inch away from pulling his own hair out. He clasps his damn watch in one hand, half wishing he could crack it again from sheer strength and will alone.
“Will you sit down? Or slow down, at least?” Ameera tries to grab his shoulder and misses as he goes by her again.
“I just can’t fucking believe he would do that,” Noah ignores his pseudo-sister’s ‘no profanity’ rule. “I just... us? Me? After... after everything, to pretend I don’t even exist?”
“Okay, okay,” Jeremy holds up his hands in what’s probably supposed to be a calming gesture. It doesn’t work. “Just explain to me what happened.”
Noah can’t stop pacing. “I called Luke today. I know, there’s no reason to. We’re broken up. But it’s three days to Valentine’s Day, and I just... I just wanted to talk to him. Just to see how he was, at least.”
“And?” There’s a catch to Ameera’s voice, but Noah can’t be bothered to decipher it now.
“And he acted like he didn’t even know who I was. At all. Even went so far as to say ‘Noah who?’ He treated me like a stranger.” He stops pacing. “Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know, honey. It’s horrible,” Ameera still sounds strained.
“Anyone want a drink?” Jeremy asks, sounding even more strained.
Ameera groans out his name. “Jeremy, just give it a rest.”
“He’s punishing me for being honest, that’s what it is,” Noah decides, shoving the watch back into his jacket pocket. “For that fight we had. Or for still being in LA, or, or, I don’t know. Maybe I should go to Oakdale.”
Both of his friends look alarmed at that. “I don’t think you should, man,” Jeremy shakes his head.
“Because, what? I haven’t been desperate up until now?” Noah growls sardonically.
“Maybe you should take this as a sign to move on,” Ameera offers. “A clean break.”
“With Luke?” Noah is the one to shake his head. “No such thing. Ever. Ever.”
Jeremy stares at him long and hard, then lets out the breath he always does when he’s come to a difficult decision. “See, Noah, the thing is-”
“Jeremy!” Ameera cuts in sharply. “We agreed that we’re not-”
“This isn’t about us,” Jeremy interrupts right back. “It’s about Noah. Who’s an adult, okay, not Momma Ameera’s kid.”
She throws her hands up and stalks into the kitchen. Noah watches her go, but Jeremy’s too busy digging through the mail on his end table. “Look, man, there’s no easy or logical way to have this conversation. So here, read this. I got it in the mail yesterday, Ameera got one too.”
“What is it?” Noah frowns as he takes the letter.
“Just read it,” Jeremy already looks sad for him.
Which, not surprisingly, doesn’t really motivate Noah to read it. “What-?”
“I don’t know, it’s a place that does a thing,” Jeremy shrugs almost gently. “Read it.”
Noah reads.
Dear Mr. Jeremy Criss,
Luke Snyder has had Noah Mayer erased from his memory. Please never mention their relationship to Mr. Snyder again. Thank you.
Lacuna, LTD
424 Grand Street, Chicago, IL
Noah wonders, for more than a second, if he’s still breathing. “What is this?” He finally looks back up at Jeremy, only half-noticing that Ameera has rejoined them. “What the fuck is this?”
“It’s a company in Chicago,” she speaks soothingly. It doesn’t work. Noah is very unsoothed. “They’ve been doing this procedure successfully for years now, apparently. We weren’t going to tell you,” she looks pointedly at Jeremy, who crosses his arms defiantly. “But Luke had the procedure done three days ago.”
He looks back down at the letter. It can’t be real. It can’t be. It can’t, it can’t. “Why?” he asks, barely recognizing his own voice. They don’t answer him, which is fine.
He wasn’t asking them.
The screaming and questions and, fuck, the memories start running through his mind faster and faster like a roller coaster gathering speed. He can’t stop them. Everything. Every word, every touch, every thought about Luke, from the necktie in WOAK to mistletoe to... to everything. The person he loves most, thinks about most, fucking breathes for... chose to not think about him for the rest of his life.
Fuck.
The noise in his brain gets louder and louder, building up to a cacophony he can’t shut off. Just when he’s about to scream out loud, or stop breathing, or maybe explode, it stops. With a bang. A decisive, ‘fuck you’ bang.
“What’s the number for this place?”
Ameera strides fully into the room, right into his face. He finds he can’t look directly into her eyes. “No. Noah, no. Don’t even think about it.”
“Why not?” Noah glares down at her, ashamed of the tears at the corners of his eyes. “Why should I have to bear the burden of our failed relationship by myself?”
“Noah...” she reaches for him, but he stumbles back, landing onto the couch next to Jeremy, who inches a little closer but doesn’t try to touch him. Ameera sighs, sits down in the chair opposite him. “Luke was talking to someone at a hospital fundraiser, the woman told him about this company. He decided to erase you, almost as a lark.”
“A lark?!” Noah means to shout it, but it comes out as a croak.
She looks immediately like she regrets the word, but has to nod. “You know Luke, Noah. He’s like that. Impulsive.”
Something Noah isn’t. The few times he’s been impulsive, it’s either gone really well (kissing Luke, punching Brian, kissing Luke) or really badly (kissing Maddie, enlisting, punching Reid). Maybe it’s time to be impulsive again.
“Noah...” Ameera tries one more time.
“Why did he erase me and not Reid?” Noah whispers. He hates himself for even thinking that, but there it is. Neither Ameera nor Jeremy seem to know what to say to that, but Noah didn’t think they would. He drops his head into his hands, and only then do his friends reach out, touch his back, his shoulder. Trying to comfort him in this completely unfathomable, fucked up situation.
He almost wants to laugh. Only Luke Snyder would get him into a situation like this.
Only now, Luke could never say that about him. Luke doesn’t even know his name. Or his eye color. His favorite movie. The story behind the scar through his eyebrow. His favorite Swedish Fish flavor.
Luke doesn’t want to know him anymore.
Noah stands up again, wanting to pace and wanting to go crawl into bed and never get out. He can’t take the screaming in his brain again, so he goes with what seems like the most logical solution to him- “What’s the number for this place?”
***
“Now, normally,” the doctor ushers Noah into his office, gesturing for him to take a seat. “We have a waiting list, especially so close to our peak holiday season. But, considering the circumstances here, I believe we can-”
“Circumstances?” Noah interrupts, unable to sit all the way back in his chair.
