That was probably the worse way to gently tell someone you had forgotten them entirely; in fact, now that he thought about it, maybe he was too direct about it, or maybe he should have just waited it out. He might have eventually remembered something, like Nike had told him he would, but Dagan wanted to be honest, even if it hurt…

“Maybe--, Maybe… I shouldn’t have said anything,” an exasperated sigh escaped his throat as he confessed.”

He shook his head; he thought about standing up and walking out of the building, but running away wasn’t going to solve anything. Really, when had he ever considered running away from anything? That wasn’t him at all. No, he was glad he told her that he had forgotten her. It would have saved her from finding out later, and probably more awkwardly, too.

“I can’t--I don’t know why. “

There was a lot more he could say and a lot more he could probably defend himself with. It wasn’t on purpose, he didn’t consciously choose to forget her, or Nike--or anyone else he might have met, either. It just kind of happened…

He said nothing.

This would've been a whole different story if it was a matter of recognition--if Dagan simply didn't recognize her with all the changes. She used to have long hair, she used to have naturally colored hair, and she used to not have that little stud below her lower lip. There were enough dramatic changes that maybe someone just wouldn't think of her as, well, her anymore. What they used to think of her. But that wasn't it. It wasn't that Dagan simply didn't recognize her anymore. It was that he didn't remember. He truly forgot her.

A tremble ran up Sera's back and shoulders. "I-it's my fault, isn't it?"

Her voice was crackling, breaking up, as if she were holding something back. Some sort of strong urge. To cry? To scream? Both?

"I-it's because I left for so long, i-isn't it?" She asked, still not looking up to him, still trembling--perhaps even more so, now. "B-but I-- but I--"

Ultimately, she gave in to the urge to both scream and cry. Clearly in tears and subtly shaking all over, Sera looked up to Dagan again with every intent to scowl at him, show her distaste and disapproval of his forgetfulness. It was like she'd never even heard him say that he didn't do it on purpose. Besides, how could he prove that if he couldn't remember?

"I told you, damnit! I told you it was for everyone's good!" Sera shouted near the top of her lungs, "Th-that we were the ones that were chosen a-and there was nothing we could do about it but go! A-and you took it so hard-- th-that killed me. For so long, I just wanted to come back and say I'm sorry! But now--"

She trailed off, paused, and sulked her shoulders again.

"God . . . what's the point," Sera finally sighed.

Dagan uncomfortably squirmed in his seat; this had not turned out exactly how he would have wanted it, but maybe it was all for the better. He was still adamant on not fleeing from the situation he had created, luckily.

“I don’t know,” he answered. “I don’t--I, I didn’t even know how long I’d been in the city!”

Dagan’s voice grew a bit louder, it wasn’t quite at the top of his lungs, but there was a noticeable difference in volume. Truthfully, he had thought he’d only been in the city for… a while, not too long, but Nike had implied far longer than he’d originally thought, and it was so difficult to keep track of in Purgatory…

“I don’t know how long you were gone or how long I knew you; I don’t know anything, or why I forgot.”

He remembered some things, maybe things that would cheer her up, possibly, but he didn’t know if they were memories of her or of someone else, or if they were memories at all--maybe he was making them up himself; filling in the blanks, so to speak. Could he have told her that in good faith? No, probably not. Not even to cheer her up. He’d forgotten too much and he didn’t blame her for being upset by it, but that didn’t mean he was taking it any easier than her, either. It was a painfully sad feeling, not being able to remember someone that quite obviously enjoyed his company, and was a friend, as well.

“If I could just flip a switch,” he admitted, “and remember everything--I would. I don’t like--I can’t just accept that I can’t remember someone, but… What am I supposed to do?”

It would seem that Dagan had reached the same conclusion as Sera.

“Sorry,” he said again. “I’m sure I’ll remember everything, eventually… I hope.”

"How long . . ." Sera muttered indignantly, "Like you even know what years are, anyways."

There was a lengthy silence amongst them, Dagan quiet and Sera staring at the table, still clearly hurt--too hurt to show much sympathy for Dagan. The silence persisted until Nike was finished with the pouring of the flask into a couple of glasses. He carried them over to the table.

"Here, Sera, have a drink," Nike broke the silence as he approached the table.

He sat down at the table, two glasses in hand. He set one in front of him and pushed the other towards Sera. The glasses were short but filled with a clear fluid. It had a vaguely sweet but bitter smell, something Dagan had no doubt seen or smelled before. A drink--liquid in glasses. Something to be consumed. Something that might be completely foreign to Dagan in every way imaginable. Until then, he'd seen these sorts of glasses before, but they never seemed to serve any use. There was no drinking out of them, nor eating off of plates. They'd never any need for eating or drinking.

