famous last words.

[fletcher cross]

these bright lights have always blinded me.
closed to friends.

He couldn’t remember much of what had happened. It went like that, you know? Everything went so fast, but everything seemed so slow, and in the end it felt like a dream. Not necessarily a bad dream, but not a particularly good dream either. One of those dreams that you couldn’t quite remember when you woke up. Just flashes. Flashes and feelings. He had a feeling that this dream was something he didn’t want to remember—but he had to. That’s what the doctors told him, at least. Remembering this dream, they said, was the key to helping him get better. But…why did he need to get better when he felt absolutely fine?

The first thing he noticed was that he didn’t know his name.

The nurse told him it was Fletcher. Fletcher Ezekial Cross. He liked that name—well, he didn’t suppose he had much of a say in the matter, but it was comforting all the same to like your identity. He’d been told that he was sixteen years old, a junior at a school called Winterthorne Academy. Apparently the school had been moved to an all-girls school because of the overwhelming amount of murders. The doctors and nurses had refused to say anything more about the school. Then, they’d said, the students were being moved to Crestview Academy in a train. He hadn’t gone on that train. He’d gone separately, in a car (as a few other students had), because he’d been unable to catch the train. Look where that got him.

In terms of broken bones and scars, he’d gotten off pretty late for a crash. He had several going up and down his arms, and one on his neck, but the majority of his skin remained smooth. He had bruises up and down his legs and a twisted ankle. The doctor said those things would heal within no time. The real problem was the concussion he had gotten—and the resulting loss of memory.

Considering all that could happen in a lifetime, they really hadn’t told him anything. He knew that he was Fletcher, and sixteen, a junior—had recently attended Winterthorne Academy for the Gifted, but now was going to Crestview Academy for Girls (and, apparently, boys). He didn’t know any of his friends—assuming he had any. He didn’t know if he had a girlfriend—or a boyfriend—or even if he had brothers or sisters. And what about his parents? They hadn’t mentioned anything about his parents. Plus, they hadn’t allowed any visitors. What was that? Here he was, surrounded by people telling him to remember his past when they wouldn’t even let him see it!

Today, the fourth day, his doctor said they would come.

Or…could come. For all he knew, he was an awful person who no one liked. He hoped it wasn’t the case, but it was still a possibility.

Fletcher sat in the white hospital room, a light blue patient’s gown and white sheets covering his body. He looked out the window, taking in the small joy that he had—the view of the city—and hoped that someone would come and tell him who he was.

Well is it hard understanding
I'm incomplete?

[andrew lacetti]

[ if its too much of a problem that i haven't gotten andrew's bio up yet and am posting, then i'll be fine deleting this for now, hun. but i figured that pretty much everyone knows who he is, and ya know i'll get his bio up soon...so... >__> just tell me if i should get this off ]

After the hospital had hung up, the young vampire had stared speechless at his phone for another good five minutes. He didn't know what to do; what to say. And it wasn't until around those five minutes had passed, had the buzzing sound from his phone finally reached his ears (intesified from his vampire ears). Then he clicked the red button that cut that annoying sound off. His brain didn't seem to know how to react to the news he had gotten. It was a sort of numb feeling—kind of like being high. Only it wasn't as pleasant as that was. It was more...a feeling of numb dread? Yeah...that had to be it.

Only. Fletcher. He couldn't be... That can't have happened. Not to the dog. Well, werewolf. All Andrew knew, was that he liked that boy much more than he'd ever liked anyone else. He wasn't always positive it was love, but Fletcher meant more to him than anyone else. And now... Fuck. Andrew took a few steps back with his long legs, until his back hit the wall. Then he slid down until he was on the floor, his knees beant up against his chest. His phone dropped to his side and he stared at the dorm wall opposite. He didn't know what to do. All he knew was that he couldn't cry. The boy was still alive...right? He'd be fine...right?

It was a bit like Vincent all over again.