Dr. Cooke doesn’t seem to have that problem. “With most cases, ended relationships and such, the exes are able to go their own ways relatively smoothly. You’re, quite honestly, the first we’ve had in ages who has learned of their former... partner’s procedure.” He offers Noah a smile, and if it weren’t for the circumstances, Noah would probably find it pleasant. “And coming all the way from Los Angeles for this-”
“Not just this,” Noah hastens to add. “I’m in Chicago for work, too. It’s not a big deal.”
“Okay,” Dr. Cooke answers amiably. With another smile, “It’s not often that two people are still tied to each other, even after a separation such as this.”
Noah wonders if he should take a little bit of pride in that. Right now, he can’t. “Yeah, well, that’s only going to last a few more hours. Right?”
“Right,” Dr. Cooke is back to all-business-mode. He shuffles through a file of documents. “First thing you’ll need to do is collect everything, every single thing, that has an association with Luke. Photos, clothing, journals, anything. We want to empty your home, your life of Luke.”
“Okay,” Noah nods, determined, along for the ride now. He refuses to think of those tangible things he’ll be losing. It’ll be worth it to lose this giant, stabbing pain in his chest, right?
Dr. Cooke nods back. “We’ll use these items to create a map of Luke, in your brain. Our technicians will go in tonight and follow that map. Erasing every stop along the way, so to speak. Wiping it clean.”
“Is there risk of brain damage?” Noah asks, suddenly worried about his own medical history. And subsequent luck with said medical history.
Dr. Cooke chuckles, reminding him very briefly of Dr. Hughes. “Well, technically the procedure itself is brain damage. But on par with a night of heavy drinking, nothing you’d miss.”
He wants to argue that statement, but doesn’t, taking a deep breath instead. There’s no turning back now. He hesitates for a fraction of a second, but then sees Luke’s file sitting on the doctor’s desk. Luke didn’t turn back. Luke erased him.
Noah could do the same. “Now what?”
Dr. Cook smiles kindly, pushing both a tape recorder and a box of tissues closer to Noah. He flips the recorder on as he says, “You and I will chat a little, so we can get a sense of the memories we need to track. So please, tell me your name and who you are here to erase.”
Noah eyes the box of tissues like it might sprout teeth and bite him. Then ignores it. “My name is Noah Mayer and I’m here to erase Luke Snyder.”
“Very good. Tell me about Luke.”
And if there’s ever been a more difficult command, Noah has never heard it. “Um, like what?” How do you put Luke into words?
“Everything,” the doctor is still smiling. “Just begin talking, we’ll find what we need.”
Noah nods, slowly, eyeing his file, Luke’s file, the tape records, his hands that weren’t shaking. And then he starts talking.
***
Noah blinks, staring at himself in Dr. Cooke’s office, telling the tape recorder all about the ball of energy and hair product that is Luke Snyder. How is this possible...?
Then Noah realizes (remembers? understands?) that he’s watching a memory. That it’s later that night, he’s asleep in his hotel room in Chicago, and the technicians have started the procedure. Started erasing Luke.
He tries listening in, hearing himself describe the Snyder farm and what the barn looks like, but the memory starts to go dark, fading, like the end of a scene in an old movie before they had the technology for smoother transitions. He watches as this ‘scene’ ends, and another begins.
The last time he saw Luke...
***
“How do you expect me to react to that?” Luke demands, hands clenched into fists at his sides.
“Oh, how dare I, right?” Noah is just as pissed off. “How dare I tell you I love you and want any reaction to that. So stupid of me.”
“What do you want from me, Noah? You want me to forget everything that’s happened and pretend everything’s a-okay and we can just... go back to what we were?” They’re standing in the parking garage of Noah’s apartment, and thank God they’re alone. Luke looks like he wants to hit something.
Noah feels like he already has. “The nice part of me wants to say that all I want from you is for you to be happy. Finally. Since apparently I’ve never been able to do that for you in the past. But the selfish part just wants some sort of hope. Wants to believe that... that at some point, any point, there’s hope.” He turns away for a second. “I don’t want to go back to what we were, Luke. I want to start over. Something new. I just want some hope.”
“How can you put that burden on me?” Luke’s voice gets quieter too, which is worse. Because he’s not yelling things out in spur-of-the-moment emotion. He knows what he’s saying right now. God, it hurts. “How can you try to guilt me into this?”
“I’m not,” Noah still can’t look at him. “Why would I want to guilt you into loving me back?”
“God, Noah, I can’t take this,” Luke snaps again. “This? Right here? Makes me feel like shit. Why would I want to keep this in my life?” He smacks his hand against his car. “I don’t need nice. I don’t need myself to be it, and I don’t need anyone else to be it at me.”
“And you don’t need me,” Noah finishes for him, feeling himself hide behind his mask once more. “Why did you come to LA, then? Couldn’t you just re-break up with me over the phone?”
“I need it to be real,” he says simply.
“I forgot, this is all about what you need,” Noah replies, almost calmly, before he can stop myself.
They’re both silent, breathing quietly. If they’re breathing at all. “I love you,” Luke says finally. “I do. Always will. But I can’t do this. Not now, maybe not ever. I can’t give you any hope.”
“Then fucking go,” Noah is turned completely away from Luke to stare at the wall instead. It’s better. “I guess I should be done too. Just get your complicated, self-centered mess out of my life. Go.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To be the one not leaving for once? You think I start drama on purpose or something?”
Noah forces himself to keep turned away. “Isn’t that how you test whether or not people like you?”
There’s silence, and then the sound of Luke going. Footsteps, a car door opening and closing, engine starting up.
And Noah breaks, punching the wall in front of him. His hand scrapes along it, cutting the face of his watch. He doesn’t care. “Luke...” he turns around, but Luke and his car aren’t there. It’s the same wall he was just looking at. He frowns, turns again. The wall. Still there. “Luke?” He runs down the length of the garage, to where he knows there’s a door that leads outside. Maybe to Luke. But when he turns the corner... no. The wall again.
He turns around again, and again, but the same wall keeps staring at him. No cars, no doors, no Luke.
And then the memory fades away.
***
He knows where they are. They’re standing in Old Town, just past the Lakeview, and Noah knows exactly when they are too. Noah already hates himself, his brain, Luke, Dr. Cooke, everyone. This memory... this one ranks up there with finding out the truth about his parents. Waking up blind for the first time. The. Worst.
“-not right for each other,” Luke says, as though he hasn’t said this before (technically, he hasn’t). As though he won’t say it again a thousand times in Noah’s mind (technically, soon, he won’t).
