Cicil had expected a regular night out. Though it was a severe understatement to say anything he and his husband did was a regular, there was a comfort in their eternal lives in the small things. As he had promised, he texted Larson a quick 'on my way back home, millions of xoxo' before he stepped into his car and started back home. He was excited for the date, to see his husband all dressed up and fancy, to try something new at their favorite restaurant, to spent time with the one he deeply loved without a care in the world, to cozy up in bed and try and stay awake with him for as long as possible just to further extend their waking hours together, even if it was just a peaceful night of reminicing on their past lives and sharing gentle touches and soft sleepy kisses. he bit his lip excitely, eager to get home, to Larson. Even if tonight was going to more sparatic than he was used to, he had some level of expectatin on the how the night would go.
What he didn't expect was the little glimmer of red he saw from the corner of his eye before everything went too fast and too slow, too dizzy for his liking and then blurry. The tinkling of shatteing glass and the whine and cruch of metal filled his ears before it went quiet. Later on, Cicil would remeber the odd detail, thinking that it was beautiful, the way the glass shined in the sunlight before it turned to a blur. But now, all he wanted to do was move, but he found that he couldn't One twitch he could manage and a shooting pain went from his upper shoulder down to his hand on the left. Mos tlikely broken. He felt blood dripping down from his forhead into his eyes, making them sting as he tried to refocus and asses his situation. He was alive, thankfully, mercifully. The only reason he knew was because his heartbeat was in his throat, his breathing was hard and raggaed and his throat felt. Another movement, emrald green and black, somemthing that looked liked clothing on a person, stubbling towards him but all he coul dthink about was Larson. They had a date. He had promised to be back home soon and help out on the date and get ready. The hospital visit would probably postpone that. And to worry Larson like this would break his heart. It did break his heart. Rushed voices sounded closer to him, good. Others would come and help. He tried his best to gesture to his phone with his other hand, also in pain but not as bad as his left. "Lar-son" He tried to tell them. As much as it pained him to worry his husband, he was Cicil's emergency contact, he needed to be the first to know what had happened. "Lar-son." He insisted again, hissing in pain as a caugh racked his body, most likely jostling a few broken ribs. He whined softly but leaned into the hand at his brow, grateful for the person who seemed to be comforting him, even if they were strangers. When the hand didn't move, Cicil's brows creased in confusion. Maybe it was because of the shock from the crash and his delusional state but he could have sworn he felt a slight itch at the back of his mind, like something was being pulled and stretched and thinned. He tried to move away but the pain in his left shoulder prevented that. He strugged against the touch, trying to shy away from the warm bright light that slowly bloomed in his mind. A blank canvas. He tried so hard, he wished Larson could know how hard he had tried to hold onto the memories that slwoly slipped away. Their first dates, their wedding, their honeymoon, their million dates, their countless evening spend in each other's arms, the pattern of sars he had memoirzed, the time first time they bought an apartment, a house, their first car, all of it, gone in the blink of an eye, replaced by…nothing. "Larson," He whispered softly, a foreign name to him now as tears he now only attributed to his accident streamed down his face.
Maybe there was a bit of mercy left in the world, in some god or spirit or other worldly being that favored Cicil. Before all his memories were whiped away, whoever had been taking them away got frantic and ripped his hand away quickly. Leaving splinters of memories with Cicil, emrald green, night black silk, his home country of Barcelona, a ring being slipped on his fingers, constant happiness, then nothing at all. Blissfull black. He knew he had been moved, he felt movement around him but he was contempt to stay in the black peacefulness for as long as possible. It was better than the blank whiteness that was accompanied with confusion.