Except this time, he was possibly in love with the victim. And this time, the person wasn't dead when he found out. Fletcher couldn't die...

Even if he might love Parker too... Even if he'd gotten Parker pregnant (which how was still beyond him)... Even if Fletcher thought Andrew didn't like him much... But he did.

And he couldn't lose him. He already knew that he was going to have to, eventually. He was a vampire; he was immortal. Fletcher was a werewolf; he wasn't going to live forever. They weren't even that great a pairing. Vampire and werewolf. Not a match made in heaven right there.

He came to the conclusion as he sat there staring, brain slowly starting to function again: he actually...kinda needed Fletcher.

That had been about four days ago.

But four days had passed—and the hospital had called again. Before, they'd said that no one could visit yet. They'd said that he'd have to wait a few days to visit him. But he'd gotten that call today. So here he was, in the waiting room. His left foot tapped a nervous rhythm on the tiled-linoleum floor of the hospital as he waited for a doctor to come and tell him it was okay to go in. No one had bothered to tell him exactly what condition the werewolf was in. And he was scared. Andrew was actually scared. He wanted a cig or something; before he went absolutely insane. But he would wait until later; after he left. He couldn't bring himself to miss the first moment he could see the other boy.

Finally, after around forty minutes of waiting, a man came in. A doctor. He walked right over to the vampire and asked if he was Andrew Lacetti. The young boy only nodded, biting down on his lip hard enough to break skin. He stood up and followed the older man down turning hallways as he attempted to remember how to get to Fletcher's hospital room. If the werewolf was able to have visitors now, then Andrew would make sure he came as often as he possibly could.

A few minutes later and he was standing outside. The doctor, in his white lab coat, walked in. But Andrew paused, almost frozen, at the doorway. Until the doctor came back and called what he was doing to his attention. The vampire blinked his emerald green eyes, apologizing quietly. Then he finally walked into the room.

"F-Fletcher?" he said, making it to the side of the boy's bed in a few quick steps (and quick like, vampire quick). He felt himself fall into the chair next to the bed, staring at the older boy. His green eyes trailed over his body, looking to find all the injuries, even if he really didn't want to know. Again, Andrew bit down hard on his lip, trying to stop it from quivering.

[fletcher cross]

He didn’t really like testing, but the doctors had assured him that they needed to do a few simple things to determine more about his old lifestyle, as the whole memory-thing wasn’t really working. They’d done a few things already that they called “personality tests”. He didn’t know what that meant. They gave him all sorts of games to play with—artsy ones, like colored pencils and markers; athletic, like a soccer ball and tennis racket (which he got to use in the fitness center in the hospital); mind games, like puzzles and such. He had liked the puzzles especially. He spent most of one day completing the seven thousand-piece puzzles they’d given him, rearranging them, and then doing them all over again. The nurses, baffled, watched him recreate the Eiffel Tower, a garden of petunias, and a whale in under fifteen minutes. They came to the conclusion that he liked puzzles. Bravo, nurses.

They’d let him keep a rubix cube, as he was so fascinated with it, and it didn’t take up much room in his bed. Every now and then he would take it from his nightstand and begin to work on it again. Once he had thought he discovered the key to getting all the colors on the right side, but he ended up messing it all up again. The doctor had offered to tell him the combination, but Fletcher refused; he would figure it out himself. It wasn’t as if he had anything else to do in the stupid little white room, right? He was stuck in there for hours at a time with no one—not even the nurses, and no other patients, as he had a room to himself—and absolutely nothing to do. The most he had was the rubix cube, some water, a few magazines that were from three years ago, and every now and then a doctor would bring him a book to read. He liked reading; the books were usually completed within an hour or two.

Today he had only the rubix cube and some grape juice. The doctor had failed to remember the next in the series Fletcher was reading, so he was stuck with mind-games and sight-seeing for today. Then again, the doctor had promised that, instead of bringing a book, he would bring people with him. People sounded infinitely better than torn up pages at the time, so he had agreed to wait for a few hours in boredom. After several more minutes of waiting, he picked up the rubix cube and began trying to solve it again. He fumbled around with it in his hands for a few moments, eyes narrowing in concentration, and paused as he heard someone walk through the door.