And just like when it really happened, Noah stands there, lets Luke keep talking and breaking the three-year-old heart he had made for himself. Lets Luke get out all the frustration he’s had since Noah’s accident and pour the salt of it on Noah’s fresh wounds. Lets Luke demonstrate just how much he doesn’t love Noah anymore.
Fuck. He can’t wait for this memory to go.
“You know what,” he snaps, wanting to speed the whole thing along, “you’re probably right.” Whoa. This part didn’t really happen. He’s playing in his own memories now? Can he do that? Oh well, too late to stop. “You don’t love me. You don’t even know who I am anymore!”
“Yeah, well, and who’s fault is that?” Luke snaps back. Obviously he can play in Noah’s memory too. “Maybe it’s a relief that I don’t have you in my brain anymore, isn’t that what you’re thinking? That’s how little you expect of me now. Fuck anyone who doesn’t live up to your expectations.”
“It doesn’t matter. By morning you’ll be gone from my life too,” Noah is still yelling, defiant, almost childish. “It’s perfect, isn’t it? The perfect ending to this piece of shit story.”
There’s a sudden crash, earth-shattering almost, and Noah whirls around to see the roof and walls of Java caving in. He stares, watching it crumble and disappear. Turning back around, he just barely catches a glimpse of the back of Luke as he turns a corner, walking away from Noah.
“Luke-” he starts after him before remembering the words they had just thrown at each other. He stops. He lets him go. Behind him, Al’s and Metro are starting to crash to the ground. Luke is gone. Noah stands still as everything falls around him.
***
“We should stay here in bed all day,” Luke murmurs into the back of Noah’s neck.
“Hmm?” Noah isn’t really motivated to understand the words, face still buried into his pillow.
“Noah,” Luke nudges him slightly. “We don’t have to do anything today, you know. If you want to stay away from... anything.”
“Huh?” Noah finally rolls over onto his back to stare up at his boyfriend. “Today?”
Luke is regarding him solemnly. “Father’s Day. If you want to-”
“We’re doing dinner at the farm tonight, Luke. For Holden. We can’t skip that.” He shakes his head. “I’m fine. Really.”
Luke is on his side, chin propped in one hand. “Would you tell me if you weren’t?”
“But I’m fine,” he repeats, a little confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You don’t tell me things, Noah,” Luke sighs. “I’m an open book. I tell you everything, every embarrassing thing. I want you to share things with me, too.”
“Am I doing something wrong?” Noah’s more awake now, turning to mirror Luke’s position.
Luke shrugs, almost apologetic. “No. I don’t know. It’s just, like, communication is supposed to be the key to a good relationship, right? And sometimes... I don’t know, it feels like I do a lot of it. And I don’t always know what you’re feeling.”
“Constantly talking isn’t necessarily communicating,” Noah points out, only half-kidding.
Luke half-smiles in return, reaches out and runs his hand through Noah’s hair. “I just want to make sure we’re on equal footing here. That you know you can share stuff with me.”
Noah stands in the corner of this room, watching himself and Luke. As the memory dissolves away, he finds himself thinking, I wish I could share everything with you.
***
Their first week in their first apartment together, and they’ve hardly made it out of bed. They’re there now, facing each other, barely-barely nose to nose. Noah’s eyes are shut, because trying to focus on Luke’s face this close makes his eyes cross, which leads to Luke teasing him, which leads to him tickling Luke, which leads to... Okay, maybe Noah could open his eyes.
He does, slowly, and is surprised that Luke looks almost sad. “What’s wrong?” he asks softly, letting his fingers creep over to intertwine with Luke’s. Even their knuckles fit together just right, how is that possible?
Luke looks up at him, smiling. “Nothing, just thinking.” He leans in and lightly kisses their joined hands.
“About what?” Noah keeps his voice quiet as though that’ll help.
He’s silent for a minute, not sure how to answer. “I never thought I’d get this far,” he admits, just as quiet. “A boyfriend-slash-partner, an apartment. Starting a job. It’s all so, so far away from what I was before you came to Oakdale.”
“I don’t think I have anything to do with it, baby,” Noah points out. He would be amazed if Luke was supposed to somehow turn out differently. He’s too... Lukeish to not be.
“You do,” Luke insists. “The way you look at me sometimes? I- I can barely stand it. In a good way,” he hastens to add, smiling a little again. “Like, I want to check behind me to make sure it’s me you’re looking at. What could someone like me have possibly done to earn that look?”
This is all very philosophical for three in the morning, and Noah’s been up since six the morning before. So he lets his brain go for the simplest, truest answer. “I love you.” Duh.
And Luke smiles a real Snyder Smile, however brief. “Love you too.” He tilts his face up to Noah, but Noah cranes his neck enough to kiss Luke’s forehead instead. It feels more appropriate, more comforting. When he pulls back, Luke moves with him, settling on Noah’s shoulder. “You look at me like I can do anything. Be anything. And when you do, sometimes I really believe it.”
“Luke...” Noah’s concerned now.
“When I was little, with my parents and family I have, it was like everything and nothing was expected of me at the same time. It was so confusing. I didn’t know... I didn’t know anything.” He offers a sad smile. “Sometimes I don’t think people understand how lonely it is to be a kid.”
“Like you don’t matter,” Noah murmurs, agreeing, hating the mournful look on his boyfriend’s face and not knowing how to get rid of it.
Luke leans up again, and this time they kiss for real, slow, lingering. Reassuring. “I thought there was something wrong with me, something ugly, for a long time,” Luke whispers against his lips. “Until you. And how you look at me.”
“You’re beautiful,” Noah whispers back. He whispers it over and over, on every inch of Luke’s face, trailing his lips along skin. “You’re beautiful.”
He feels panic this time when the memory starts to trickle away. No. Please. Let me keep this one.
By the time he finishes the thought, the memory is gone.
***
He had been so very- characteristically- hesitant when Luke first suggested it. But, just as typically, Noah had no hope of denying him. So here they are, lying on their backs in the middle of Snyder Pond, staring up at the stars.
He’d been picturing all those stupid Discovery Channel specials about people falling through ice, but of course- just like everything else in this farm and this family- the frozen over pond is stable and holds him up.
They’re side by side on the ice, Noah pointing out a few constellations he knows, throwing in a fake one every once in awhile to see if Luke is listening. He tugs Luke closer, hooking an arm around him so Luke could rest his head on it.
Luke smiles, kissing the tip of Noah’s almost-frozen nose. “Hi.”
