Ghost x Y/N | Fem : Fragments

Routine.

The first rays of the morning sun, cascades into the room and gently kissing your face. Your lashes flutter open, blinking against the clement light.

Your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth, rough and textured like sandpaper and the dryness becoming more pronounced with each swallow. With a languid stretch and a soft hum, you stir awake your sleep addled brain.

After wiping the crust from your eyes, you gaze around taking in the familiar yet foreign room.
A fog of confusion obscures your senses like the condensation on the windows.

Whe-Where am I..?

Feeling a rush of panic, you quickly sat upright as your heart picks up on pace. Turning your head and as if deliberately placed, a framed photograph sat on the nightstand next to your bedside. Reluctantly, you reached over, picking it up as if it were radioactive, studying it with furrowed brows.

It was a picture of you in the arms of an unknown man, both of you wore bright smiles and from what you can tell by the close proximity, you were more than just friends.

However, any details of this man remained frustratingly elusive.

Every memory was fleeting and just beyond your grasp. Your eyes continue darting around the room, searching for something, anything that could anchor you down to the distorted moment.

The inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air, beckoning you from the depths of the room. Sounds of clanging dishes and running water come from a distance, which meant someone was inside with you...

There has to be something around here that can help me...I need to look for clues.

Eventually, you push back the covers, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, letting your bare feet meet the soft rug beneath. But, before you could do any snooping around, the door creaks and a man entered, the same man in the photograph.

In the picture, he was handsome, but in person?

This man was fine as fuck.

In his hands held two white coffee mugs with 'Mr.' and 'Mrs.' embedded on the sides.

"Good morning, Darlin.'" His voice carried a rich, husked English accent, slightly soothing your nerves.

Not only was he shirtless and only wearing dark grey sweatpants, the man stood at approximately 6 feet 4 inches tall, black ink tattoos covered his left arm adding to his intimidating build. His presence commanded attention without any effort. His tousled honey blonde hair framed his face with a few golden strands falling loosely.

His burnt sienna eyes were soft, filled with love and warmth. As he smiled, a faint scar traced over his full lips, an untold story etched on his face. Fortunately for him, the small imperfection only enhanced his charm. The soft stubble on his chin outlined his strong and well-defined jawline, giving him an air of casual confidence.

"I made you coffee, just how you like it." The man says casually, offering the 'Mrs.' mug out. When you go to take ahold of it, on your left hand, sat a irradiant, silver wedding ring.

He saw the bewilderment contorting in your beautiful features. Nevertheless, the stranger remained silent and patient, giving you time to soak in one thing at a time.

After a few minutes of anticipated silence, you finally start your interrogation.

"Who are you...to me?" Your voice trembled timidly.

A soundless chuckle makes off from his lips.

The question was rhetorical and clearly self explanatory, but he found it too cute every time. Strolling over to the end of the bed, the man perched himself down, his elbows placed on his knees, clasping his coffee with both hands, ready to answer any and all of your questions or demands.

"I, my dear, am your beloved husband of 4 years. Simon Riley." He says softly, taking a quick sip. His tone held understanding with a mixture of sadness.

My husband...of 4 years...

Nodding, you slowly comprehend with your eyes wandering around the room. Plenty of pictures that decorated the ivory walls, reign true to his words. You desperately tried to piece together fragments of the life that you had no recollection of living.

Growing more frustrated with yourself, you blurt out another obvious question, "Why don't I remember marrying you then? I think I would've known if I done so or not." Your brows raised in suspicion, waiting to see if his facade will break.

Although, it doesn't seem like that would be happening any time soon.

Simon's body tenses, the warmth in his orbs gradually vanishing as he stares off. His expression glowers and his left hand came up and pinches his nose, instantly fixing his composure. Taking a deep breath, Simon then clears his throat, allowing leeway for his response.

"When I first laid my eyes on you, I was completely smitten. Your smile, your adorable little laugh, the way you styled your hair...everythin'. Had me wrapped around your little pinky finger," Simon's leans over, a grey cloud forecasting over his head as he sets his coffee lightly on the nightstand, right next to the cherished picture.

His chest tightens in anguish and with a dejected sigh Simon's continues, "Unfortunately...one day, you were in a really bad car accident on your way to work. The doctors said you were going to make a full recovery but the accident could affect you long term. Now, you can't remember anythin' after 72 hours."

Tears dripped, unknowingly, down your flushed cheeks. Your world seemingly turned upside down as Simon explained how he had accommodated to your new way of life ever since.

There were days, you were hysterical. Other days, you were able to digest and accept. This was a constant battle, not only for you, but for Simon as well.

"So, for 4 years now, you've been helping me adjust to my current life every 3 days? But, why? Why do you torment yourself? There's no way in hell someone would stick around that long..."

You shake your head in utter disbelief with a pang of guilt in your chest, unable to fathom the sacrifices Simon's made. Formidable thoughts overrides your mind with a pained expression engraving itself into your features.

Simon had gone through this enough times in the past that he could see the way you were mentally struggling from a mile away. Rising to his feet, he moseys himself over and carefully confiscates the mug from your quivering hands.Your heart flutters when his calloused hands brush against your skin.

"No way in hell, huh?" Simon repeats, amused by your doubt. Filling the void, Simon tips his head down, his lips hovering over the shell of your ear and the heat of his breath tingles your skin.

"Darlin' the reason why is because I love you unconditionally. No matter how many times you forget about me up here," he pulls back and your eyes locked in as his finger tapped your temple. "Don't worry, your pretty little head. I'll always be more than capable of winnin' back your heart." His tone was laced with genuine confidence.

Simon then plants a small kiss on your forehead and you enjoyed the feeling of his lips on your skin. A part of you craved for more, as if you've been touch starved for years. But, on the opposite end of the spectrum, you couldn't let yourself succumb to those urges...

At least not yet, anyways.

Simon chuckles, adoring how flustered he easily made you. You were holding back, but it was a small step in the right direction. Days like today, he never really seemed to have any expectations.

It always could go any which way.

"Drink your coffee before it gets cold, love. Come find me in bit, alright? I got a surprise for you." He says sweetly as he places the coffee back in your possession. Your fingers curl around the handle and his hand lingers ensuring you had a firm grasp.

"Uh, Yeah. Of course." You agree absentmindedly.

He smirks, "My girl. See you in a bit."

After that, he pecks your forehead before he pulls away completely. Of course, your eyes follow Simon out the room. Which leaves you to wonder what he meant by surprise or if he was just a tactic to lure you out to interact with him.

No matter the reasoning, you took the bait.