He looked up, smiling at Doctor Reid—his favorite, by far, of all of the doctors. “Hello, doct—” Slowly his smile faded at the grim look on the doctor’s face. What was wrong? His eyes trailed over to where the doctor turned to, the doorway, and froze. He had…a visitor? So he wasn’t socially inept—or perhaps this was a relative? Yes, he could see that. Fletcher watched quietly as the new boy came into his room. They both had relatively the same skin color—or at least, they were both very pale. His light blue eyes fell curiously to his arm to inspect the color of his own skin, ignoring the wires that streamed out of his arms. Yes, fairly the same. His eyes lifted again, further “researching” the other boy. He moved from his hair to his eyes, the shape of his face, the way he held himself. Yes, it was possible that they were brothers.

“Hello,” he repeated, this time to the new boy before him. He smiled shyly, unsure of what to say. This was his first interaction with a human who wasn’t trying to stick a needle into him, so it was a pretty important one. He bit his lip a little, trying to find the words that would make sense with his thoughts. “I’m—well, I guess you know me…” Obviously, otherwise he wouldn’t have called him by name, let alone visited the hospital. Stupid Fletcher. “Are you…my brother?” He paused. What if he wasn’t, and he was horribly mistaken? What if they were friends? What if they were enemies—what if this boy was the one who had put him in the hospital in the first place? “I mean, do I…”

“Who are you?”

[andrew lacetti]

"I’m—well, I guess you know me…"

Well...duh, Fletch. How come Fletcher didn't know Andrew knew him? Unless... The vampire's emerald eyes moved over to the doctor questioningly, wanting an explanation. Even though he already knew the explanation: Fletcher must've lost his memory. So...if he didn't know who he was...then, he didn't know anything about them. All that hard work and admiring from a far for so long. Everything. It was kinda all lost now. Well, to Fletcher, at least. He tilted his head to the side slightly, looking back to the werewolf as he heard his voice again. His brother? Andrew blinked.

"Well...no... Not...your brother," he answered after a moment. How was he supposed to explain that they were going out? Did Fletcher even remember he was gay? Or would he completely freak out about it? "I'm...well..."

But he trailed off thankfully as the werewolf spoke again. "My name's Andrew... Andrew Lacetti. We go to school together and...er..." Again, he trailed off nervously. "I— we're—" How the fuck was he supposed to explain this to him? "Together, too..." He looked back up from the floor and his sneakers to see how Fletcher would react.

Hopefully it wouldn't be too horrible. Why hadn't anyone cared to explain the fact his boyfriend had lost his memory? Not that anyone would know they were together. And obviously Fletcher wasn't able to explain it to anyone either. Andrew bit down on his tongue, poking it with one of his fangs. "Do...you remember anything?" he questioned quietly, scared of the answer he had a feeling was going to come.

[ ldkfjsda. shortandsucky D; i'm sorry <3 don'thatemeplz. ]

[fletcher cross]

He felt horrible--as if asking these simple little questions was hideously wrong. He couldn't help it (or, at least, he was pretty sure he couldn't help it). It wasn't his fault that his memory had pulled a Houdini on him; it was a possibility that the car wreck was his fault in the first place, but he couldn't remember what had happened, and no one had bothered to tell him much about the events that night, so he assumed that it was another driver that had caused the accident. If it was him who had started it, perhaps by distracting the driver--or could he drive?--then he would take full blame for everything. It would be his fault that he couldn't remember simple things like the names of objects, or even his own name, or the name of the boy in front of him. He found that watching this boy was becoming more and more unnerving; he was getting the sense that he was doing something bad once more.