Noah blushes back. “What was that for?”
He shrugs, shoulder bumping lightly into Noah’s. “You look, I don’t know, content.”
“I am,” he admits, tilting his head so he could rest his cheek in Luke’s spiky hair. “I could die right now, Luke. I’m just... happy. I’ve never felt that before.” Quieter, “I’m just exactly where I want to be.” He’s almost surprised by how much he means it.
Luke is looking him over, eyes full of fifty billion emotions, love just one of them. But before he could say anything back, the trees around them started to disappear, vanishing into gray shadows. “Noah,” Luke starts, even though his voice sounds muddy and distorted, like it’s underwater. And then, even as Noah watches, Luke begins to pull away.
No, not pull. It’s like he’s being dragged by some force. Away from Noah.
“Luke!” he reaches, but it’s not enough. He’s too far away. Noah scrambles to his feet. No. “No. No. Dr. Cooke! I changed my mind! Please...” he starts to run across the ice after Luke. “I changed my mind, I don’t want this! Can you hear me? I want to call it off!”
There’s no answer.
He blinks, alone on the pond. It hasn’t faded just yet, but it will soon. He moves to the shore, to safety, but then stops. “No,” he tells himself again. He turns, running after Luke again. He can catch him this time, he knows he can.
The shadowy figure ahead of him gets closer and closer as he runs, until finally he can make out Luke’s shape, and finally he can reach out and grab Luke’s hand, keeping him from fading away. “Luke, come on. We have to go,” he pulls Luke to his feet and starts running in the opposite direction.
“What’s going on?” Luke is confused but follows anyway.
“Just trust me, we have to go!” They run together, hand in hand, as the pond finally disappears from memory. Noah turns, dragging Luke through another memory, this time through Yo’s during the Cyndi Lauper concert. Just as “True Colors” starts playing, everything goes gray and shapeless. Gone.
Noah isn’t done yet, though. “Noah...” Luke gasps a little, out of breath, but Noah keeps running. No. They run through Casey’s house, with him and Ali and Riley popping out of existence as it all gets erased inch by inch. The walls of the house drop out of sight just as Noah finds the memory from earlier today.
“Dr. Cooke,” he’s gasping now too, holding onto Luke’s hand like a lifeline. “You have to stop this. I don’t want it. I don’t.”
Dr. Cooke turns from where he was talking to earlier-today-Noah. “I’m sorry son, but we can’t stop it. Once the procedure starts, there’s no going back.”
“You have to do something,” he insists. “I’m going to wake up soon. And I won’t remember him at all. I love him, but I won’t when I wake up, will I? You have to fix this!” He turns to Luke, hoping for support or something, anything, but it’s not Luke. Luke’s body and silly blond hair, yes… but it’s like his face is wiped clean. Gone.
Erased.
***
( CHAPTER 2)
Author: carolinablu85
Chapter: 1/2
Characters: Luke/Noah, Ameera, Jeremy (OC) (is he, at this point?), Dr. Cooke (OC), random appearances by others
Rating: R for language, oh shizzle
Word Count: 5,560
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Anything that’s not owned by ATWT is probably owned by Charlie Kaufman and Michel Gondry (including plot/some dialogue/any ingenuity).
Summary: How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot!/ The world forgiving, by the world forgot./ Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!/ Each pray’r accepted, and each wish resign’d. -Alexander Pope
A/N: So, um, this ended up being a bit more in-depth than I originally planned. But worth it, for two very awesome people. Happy birthdays aimezetmusique and natashaodwalla !
He’s not entirely sure why he does it. In fact, he’s not sure at all. It’s the kind of impulsiveness you act on when you’re not afraid of limitations or consequences. It’s the kind of impulsiveness Noah’s pretty sure he has never possessed.
And yet, one moment he’s in his rental car, driving through the streets of Chicago. The next, he’s on the highway, wrenching the steering wheel to the side, taking an exit for God only knows what reason. And then pretty soon, he’s driving into this small random town, winding through small random streets.
He parks the car and starts walking instead, letting his feet decide where to go. There’s a pedestrian-only street in town, old-fashioned, quaint. He walks along, avoiding eye contact (or any contact) as much as he can. He’s an awkward person normally, socially, every-ly, and it’s better if he’s the only one around who knows it.
Turning a corner past a diner, he sees a bench. A perfectly nondescript, boring bench. But Noah likes it. It looks almost... happy for some reason. He rolls his eyes at himself, but that doesn’t stop him from sitting down on it, taking a deep breath, actually... whoa, is this what relaxing feels like?
He sits and people-watches for a few minutes, until the possibility of accidentally attracting attention becomes too much. Then he pulls his notebook out of the inside of his jacket, intending to go over more notes for the film shoot tomorrow. As he reaches, he realizes his watch is cracked across the face. When did that happen?
He can’t remember.
He makes a few notes in the journal, more for something to do than anything else. He’s tired all of a sudden. And wondering why the hell he came here.
He notices someone standing a ways down the street, looking into a shop window. A guy. Blondish shaggy hair, probably his age. Really, really beautiful. Too beautiful. Noah quickly lowers his gaze when the stranger turns in his direction, walking closer. Noah buries himself back in his notebook for protection.
And suddenly, there’s someone sitting on the bench next to him. “Hi.”
Noah looks up, confused and startled. “I- I’m sorry?”
It’s him, the stranger. The way-too-beautiful one. Grinning at Noah like they’re already best friends. “Why are you sorry? I just said hi.”
“I didn’t know if you were talking to me, or...” Noah trails off, a blush no-doubt coloring his face.
Stranger looks pointedly around the bench. It’s just the two of them. “Really?”
“I didn’t want to assume,” he mumbles, feeling more than stupid.
Stranger grins even wider, somehow. He has dimples. “Aw, come on. Live dangerously. Take the leap and assume someone is talking to you on an otherwise empty bench.”
And Noah finds himself smiling. “Hi,” he says back.
“There it is!” Stranger almost crows, triumphant. “You can smile. I’ve been watching you for minutes and minutes, and I was getting worried. You with the sad eyes.”
Noah wants to keep smiling, but he frowns a little at the words. He recognizes them. “That’s Cyndi Lauper, right?”
“Exactly!” Stranger nods. “I can’t remember what song, though.”
Noah opens his mouth, because he knows, he’s sure he knows. But... nothing comes out. What song is it? “I can’t remember either.”
Stranger shrugs. “No big deal. I’m Luke, by the way.”
