Oneshots | Ryden

Gone with the moon, New with the sun

Rating: Nc-17

The first time Brendon realises something is wrong is when he’s 6 years old. He wakes up and pads downstairs, sleep still clouding his brain, and heads to the kitchen where his mother will be waiting with a nutritious and delicious breakfast of pancakes as Sunday morning tradition entails.

He slips into the stool by the table and instantly begins digging into the warm, fluffy, syrup covered pancakes, glancing up expecting to see his mother smiling at him in her fond way and telling him to ‘wipe his mouth, Brendon, you look like you’re drooling’ but he pauses, eyes widening.

Next to his mother’s everlasting smile is another grin. It’s male and slightly-stubbled and tall and different and new and male. It’s male. Brendon hasn’t ever had a father. He hasn’t ever had a male presence in his life so of course it’s confusing that this complete stranger is sitting opposite him on Pancake Sunday, smiling at him like they’re good friends.

"Um…" Brendon says, dropping his fork onto his still mostly full plate as his brows furrow.

"Hey sport!" The man, the stranger, replies and reaches a hand out, tussling Brendon’s hair as his mom giggles.

"Who are you?" Brendon asks, leaning away from the touch.

Instantly the man’s hand detracts and his smile drops. Brendon’s mom looks at him with sad eyes, moisture suddenly glistening around the edges, and sighs. "This is your step-father Brendon."

Brendon tilts his head to the side, confusion sketched on his face. "I don’t have a step-father." He says because, yeah, he’s pretty sure he’d know if he did.

"Yes you do Brendon." His mother replies and she laughs a little disbelievingly and glumly. "You have for almost a year now. Remember?"

But the thing is he doesn’t.

He just doesn’t.

- - -

Brendon doesn’t forget everything. But it’s not conditional either.

He remembers what he learns. If he watches Food Network one night and sees a recipe for Tacos he likes and decides to try it out, he’ll still remember how to make them a week later.

If he feels like learning Japanese he’ll be able to hold a conversation with a Japanese tourist months later. He’ll remember the language.

The problem is he won’t remember the tourist. Won’t remember their conversation, what the guy looked like, sounded like, won’t remember his existence. Brendon won’t even remember leaving the house.

He’ll remember how to speak foreign words and cook exotic foods but not his own life.

- - -

His mother frets for weeks after he first moves out for college. He’s still surprised after all these years that he remembers who she is every morning even if he forgets everything else, including his ever present step-father.

His roommate is called Jon. He’s a psychology student and so volunteered to help Brendon out in return for being able to use his problem (his parents insist it’s not a ‘problem’, it’s a ‘special quality’ but Brendon’s forgetful, not stupid) as a case study for his final project.

After a few weeks of Brendon running into the living room with a baseball bat every morning, screaming ‘what the fuck is going on! Who the fuck are you!’ Jon comes up with the idea to stick a corkboard to the back of Brendon’s door.

On there he keeps a picture of Jon and a small note to himself.

"This is your roommate Jon. He’s a nice guy and he makes the best coffee and he wears flip flops everywhere which is awesome."