One thing that bothered him was that none of his family had showed up so far. You would've thought that, as family members were allowed to go see the patient before the others were granted visiting hours, his family would have stopped in. The first thing that ran across his mind was that, maybe, he was an orphan. But if he was an orphan, wouldn't whoever was in the car have come to see him (a caretaker, a new family)? Plus, the hospital had not specifically mentioned anything along those lines; he took it that they assumed he knew that he had parents--which he obviously didn't. The next thought that ran through his head was that maybe whoever was driving, if they were at fault, held themselves in so much shame that they couldn't bear to enter his room and even glimpse at the wounds that covered his body. That was ridiculous, as he told himself; he couldn't even remember who they were. Perhaps they were clumsy in nature, or the whole thing had been a bad accident? The boy wasn't going to put blame on someone who came to visit him any time soon. The last thought that he had, which was the worst, was that maybe he did have family. Maybe he had a wonderful, perfect family...that he simply did not belong in. Maybe they were glad the accident happened. That's why he clung to the thought of the new boy being his brother; it was hope for much more.

The look on the dark-haired boy's face was confused and--repulsed, maybe?--when Fletcher asked his question. Okay. Clearly that wasn't the right question to ask. All the hopes and dreams of having a family crashed around him miserably (well, the hopes and dreams of that moment; there was still the chance that someone would burst through the doors, weeping, and claim him as their son). "Sorry," he muttered quietly as the other carefully explained that he wasn't his brother. "I just thought--the skin...?" It was probably pointless to try to let the other know what he was thinking; the dark-haired boy was now watching him like he had just gone insane. So, if they weren't brothers, what were they? Cousins? He had said "not exactly", so his guess must have been somewhat close. His eyes lit up a little bit. There was still a chance for the family-dream. A small one, but it was still there.

He waited impatiently for the other boy to tell him what they were. Just spit it out! the blonde thought impatiently, blowing a few strands of his multi-colored hair out of his eyes. It's really not that hard. Cousin? Uncle? Father? Step-brother? Who are you?! "Nice to meet you, Andrew Lacetti." Now tell me our goddamn relationship. Now he wasn't even looking at him! How in all hell was he supposed to get on with his life and build up his relationships again if he didn't even know what they were or who he was?! Finally the other boy managed to say something other than his name. They went to school together--and what? "Yes," he started again, growing a little more impatient by the second, "I can see that. We're together." It took him a few moments to gather what Andrew had actually meant when he said "together".

The doctor stood to the side, amused and rather glad that he had waited for someone else to inform Fletcher of all of this.

Almost instantly the light pink hit his cheeks as they heated up. T-together? As in...TOGETHER? Like, couple together? Date together? Let's-go-to-the-movies-on-friday-together?! He opened his mouth, but nothing came out; he was a little too shocked. First of all, he was...gay? That'd take some getting used to, then. Why hadn't the hospital told him? Sure, name and age and all that jazz were pretty damn important, but this was about as awkward as it could get. After he realized his jaw was still dropped, he blushed deeper, closed his mouth, and looked down at his hands. There was no way he'd--and he asked if they were brothers! Suddenly Andrew's reactions made a lot more sense than he would have liked. Silently he wondered how close they were, what they did together on weekends. He snuck a quick glance at Andrew. He was...well, he was really, really good looking, that was for sure. Invisible needles pricked at his skin as the hairs stood up on the back of his neck. Good looking? Since when had he thought that?

...and did he remember anything?

Silently he stressed his brain into working for him. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration: remember Andrew. Remember us. Remember anything? After several seconds, he was left with no memories but those of the hospital. The only thing before that he could slightly glimpse at were flashes of light and something...gray? It was shiny, though. Gray and shiny. Something gray, shiny, and a flash of light. And then the hospital. Fletcher shook his head. He lifted his eyes to meet Andrew's and, trying to clear the blush off his face, muttered, "I'm sorry...I tried..." His bright blue eyes fell down to his hands again. I really did. I'm sorry...



[ x] s'okay~ ♥ ]