It’s instantly Noah’s favorite name in the world. He’s pretty sure he’s never met a Luke before. “Hi. Noah Mayer.”
“Hello, Noah,” Luke’s eyes suddenly light up. “I think it’s ‘True Colors.’ The song.”
“Really?” Noah frowns again. “I don’t know that one.”
“I’m pretty sure it is. I think,” Luke shakes his head, mood switching just like that into happy-bouncy again. Noah should be exhausted from it (of it), but he’s not. “So what brings you to Oakdale, Noah?”
The only thing better than hearing Luke’s name is hearing Luke say his name. And damn, he almost admits that out loud. Catching himself just in time, “I’m in Chicago to work on a film. Directing it. I’m here, um, scouting areas outside the city.”
“Nice,” Luke nods. “That’s pretty cool. I knew you had to be something creative, I could tell. Kindred spirit, maybe.”
“You work in film?” he asks.
Luke shakes his head. “Literature.”
“You’re a writer?” He feels like he’s playing some weird Twenty Questions game. He kinda wants to win.
Another headshake. “Well, for fun, yeah. But I work at the bookshop a couple blocks that way,” Luke hooks his thumb in the direction behind them. “I was just finished my shift for the day when I saw someone sitting on my favorite bench.”
“Oh, sorry,” he says automatically, though he doesn’t make any move to get up. Or stop smiling.
Luke doesn’t either. “That’s very nice of you.” He stops for a second, tilting his head. “Nice is such a weird, vague word, isn’t it?” Then back to Noah, “But it’s okay. Here, take this.” And with no warning, almost out of nowhere, he drops a notebook into Noah’s lap.
Noah blinks. It was like Bugs Bunny pulling a hammer out of his fur. Where did that come from? He picks up the notebook- a journal, really, leatherbound- and examines it. “At the risk of giving you way too much of a setup, where am I supposed to put this?”
Luke laughs again, and Noah holds onto the feeling that courses through him at the sound. I made him laugh. “Anywhere you want. It’s for you.”
“Me?”
“The one you were writing in is almost full, I noticed. I notice weird things like that. And I always have extra ones lying around, so here. You can have that one.”
Noah stares at Luke’s completely unrepentant face. “But... why?”
Luke pats his arm. “Because- here’s my tiny confession for the day- I like that you’re nice.”
Noah tries to turn his gaze away, knowing full well that that stupid blush is probably three-alarm-fire-red now. “Thank you, Luke.”
And he probably imagines it, but it almost seems like Luke’s smile softens when he says Luke’s name. Like Luke maybe possibly feels anything remotely close to what Noah is feeling right now. “You’re welcome.”
There’s a beat of silence, and though Noah is surprised at how comfortable it is, the current sizzling through him makes him just as restless. So he does what he does best- Operation Hasty Retreat. “So, um, I have to get back to-”
“Chicago!” Luke finishes for him. “Right, of course. Artist Guy has to get back to his movie set. Shit! Noah. I’ll remember your name, I promise.”
“Because I’m so nice?” Noah asks.
Luke smiles wide. “Because you’re so nice,” he nods back. “I’ll let you go then, Noah. It was nice meeting you.”
And then like a phantom, like a sprite, he’s gone. Noah stares at the empty bench for a moment before dragging himself upward and back towards his car, half-convinced that whole thing was just a dream. And he’s almost sure, until he pulls out of the parking lot and sees Luke again, walking down the street.
Once again, Noah feels that impulsiveness forcing his hand.
He pulls over.
“Do you need a ride?” he calls through the open window.
Luke stares for maybe a full three seconds. Then he smiles. “A ride would be very nice.”
******
Noah paces back and forth, angry, agitated, half an inch away from pulling his own hair out. He clasps his damn watch in one hand, half wishing he could crack it again from sheer strength and will alone.
“Will you sit down? Or slow down, at least?” Ameera tries to grab his shoulder and misses as he goes by her again.
“I just can’t fucking believe he would do that,” Noah ignores his pseudo-sister’s ‘no profanity’ rule. “I just... us? Me? After... after everything, to pretend I don’t even exist?”
“Okay, okay,” Jeremy holds up his hands in what’s probably supposed to be a calming gesture. It doesn’t work. “Just explain to me what happened.”
Noah can’t stop pacing. “I called Luke today. I know, there’s no reason to. We’re broken up. But it’s three days to Valentine’s Day, and I just... I just wanted to talk to him. Just to see how he was, at least.”
“And?” There’s a catch to Ameera’s voice, but Noah can’t be bothered to decipher it now.
“And he acted like he didn’t even know who I was. At all. Even went so far as to say ‘Noah who?’ He treated me like a stranger.” He stops pacing. “Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know, honey. It’s horrible,” Ameera still sounds strained.
“Anyone want a drink?” Jeremy asks, sounding even more strained.
Ameera groans out his name. “Jeremy, just give it a rest.”
“He’s punishing me for being honest, that’s what it is,” Noah decides, shoving the watch back into his jacket pocket. “For that fight we had. Or for still being in LA, or, or, I don’t know. Maybe I should go to Oakdale.”
Both of his friends look alarmed at that. “I don’t think you should, man,” Jeremy shakes his head.
“Because, what? I haven’t been desperate up until now?” Noah growls sardonically.
“Maybe you should take this as a sign to move on,” Ameera offers. “A clean break.”
“With Luke?” Noah is the one to shake his head. “No such thing. Ever. Ever.”
Jeremy stares at him long and hard, then lets out the breath he always does when he’s come to a difficult decision. “See, Noah, the thing is-”
“Jeremy!” Ameera cuts in sharply. “We agreed that we’re not-”
“This isn’t about us,” Jeremy interrupts right back. “It’s about Noah. Who’s an adult, okay, not Momma Ameera’s kid.”
She throws her hands up and stalks into the kitchen. Noah watches her go, but Jeremy’s too busy digging through the mail on his end table. “Look, man, there’s no easy or logical way to have this conversation. So here, read this. I got it in the mail yesterday, Ameera got one too.”
“What is it?” Noah frowns as he takes the letter.
“Just read it,” Jeremy already looks sad for him.
Which, not surprisingly, doesn’t really motivate Noah to read it. “What-?”
“I don’t know, it’s a place that does a thing,” Jeremy shrugs almost gently. “Read it.”
Noah reads.
Dear Mr. Jeremy Criss,
Luke Snyder has had Noah Mayer erased from his memory. Please never mention their relationship to Mr. Snyder again. Thank you.