She looked away from it. "I don't want a drink."

"It'll calm you down," Nike encouraged.

"I said I don't want a goddamn drink."

"You're overreacting 'cause you haven't had one in days. This always happens, you know that," Nike said, this time much firmer than before.

Sera scoffed at Nike, but took the drink from him. She stared at it for a second, but seemed to reconsider the decision, as she reached her hand back and lobbed the glass at the bar. It shattered on impact, splashing its clear contents onto the wooden frame.

"Fuck you, Nike," Sera cursed, this time far from an innocent jab: there was serious and genuine hate in her voice, the sort of anger that only Sera could display.

Nike simply sulked his shoulders and sighed. Sera stood up quickly and started for the door. Nike made no effort to stop her. She opened the door quickly, but hesitated in the doorway--as if she still had some drive to stay with them, or at least say something. But it was only momentary. Brief. She was upset and didn't want to look at these two anymore, and that was all.

"We should've never come back," was all she said before slammed the door behind her.

And from one awkward turn to the next, Dagan couldn‘t help but feel responsible; this was an odd position to be in, but he didn’t say anything about it. Really, maybe he should have stayed with Attis and the New Arrival. There was no way he could have messed things up, that way.

“I--”

He was interrupted by the shattering glass, which quickly shut him up, at least for a moment, but by then it was too late; she had ran out of the apartment and an uncomfortable silence no doubt filled her absence.

“Nike,” Dagan broke the silence with a stern tone. It wasn’t the tone of someone who had, moments before, felt sick to his stomach, but something a bit fiercer--maybe even a little angry. “I hope we can catch up later,” he gave a reassuring smile as he spoke and stood from his seat. “I’m going to see if I can’t talk to her again… “ Because talking isn’t what got me in this mess, he silently reprimanded himself.

Like Sera, Dagan would start for the door, hesitating only slightly, but quickly overcoming his reluctance. As for Nike, Nike was free to try and stop the man, for as little good as it would do, or he could possibly follow after Dagan; however, the latter was probably unlikely, but it was still a possibility.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “It was nice meeting you again, though, Nike.”

Sera would have a head-start on Dagan, that much was true, but she probably wasn’t nearly as fast as Dagan, who would have been surprised if she hadn’t just made it out of the building. Regardless, he wouldn’t give up, and he’d search for her until he found her.

"S'fine, man," Nike sighed.

This whole mess didn't turn out as he hoped at all. He thought Sera would've been fine, that she would've accepted a drink and calmed down real fast-like--then probably understood that Dagan wasn't being cruel to her specifically, just that he'd forgotten everything. But that's not how it wound up. Sera over-reacted. Or maybe she reacted just right. Nike hadn't the slightest clue right now. He stared at his for a second, before taking it all down in one gulp. This was such a let down of a meeting, it seemed. He couldn't think of much to salvage, either.

Maybe some other other time . . .

"I'll look you up again sometime," Nike groaned as he leaned back in his chair. He doubted he'd be leaving this room anytime soon. "Later, man."

Dagan would find Sera on the first floor of the building, though not aiming to leave. She was near the front door, but had already turned off to the door to the first floor room. Or apartment, perhaps. She had her back to the stairs, and her fingers already lingered upon the doorknob by the time Dagan raced down to the first floor. She hadn't turned to look at him--there was no doubt in her mind who it was. Nike would've never run like that because she was upset.

Sera didn't say anything, but she didn't try to go into the next room immediately. Rather, she said and did nothing at all--fingers still wrapped about the doorknob, breath held, and the sound of her heart so faint that she considered the possibility that it wasn't beating at all.

Waiting.

Waiting and trying to stave off the memories she had of Dagan, all stinging her heart and weighing it down. Making her feel every brand of worthless imaginable. And yet, she couldn't, because he was there. He was there in the timely fashion he always used to be--just . . . there. Rushing, racing, breaking into a sprint and going faster than his body allowed, because someone he appreciated was upset, and he'd every intention of trying to fix it, whether or not he caused the problem to begin with . . .

Dagan stopped just at the foot of the stairs; he didn’t go down or say a word. He just stood there for a moment, looking at Sera, or possibly waiting to see what her reaction was. It was all on impulse, really; he didn’t have anything in mind to say to her, but he felt like it’d have been even worse to not chase after her.

