The next morning, Archie woke up with a strange sense of weightlessness in his chest.
Not relief. Not peace exactly. But something like breathing after being underwater too long—sharp, bright, a little painful, and entirely necessary.
He'd stayed on the rooftop with William until well past midnight, wrapped in silence and starlight and the soft electric hum between them. They hadn't kissed again. It wasn't like the night at Paddy's, charged with alcohol and adrenaline and barely-contained longing. This time, it was slower, gentler, raw in a different way.
More real.
Now, back in his dorm room, Archie lay on his bed staring at the ceiling while Elliot brushed his teeth with his headphones in, oblivious to the monumental emotional crises unfolding four feet away.
His phone buzzed with a message from William:
"Breakfast? Or too emotionally vulnerable to eat in public?"
Archie grinned.
"Emotionally vulnerable AND starving. Meet you at 9?"
William replied with a thumbs-up and a knife-and-fork emoji, because of course he did.
-
They met at the cozy little café just off campus—The Owl's Nest, a place filled with crooked bookshelves and mismatched mugs. Archie had brought Anne here after a bad test once, and she'd declared it "an official comfort zone." Today, it felt like a good place to have hard conversations.
William was already there, seated at a corner booth, hunched over a coffee cup, hair a little messy in a way that made Archie's stomach do inconvenient flips.
"Hey," Archie said as he slid in across from him.
William looked up and smiled. "Hey."
There was a pause—awkward but not uncomfortable.
"I barely slept," William admitted.
"Same," Archie said. "But not in the bad way."
William looked down at his mug. "Me neither."
They ordered pancakes and eggs and too much coffee. They made small talk at first—Marco's latest antics, Anne's habit of texting in all caps during emotional emergencies, the horror of midterm grading curves—but inevitably, the conversation circled back around.
To them.
To memory.
To before.
William leaned forward, fingers tracing the edge of his mug. "There's something I haven't told you."
Archie's heart skipped. "Okay..."
William hesitated. "Last week, I found a journal. In a box my mom had tucked away in our attic. My journal. From three years ago."
Archie sat up straighter.
"There were pages missing," William said. "Torn out. Like someone didn't want me to remember something." His voice lowered. "But there were still pieces. Fragments."
He pulled something from his pocket and slid it across the table.
A small, worn photograph. The edges were curled. The image was faded slightly with time—but unmistakable.
It was Archie.
Maybe seventeen. Laughing, holding a sparkler, looking over his shoulder at someone not in frame.
Archie's breath caught in his throat. "Where...?"
"It was tucked inside the journal," William said. "No label. No name. Just that." He looked up, his voice barely steady. "I think you were more than just a dream, Archie. I think you were my real life."
Archie couldn't speak. He just stared at the photo, at the version of himself that had almost been lost forever.
William's voice cracked a little. "Do you remember anything? About us?"
"I..." Archie's eyes burned. "I remember feelings. Not events. Not words. But emotions. Like echoes." He looked up, swallowing hard. "I think I loved you. And I think it hurt. A lot."
William reached across the table and took his hand. "Do you think... we could start again?"
Archie held his gaze for a long moment.
And then, slowly, he nodded.
"Yes," he whispered. "But only if we're honest this time. No more pretending we're strangers."
William gave a crooked smile. "Deal."
Later that afternoon, Anne intercepted Archie outside the café with two coffees and a raised eyebrow.
"You skipped our group study session," she said, handing him one of the cups. "You are extremely lucky I'm the kind of friend who brings caffeine instead of revenge."
Archie laughed softly. "Sorry. I had... important emotional business."
"I figured. Your face looks like it's been through a war and a Disney movie."
Archie sighed and sat on the low stone wall beside her. "He showed me a photo. Of me. From before the accident."
Anne blinked. "Holy shit."
"Yeah."
"Do you remember anything?"
"No names. No conversations. But I remember how it felt. I remember us, even if I don't remember the story."
Anne sipped her coffee and sat beside him. "That's something, Archie. That's real."
He nodded. "He wants to start over."
"And?"
"I want that too."
Anne turned the phone toward him. There it was. A glossy article from a lifestyle magazine: "The Golden Future of William Connor: Business Heir, Philanthropist, and Soon-to-Be Husband."
The words felt like cold water down his back.
Right there, beneath the headline, was a picture of William in a sharp black tuxedo, standing beside a woman with a flawless smile and a glittering diamond ring. Her hand rested possessively on his chest.
Amanda Wynn.
Archie's stomach flipped.
"I saw her," he said hoarsely. "At the diner. With him. I thought—" He cut himself off.
Anne watched him carefully, her expression gentler now. "You kissed him, didn't you?"
Archie swallowed hard. "Yeah."
They sat in silence for a while. The wind was colder now. The spring sunshine didn't quite reach.
Anne finally spoke. "Do you think he lied to you?"
"No," Archie said after a beat. "I don't. I think he's trapped in something he doesn't want. He told me his family won't talk about the accident. That they arranged the engagement. He said he's trying to remember someone from before. Someone important."
"You."
Archie didn't answer. He didn't have to.
Anne leaned her head back against his shoulder. "Well, that's fucked."
"Yeah," Archie whispered.
"You still like him?"
Archie didn't hesitate. "I think I loved him before. And I don't know what to do with that now."
Anne sighed, her voice gentler. "So what are you going to do?"
"I don't know," Archie said. "But I want to talk to him. I need to hear him say it. The truth. From him."
Anne nodded. "Okay. Then let's figure this out. Just... promise me one thing?"
"What?"
"That no matter what happens, you won't lose yourself in this. You're not just his memory. You're you. Archie Collins, chaos gremlin, introverted dreamer, French fry hoarder, and my best friend."
Archie smiled despite everything. "I promise."
Anne smiled back, then bumped his shoulder. "Come on. Let's go find the truth."
And as they stood and walked back toward campus, Archie felt it—that strange sense again.
Not closure.
But the beginning of something harder, sharper.
The beginning of choice.