Lacuna, LTD
424 Grand Street, Chicago, IL
Noah wonders, for more than a second, if he’s still breathing. “What is this?” He finally looks back up at Jeremy, only half-noticing that Ameera has rejoined them. “What the fuck is this?”
“It’s a company in Chicago,” she speaks soothingly. It doesn’t work. Noah is very unsoothed. “They’ve been doing this procedure successfully for years now, apparently. We weren’t going to tell you,” she looks pointedly at Jeremy, who crosses his arms defiantly. “But Luke had the procedure done three days ago.”
He looks back down at the letter. It can’t be real. It can’t be. It can’t, it can’t. “Why?” he asks, barely recognizing his own voice. They don’t answer him, which is fine.
He wasn’t asking them.
The screaming and questions and, fuck, the memories start running through his mind faster and faster like a roller coaster gathering speed. He can’t stop them. Everything. Every word, every touch, every thought about Luke, from the necktie in WOAK to mistletoe to... to everything. The person he loves most, thinks about most, fucking breathes for... chose to not think about him for the rest of his life.
Fuck.
The noise in his brain gets louder and louder, building up to a cacophony he can’t shut off. Just when he’s about to scream out loud, or stop breathing, or maybe explode, it stops. With a bang. A decisive, ‘fuck you’ bang.
“What’s the number for this place?”
Ameera strides fully into the room, right into his face. He finds he can’t look directly into her eyes. “No. Noah, no. Don’t even think about it.”
“Why not?” Noah glares down at her, ashamed of the tears at the corners of his eyes. “Why should I have to bear the burden of our failed relationship by myself?”
“Noah...” she reaches for him, but he stumbles back, landing onto the couch next to Jeremy, who inches a little closer but doesn’t try to touch him. Ameera sighs, sits down in the chair opposite him. “Luke was talking to someone at a hospital fundraiser, the woman told him about this company. He decided to erase you, almost as a lark.”
“A lark?!” Noah means to shout it, but it comes out as a croak.
She looks immediately like she regrets the word, but has to nod. “You know Luke, Noah. He’s like that. Impulsive.”
Something Noah isn’t. The few times he’s been impulsive, it’s either gone really well (kissing Luke, punching Brian, kissing Luke) or really badly (kissing Maddie, enlisting, punching Reid). Maybe it’s time to be impulsive again.
“Noah...” Ameera tries one more time.
“Why did he erase me and not Reid?” Noah whispers. He hates himself for even thinking that, but there it is. Neither Ameera nor Jeremy seem to know what to say to that, but Noah didn’t think they would. He drops his head into his hands, and only then do his friends reach out, touch his back, his shoulder. Trying to comfort him in this completely unfathomable, fucked up situation.
He almost wants to laugh. Only Luke Snyder would get him into a situation like this.
Only now, Luke could never say that about him. Luke doesn’t even know his name. Or his eye color. His favorite movie. The story behind the scar through his eyebrow. His favorite Swedish Fish flavor.
Luke doesn’t want to know him anymore.
Noah stands up again, wanting to pace and wanting to go crawl into bed and never get out. He can’t take the screaming in his brain again, so he goes with what seems like the most logical solution to him- “What’s the number for this place?”
***
“Now, normally,” the doctor ushers Noah into his office, gesturing for him to take a seat. “We have a waiting list, especially so close to our peak holiday season. But, considering the circumstances here, I believe we can-”
“Circumstances?” Noah interrupts, unable to sit all the way back in his chair.
Dr. Cooke doesn’t seem to have that problem. “With most cases, ended relationships and such, the exes are able to go their own ways relatively smoothly. You’re, quite honestly, the first we’ve had in ages who has learned of their former... partner’s procedure.” He offers Noah a smile, and if it weren’t for the circumstances, Noah would probably find it pleasant. “And coming all the way from Los Angeles for this-”
“Not just this,” Noah hastens to add. “I’m in Chicago for work, too. It’s not a big deal.”
“Okay,” Dr. Cooke answers amiably. With another smile, “It’s not often that two people are still tied to each other, even after a separation such as this.”
Noah wonders if he should take a little bit of pride in that. Right now, he can’t. “Yeah, well, that’s only going to last a few more hours. Right?”
“Right,” Dr. Cooke is back to all-business-mode. He shuffles through a file of documents. “First thing you’ll need to do is collect everything, every single thing, that has an association with Luke. Photos, clothing, journals, anything. We want to empty your home, your life of Luke.”
“Okay,” Noah nods, determined, along for the ride now. He refuses to think of those tangible things he’ll be losing. It’ll be worth it to lose this giant, stabbing pain in his chest, right?
Dr. Cooke nods back. “We’ll use these items to create a map of Luke, in your brain. Our technicians will go in tonight and follow that map. Erasing every stop along the way, so to speak. Wiping it clean.”
“Is there risk of brain damage?” Noah asks, suddenly worried about his own medical history. And subsequent luck with said medical history.
Dr. Cooke chuckles, reminding him very briefly of Dr. Hughes. “Well, technically the procedure itself is brain damage. But on par with a night of heavy drinking, nothing you’d miss.”
He wants to argue that statement, but doesn’t, taking a deep breath instead. There’s no turning back now. He hesitates for a fraction of a second, but then sees Luke’s file sitting on the doctor’s desk. Luke didn’t turn back. Luke erased him.
Noah could do the same. “Now what?”
Dr. Cook smiles kindly, pushing both a tape recorder and a box of tissues closer to Noah. He flips the recorder on as he says, “You and I will chat a little, so we can get a sense of the memories we need to track. So please, tell me your name and who you are here to erase.”
Noah eyes the box of tissues like it might sprout teeth and bite him. Then ignores it. “My name is Noah Mayer and I’m here to erase Luke Snyder.”
“Very good. Tell me about Luke.”
And if there’s ever been a more difficult command, Noah has never heard it. “Um, like what?” How do you put Luke into words?
“Everything,” the doctor is still smiling. “Just begin talking, we’ll find what we need.”
Noah nods, slowly, eyeing his file, Luke’s file, the tape records, his hands that weren’t shaking. And then he starts talking.
***
Noah blinks, staring at himself in Dr. Cooke’s office, telling the tape recorder all about the ball of energy and hair product that is Luke Snyder. How is this possible...?
Then Noah realizes (remembers? understands?) that he’s watching a memory. That it’s later that night, he’s asleep in his hotel room in Chicago, and the technicians have started the procedure. Started erasing Luke.