Taking that last step, so that the two were on equal ground level, seemed impossible, at first, and he hesitated just a moment, as he planted his foot down and onto the floor. And still, he didn’t say a word to her, he didn’t break the silence between them, and he didn’t move forwards. He stood there so quietly and motionless that he might as well have not been there at all, but he was and she knew it. Inside, Dagan was a kaleidoscope of emotions and thoughts; it was as though he couldn’t decide on what to feel at that moment or what to even think.

“Where are you going?” His voice didn’t betray his twisting thoughts; it was composed, but gentle enough to almost be called a whisper. He wasn’t going to apologize again, he wasn’t going to make another excuse, or tell her that it hadn’t been on purpose. He wasn’t going to do that again. He’d already said it, twice, in fact, and now he was done.

“Going to hide? Leave?” His words could have been taken as accusatory and maybe, somewhere in them, they were, but his tone was of the absolute opposite.

Finally, he moved forwards, away from the stairs, away from that last step he had refused to take, and appeared to glide across the floor, he moved so fast. The distance between Sera and Dagan would lessen in a fraction of a second, but he wasn’t forceful. He didn’t grab or pull her away from the door. He simply stood behind her, a foot away.

“I forgot you,” he admitted again. “I don’t remember much of anything.”

He shook his head and thought, for a second, about what he was going to say next; after all, he couldn’t just pretend as though none of it mattered, as though the lost time was unimportant… No, that’d work on Nike, but it probably wouldn’t work on Sera. With Nike, Dagan could wave it off a little and say: ‘we’ll just have to make more memories!’ That wasn’t going to work with Sera, though, was it? And frankly, Sera had already taken it far worse than Nike had, and sweeping it under the rug wasn’t going to help anything, anyways.

“But maybe you can remind me,” he genuinely smiled, “Sera?”

It felt like time had frozen still when Dagan made his way to her, hesitating but rushing all the same in a way that only he could. It was slow but sure as she turned to face him, her back then to the door and her eyes strictly upon his chest, the left side of his chest, all covered in cloth and protected, decent and warm. She took in every word he had for her, both aggressive and hopeful alike, and she responded only with a look. A stare. A simple and sad stare. The kind of look befitting a woman ready to cry at any given second.

Sera said nothing. She had no words for him. Any attempt at sympathy or reassurance or empathy or forgiveness--it would've all been lost half-truths. What she needed to do, most importantly, more than anything else, more than any value there ever were to words, was remind him.

Remind Dagan. Help him remember her.

But just how was she supposed to do that? Sera looked up into Dagan's eyes, searching for that answer. She'd never dealt with something like this before. With the idea that people could be forgotten just like that. What was it called? Was Dagan the first to experience it? Why did he have to? Sera couldn't bring herself then to stare at anything above or below his chest--and even then, she stared right through him. Into him. Somewhere within the confines of Dagan's metaphysical, the heart that beat feelings into his soul, there was an indication of truthfulness, of genuine feeling. Of absolute innocence.

Memories. Sera let her eyes trail up from Dagan's chest. With blurred and stinging eyes, she investigated the contours of his neck, his chin, his cheeks, lips, nose, and at last his eyes.



Sera placed her hand upon the collar of Dagan's shirt. She didn't know what she was doing. It was all just . . . happening. Falling into place. She had an idea; a weak, vague, and simple idea. A romantic concept that maybe Dagan could be cured all at once. An impossible concept that it was all just an innocent crime. That everyone was a victim; that no perpetrators deserved to be forgotten, that no men deserved to lose their memory. Was it all true? Was it all false? Or was only half of it? But no one really knew that much, did they? They just didn't know the half of it.

She leaned up. Subtly, but so: perched upon the tips of her toes, she leaned into Dagan. Her other hand found its way upon his chest, and soon she was leaning into Dagan as her only physical support. Her eyes were upon his, locked and unblinking, despite the pain that stung them and the agony that was wreaking havoc in her mind. A reminder. Something Of A Memory. Perhaps it was irresponsible. Perhaps it was flawed. Perhaps it was over-romantic and filled with all brands of hope that couldn't exist within their Unreal world. She hesitated once, refused to breath any further--but ceased her fruitless hesitation when she shut her eyes . . .

And so, with the utmost feeling, she pressed her lips firmly against Dagan's own.

Dagan felt his heart jump as Sera looked him over and again when she finished the short distance between them; grabbing onto him, leaning into him, and finally pushing towards him. His body reacted involuntarily, a semblance of memory or instinct; it didn’t matter, he didn’t care; her lips met his and he went along with it.

