𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐓

TWENTY FIVE.

Warnings: Manipulation, Iris (yes I know ew), Very brief suicide mention

Y/n wasn't sure what the voice in his head was. Who the voice in his head was. All he knew was that—one moment she had been hostile, the following moment she had been kind. Y/n didn't know what she was trying to achieve with that two faced personality of hers, and most importantly, he didn't know how he had gotten some otherworldly entity (or so Iris claimed) in his head.

It was all puzzling.

The only thing that felt the slightest bit reassuring was the presence of the prince, along with his sister, by his side. And as Y/n leaned back on the pillows, staring aimlessly at the ceiling, he accepted the fact that this was some other world he had somehow gotten transported into.

It's funny how the contents of it seem so familiar, he frowned. I feel I've definitely seen it...somewhere.

If this was some alternate universe, then things would make sense. Angelina had stated and he quoted in his head—our mother is dead, Livio!—which really made things more...confusing. More jumbled up.

And now, though he remembered his father leaving, there was someone who claimed to be him, standing right in front of him.

Y/n wrinkled his nose. For starters, his father definitely didn't look that handsome.

And second of all, he couldn't remember his father ever gazing at him with such a..heartbroken expression. An expression that was actually concerned about him, and not the fact that with each day Y/n stayed at the hospital, the money in his wallet slowly grew lesser and lesser. And that was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Y/n's father—while he didn't divorce his wife—stopped visiting his son altogether. A few days later, Y/n had been informed he had been put on some financial scheme to help pay for his hospital bills. It was a very shady deal—to begin with, the hospital Y/n was in wasn't even legal practice. The family had found the cheapest one and rolled with it.

"Oh," Y/n smiled awkwardly, "hello..Count Aragon."

He knew he was supposed to say Dad, or Father, or whatever. But the word had become so foreign to him he realized the sound of it—on his tongue—was weird.

"Livio," He frowned, "oh, you don't have to call me by that title. You can call me what you always used to call me."

"...Father.." He tried, "Is that better?"

"Much better," The male in front of him breathed a sigh of relief, "how are you feeling now? I rushed here. I thought Angelina was playing some sort of trick on me, truth to be told. I never imagined my precious, first born would be—" His voice cracked. Now this was awkward.

"Apparently I lost my memories," Y/n fidgeted with the blanket draped over him, "I don't remember losing my memories though. I don't remember the process."

"Not even what caused it?" Count Aragon said hopefully.

"Unfortunately not," Y/n said regretfully, "nothing at all."

"I'm just glad you're safe," Count Aragon finally said, his voice softer now. "When I heard about the accident and the memory loss, I couldn't believe it. I..I'm sorry I wasn't there when it happened."

Why are you apologizing for such a trivial thing?

Y/n's gaze shifted from the ceiling to his father's eyes. He imagined what it would have been like, if the figure in front of him was his real father, and not this stranger. Would he have apologized? How would Y/n have reacted, if there was an apology?