He tries listening in, hearing himself describe the Snyder farm and what the barn looks like, but the memory starts to go dark, fading, like the end of a scene in an old movie before they had the technology for smoother transitions. He watches as this ‘scene’ ends, and another begins.
The last time he saw Luke...
***
“How do you expect me to react to that?” Luke demands, hands clenched into fists at his sides.
“Oh, how dare I, right?” Noah is just as pissed off. “How dare I tell you I love you and want any reaction to that. So stupid of me.”
“What do you want from me, Noah? You want me to forget everything that’s happened and pretend everything’s a-okay and we can just... go back to what we were?” They’re standing in the parking garage of Noah’s apartment, and thank God they’re alone. Luke looks like he wants to hit something.
Noah feels like he already has. “The nice part of me wants to say that all I want from you is for you to be happy. Finally. Since apparently I’ve never been able to do that for you in the past. But the selfish part just wants some sort of hope. Wants to believe that... that at some point, any point, there’s hope.” He turns away for a second. “I don’t want to go back to what we were, Luke. I want to start over. Something new. I just want some hope.”
“How can you put that burden on me?” Luke’s voice gets quieter too, which is worse. Because he’s not yelling things out in spur-of-the-moment emotion. He knows what he’s saying right now. God, it hurts. “How can you try to guilt me into this?”
“I’m not,” Noah still can’t look at him. “Why would I want to guilt you into loving me back?”
“God, Noah, I can’t take this,” Luke snaps again. “This? Right here? Makes me feel like shit. Why would I want to keep this in my life?” He smacks his hand against his car. “I don’t need nice. I don’t need myself to be it, and I don’t need anyone else to be it at me.”
“And you don’t need me,” Noah finishes for him, feeling himself hide behind his mask once more. “Why did you come to LA, then? Couldn’t you just re-break up with me over the phone?”
“I need it to be real,” he says simply.
“I forgot, this is all about what you need,” Noah replies, almost calmly, before he can stop myself.
They’re both silent, breathing quietly. If they’re breathing at all. “I love you,” Luke says finally. “I do. Always will. But I can’t do this. Not now, maybe not ever. I can’t give you any hope.”
“Then fucking go,” Noah is turned completely away from Luke to stare at the wall instead. It’s better. “I guess I should be done too. Just get your complicated, self-centered mess out of my life. Go.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To be the one not leaving for once? You think I start drama on purpose or something?”
Noah forces himself to keep turned away. “Isn’t that how you test whether or not people like you?”
There’s silence, and then the sound of Luke going. Footsteps, a car door opening and closing, engine starting up.
And Noah breaks, punching the wall in front of him. His hand scrapes along it, cutting the face of his watch. He doesn’t care. “Luke...” he turns around, but Luke and his car aren’t there. It’s the same wall he was just looking at. He frowns, turns again. The wall. Still there. “Luke?” He runs down the length of the garage, to where he knows there’s a door that leads outside. Maybe to Luke. But when he turns the corner... no. The wall again.
He turns around again, and again, but the same wall keeps staring at him. No cars, no doors, no Luke.
And then the memory fades away.
***
He knows where they are. They’re standing in Old Town, just past the Lakeview, and Noah knows exactly when they are too. Noah already hates himself, his brain, Luke, Dr. Cooke, everyone. This memory... this one ranks up there with finding out the truth about his parents. Waking up blind for the first time. The. Worst.
“-not right for each other,” Luke says, as though he hasn’t said this before (technically, he hasn’t). As though he won’t say it again a thousand times in Noah’s mind (technically, soon, he won’t).
And just like when it really happened, Noah stands there, lets Luke keep talking and breaking the three-year-old heart he had made for himself. Lets Luke get out all the frustration he’s had since Noah’s accident and pour the salt of it on Noah’s fresh wounds. Lets Luke demonstrate just how much he doesn’t love Noah anymore.
Fuck. He can’t wait for this memory to go.
“You know what,” he snaps, wanting to speed the whole thing along, “you’re probably right.” Whoa. This part didn’t really happen. He’s playing in his own memories now? Can he do that? Oh well, too late to stop. “You don’t love me. You don’t even know who I am anymore!”
“Yeah, well, and who’s fault is that?” Luke snaps back. Obviously he can play in Noah’s memory too. “Maybe it’s a relief that I don’t have you in my brain anymore, isn’t that what you’re thinking? That’s how little you expect of me now. Fuck anyone who doesn’t live up to your expectations.”
“It doesn’t matter. By morning you’ll be gone from my life too,” Noah is still yelling, defiant, almost childish. “It’s perfect, isn’t it? The perfect ending to this piece of shit story.”
There’s a sudden crash, earth-shattering almost, and Noah whirls around to see the roof and walls of Java caving in. He stares, watching it crumble and disappear. Turning back around, he just barely catches a glimpse of the back of Luke as he turns a corner, walking away from Noah.
“Luke-” he starts after him before remembering the words they had just thrown at each other. He stops. He lets him go. Behind him, Al’s and Metro are starting to crash to the ground. Luke is gone. Noah stands still as everything falls around him.
***
“We should stay here in bed all day,” Luke murmurs into the back of Noah’s neck.
“Hmm?” Noah isn’t really motivated to understand the words, face still buried into his pillow.
“Noah,” Luke nudges him slightly. “We don’t have to do anything today, you know. If you want to stay away from... anything.”
“Huh?” Noah finally rolls over onto his back to stare up at his boyfriend. “Today?”
Luke is regarding him solemnly. “Father’s Day. If you want to-”
“We’re doing dinner at the farm tonight, Luke. For Holden. We can’t skip that.” He shakes his head. “I’m fine. Really.”
Luke is on his side, chin propped in one hand. “Would you tell me if you weren’t?”
“But I’m fine,” he repeats, a little confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You don’t tell me things, Noah,” Luke sighs. “I’m an open book. I tell you everything, every embarrassing thing. I want you to share things with me, too.”
“Am I doing something wrong?” Noah’s more awake now, turning to mirror Luke’s position.
Luke shrugs, almost apologetic. “No. I don’t know. It’s just, like, communication is supposed to be the key to a good relationship, right? And sometimes... I don’t know, it feels like I do a lot of it. And I don’t always know what you’re feeling.”
“Constantly talking isn’t necessarily communicating,” Noah points out, only half-kidding.