His eyes closed and his breathing grew heavy; it was a gesture that he knew, he understood what it was, but he didn’t understand why she had initiated it. Was there a reason for it or was it a spur of the moment, as the case may have very well been? Still, he didn’t seem to mind, he didn’t push away from her, or stop her; it felt natural and familiar, or maybe it was more like nostalgia?--Again, he didn’t know. His mind was still a mess of thoughts and feelings, of emotions he couldn’t quite explain and this, this compounded on top of it, but not unpleasantly so.

He felt like he was moving forward, leaning forward, like he was going to fall, but he wasn’t. He wanted to call her name, but he couldn’t speak--he couldn’t think. He was stuck in the moment, for however long it’d last, or until Sera broke away from him.

In no way was this vanity's kiss; in no way was this a harlot's touch. The vain, the harlots, and all the terrors of the moral world didn't feel like Sera did. They hadn't that range of emotions, nor the depth of sensitivity she could offer. They hadn't the ability to put such feeling into one kiss, however sporadic that kiss seemed to be. Not this kind of feeling. Not these kinds of feelings.

Feelings, emotions, sensitivities; so many of them swimming about her heart, drowning her in a sea of serene discord.

Feelings, feelings -- regret, surprise, caution, jealousy, concern, sympathy, compassion, joy, love, hate, love, lust, sadness, hurt, loathing, happiness, regret.

But despite it all, she could focus on all the pleasantries of the kiss, a kiss she intended only to last a fraction of a second, just some small soft peck on his lips. She kept it still, though. Let it linger. Let them linger. Whether Dagan experienced the past or not, she did. That, and every feeling she could connect to this one spiritual act of leaning together and kissing softly, innocently, lovingly. For that moment, she'd no want of it to end. Sera was content, if only briefly, to imagine it as if Dagan had never lost his memory at all.

But that was vain. Soon, Sera refused to acknowledge that want, and recalled Dagan the man. The man she knew and the man he was now.

Finally, she withdrew her lips from his, but not far. For a moment, she lingered there, her lips brushing against his, her breath slight and soft. Sera swallowed hard, all brands of apprehension suddenly fighting their way to the surface. Slowly, she opened her eyes. Slowly, she leaned back. Slowly, she pulled her hands from Dagan's chest and collar. Slowly, she put her back to her door.

And yet, she looked up at his face still. Her lips remained so subtly parted, her breath still soft, but her eyes searching Dagan's eyes for an answer. Something hopeful. Some hint that maybe it all wasn't lost--that he remembered something. Her. Them.

"Anything . . . ?" She asked at long last; Sera's voice was almost pleading and carried just barely above a whisper. Meek. Hopeful. Lost.

Stepping back, Dagan ran a hand through his hair, his eyes wandered towards the ceiling, as if he were avoiding Sera, or trying to straighten out his thoughts. The moment the two had just shared was one of crackling intensity, at least for him; after all, very few things could actually paralyze him, and she had done a fine job of it. Yet, as she finally broke the silence between them, as she backed away from him and questioned him, he couldn’t help but feel she came up short.

“I--,” he felt a knot form at the back of his throat. “Nothing concrete, no. Maybe something--a feeling, like something should click or be there, but no memories… Only a feeling. Like before,” it wasn’t an apologetic tone he spoke in, but it was soft. It was careful and composed.

His chest ached, his shoulders were hung low, and he felt exhausted--he shouldn’t have felt that way, he had just woken up, but it was like being out of the city all over again.

He recalled sitting with the New Arrival at the bench inside the Great Hall, just sitting there, looking at the man, and reminiscing to make the time go by. Those were memories from a long time ago; he recalled the girl, the figure, silhouetted as she was, that he felt a connection with, and that he sought out when he was down--then he looked at Sera. She could have been the same person, a similar connection was there, he felt, but had it just been forged or had it already been there? How was he to know? These thoughts and feelings were just too confusing.

He sighed and furrowed his brow; he walked towards Sera with determination in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything. The small space between the two was eliminated, as Dagan walked directly in front of her, where she was using the door as support, and planted his right hand against the frame of the door, allowing his body to lean forwards and loom over the woman.

He looked down at her from above, dead silent, and having blocked her range of movement. If any other person had done this, there’d have been cause for worry, but not from Dagan.

He wetted his lips and appeared to start to speak, but instead stayed quiet. He re-thought on what he was going to say, but finally decided:

“Sera, you… I remembered a woman,” his voice was serious. He wasn’t saying it to spare Sera’s feelings, and he didn’t appear to doubt himself, either. “I don’t remember what she looked like. I don't even remember her name, but I remember a feeling ... Not much else."

Sera was free to take it how she wished, but that was all Dagan remembered and most of it had been without her kiss, but the gesture was what allowed him to say it.

At first, when Dagan didn't seem to have much of a positive answer for her, Sera was tempted simply to open the door and shut it behind her. Perhaps even asked him to leave.

But that wasn't what happened at all. No, Dagan's answer was both negative and affirmative all at once. Negative that there was anything there, but affirmative that there was hope. A feeling. But what feeling exactly? A good feeling, a bad feeling? Sera would have reached out to tell, were she, herself, not already a mess of her own. She didn't think straight then. Emotions were something of a sense to her, a sixth sense, something as natural as breathing and touching and hearing--but even the most sensitive person could forget to taste under the right pressures.

Tempting, though, was the idea of reaching out to him anyways. Her arms remained behind her back, but they both twitched in subconscious want.

Eyes stinging with tears. Head pounding with stress. Body preparing to wretch with need. Heart drowned in discord. So many factors all weighing upon her at once, all those compounding pains, that Sera should have dropped in agony and utter loss of will--but that was just it. She still had the will to stand, back against her door and Dagan practically against her once more. Had he never forgotten her, she'd have thrown her arms around him, kissed him again, and invited him in for a drink or two or three or four.

Instead, Sera simply gazed up to him with red eyes and puffy cheeks. She kept her hands behind her back and her back still pressed against the door.

"Wh-what . . ." she took in a deep, hesitation laden breath, "What feeling is that . . .?"

“I don’t know--a feeling,” he said again and lowered his head, just a bit. Just enough that, if he wanted to, he could have probably rested it against his outstretched arm, but he didn‘t. “I--if--it’s like, I don’t know. Love … or anger.”

Dagan didn’t have the technical skills to differentiate between the two, not right now, at least. It could have just as easily been both at the same time, but he didn’t know how to say that. Not in so nice of words, at least. Indeed, maybe he was just making things worse than what they already were. Yeah, that was probably it.

He pushed off from the wall and took a few steps away from Sera, sighing to himself.

“Maybe some time to think?” It was a request, strangely enough; it was as though he were asking her to not hate him before the two had time to put together their own thoughts. To go over what had happened today and, more importantly, where it left them as friends.

Space. That was doable. Imaginable. Time. Not so much. Time was such an abstract for them. Sera seemed to understand it to some extent, but did Dagan truly recognize the weight of his words? Time to think--it entailed a break of space, it entailed solitude, and it required an understanding of the basic concept of time. How long would he have taken to think if he'd never known the concept? A few seconds, before returning to Sera and affirming that he'd no idea which emotion was true? But no. No, perhaps through some unconscious means, he seemed to know exactly what he was doing.

Perhaps Dagan knew more than he gave himself credit for. Perhaps not every memory was lost--just simply unrecognizable. For now.

Sera bit her lower lip and nodded solemnly to Dagan. Love or . . . anger? Was that it? Not that she could blame him. Not for either. But knowing it hurt her deeply--though, not quite as the last pain. Nothing could top the pain of being forgotten.

"Y-yeah. S-some time to think . . ." Sera trailed off.

Without further hesitation, she let her left hand glide from behind her back, across the door, and finally rest upon the doorknob.

"Goodnight, Dagan . . ."

While not a term Dagan would ever remember hearing before, the context clues were there: she had her hand upon the doorknob, her eyes were shut, and she looked ready to split ways with Dagan for now. For now. But for how long? Seras didn't know. Everything hurt too much to know a damn thing.

“Y-yeah…”

Solemnly, Dagan told Sera goodbye, albeit in not so many words, and left the building; he could have went and conversed with Nike for a few, but he didn’t even have it in him to ascend back up the stairs. No, to be honest, he just didn’t really feel like talking to anyone, not right now, at least, and so, with hands stuffed into the pockets of his pants, he took to the gray streets of the city.

Surprisingly, his mind was empty, he had said he needed time to think, but nothing came to mind. No words, thoughts, or feelings. There was no drive to really do much more than walk; that wasn’t to say, however, that clearing his mind wasn’t needed, because it most certainly was.

“Dammit,” he dug the toe of his shoe into the ground, kicking at a few loose pebbles, and angrily set off through the city.