Luke half-smiles in return, reaches out and runs his hand through Noah’s hair. “I just want to make sure we’re on equal footing here. That you know you can share stuff with me.”
Noah stands in the corner of this room, watching himself and Luke. As the memory dissolves away, he finds himself thinking, I wish I could share everything with you.
***
Their first week in their first apartment together, and they’ve hardly made it out of bed. They’re there now, facing each other, barely-barely nose to nose. Noah’s eyes are shut, because trying to focus on Luke’s face this close makes his eyes cross, which leads to Luke teasing him, which leads to him tickling Luke, which leads to... Okay, maybe Noah could open his eyes.
He does, slowly, and is surprised that Luke looks almost sad. “What’s wrong?” he asks softly, letting his fingers creep over to intertwine with Luke’s. Even their knuckles fit together just right, how is that possible?
Luke looks up at him, smiling. “Nothing, just thinking.” He leans in and lightly kisses their joined hands.
“About what?” Noah keeps his voice quiet as though that’ll help.
He’s silent for a minute, not sure how to answer. “I never thought I’d get this far,” he admits, just as quiet. “A boyfriend-slash-partner, an apartment. Starting a job. It’s all so, so far away from what I was before you came to Oakdale.”
“I don’t think I have anything to do with it, baby,” Noah points out. He would be amazed if Luke was supposed to somehow turn out differently. He’s too... Lukeish to not be.
“You do,” Luke insists. “The way you look at me sometimes? I- I can barely stand it. In a good way,” he hastens to add, smiling a little again. “Like, I want to check behind me to make sure it’s me you’re looking at. What could someone like me have possibly done to earn that look?”
This is all very philosophical for three in the morning, and Noah’s been up since six the morning before. So he lets his brain go for the simplest, truest answer. “I love you.” Duh.
And Luke smiles a real Snyder Smile, however brief. “Love you too.” He tilts his face up to Noah, but Noah cranes his neck enough to kiss Luke’s forehead instead. It feels more appropriate, more comforting. When he pulls back, Luke moves with him, settling on Noah’s shoulder. “You look at me like I can do anything. Be anything. And when you do, sometimes I really believe it.”
“Luke...” Noah’s concerned now.
“When I was little, with my parents and family I have, it was like everything and nothing was expected of me at the same time. It was so confusing. I didn’t know... I didn’t know anything.” He offers a sad smile. “Sometimes I don’t think people understand how lonely it is to be a kid.”
“Like you don’t matter,” Noah murmurs, agreeing, hating the mournful look on his boyfriend’s face and not knowing how to get rid of it.
Luke leans up again, and this time they kiss for real, slow, lingering. Reassuring. “I thought there was something wrong with me, something ugly, for a long time,” Luke whispers against his lips. “Until you. And how you look at me.”
“You’re beautiful,” Noah whispers back. He whispers it over and over, on every inch of Luke’s face, trailing his lips along skin. “You’re beautiful.”
He feels panic this time when the memory starts to trickle away. No. Please. Let me keep this one.
By the time he finishes the thought, the memory is gone.
***
He had been so very- characteristically- hesitant when Luke first suggested it. But, just as typically, Noah had no hope of denying him. So here they are, lying on their backs in the middle of Snyder Pond, staring up at the stars.
He’d been picturing all those stupid Discovery Channel specials about people falling through ice, but of course- just like everything else in this farm and this family- the frozen over pond is stable and holds him up.
They’re side by side on the ice, Noah pointing out a few constellations he knows, throwing in a fake one every once in awhile to see if Luke is listening. He tugs Luke closer, hooking an arm around him so Luke could rest his head on it.
Luke smiles, kissing the tip of Noah’s almost-frozen nose. “Hi.”
Noah blushes back. “What was that for?”
He shrugs, shoulder bumping lightly into Noah’s. “You look, I don’t know, content.”
“I am,” he admits, tilting his head so he could rest his cheek in Luke’s spiky hair. “I could die right now, Luke. I’m just... happy. I’ve never felt that before.” Quieter, “I’m just exactly where I want to be.” He’s almost surprised by how much he means it.
Luke is looking him over, eyes full of fifty billion emotions, love just one of them. But before he could say anything back, the trees around them started to disappear, vanishing into gray shadows. “Noah,” Luke starts, even though his voice sounds muddy and distorted, like it’s underwater. And then, even as Noah watches, Luke begins to pull away.
No, not pull. It’s like he’s being dragged by some force. Away from Noah.
“Luke!” he reaches, but it’s not enough. He’s too far away. Noah scrambles to his feet. No. “No. No. Dr. Cooke! I changed my mind! Please...” he starts to run across the ice after Luke. “I changed my mind, I don’t want this! Can you hear me? I want to call it off!”
There’s no answer.
He blinks, alone on the pond. It hasn’t faded just yet, but it will soon. He moves to the shore, to safety, but then stops. “No,” he tells himself again. He turns, running after Luke again. He can catch him this time, he knows he can.
The shadowy figure ahead of him gets closer and closer as he runs, until finally he can make out Luke’s shape, and finally he can reach out and grab Luke’s hand, keeping him from fading away. “Luke, come on. We have to go,” he pulls Luke to his feet and starts running in the opposite direction.
“What’s going on?” Luke is confused but follows anyway.
“Just trust me, we have to go!” They run together, hand in hand, as the pond finally disappears from memory. Noah turns, dragging Luke through another memory, this time through Yo’s during the Cyndi Lauper concert. Just as “True Colors” starts playing, everything goes gray and shapeless. Gone.
Noah isn’t done yet, though. “Noah...” Luke gasps a little, out of breath, but Noah keeps running. No. They run through Casey’s house, with him and Ali and Riley popping out of existence as it all gets erased inch by inch. The walls of the house drop out of sight just as Noah finds the memory from earlier today.
“Dr. Cooke,” he’s gasping now too, holding onto Luke’s hand like a lifeline. “You have to stop this. I don’t want it. I don’t.”
Dr. Cooke turns from where he was talking to earlier-today-Noah. “I’m sorry son, but we can’t stop it. Once the procedure starts, there’s no going back.”
“You have to do something,” he insists. “I’m going to wake up soon. And I won’t remember him at all. I love him, but I won’t when I wake up, will I? You have to fix this!” He turns to Luke, hoping for support or something, anything, but it’s not Luke. Luke’s body and silly blond hair, yes… but it’s like his face is wiped clean. Gone.
Erased.
***
( CHAPTER 2)