Chapter Text
Say nighty-night and kiss me
Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me
While I'm alone and blue as can be
Dream a little dream of me
***
Aaron learned in class that every face in a dream is one he has already seen in life—the stranger passing on the street, the barista handing over coffee, the loudest voices at the end of the cafeteria. The brain stores them all, even without attention, and recalls them at night. It cannot invent new faces. Which meant the blurry face in his dream had to belong to someone he had once encountered, unnoticed.
So the blurry face in his dream had to belong to someone he’d met. Someone who had slipped past his attention and into the folds of memory.s
When he woke, though, it was already gone. The shape dissolved as quickly as he tried to chase it. All that was left was the faint unease that he’d missed something important.
Aaron stretched, his head still a little heavy from yesterday’s fever. His body felt sluggish, bones waterlogged, but the heat that had been burning him up seemed to have finally broken. Kevin didn’t look much better—dark circles under his eyes, hair falling in messy strands—but he was upright, composed, already scrolling through his phone like he hadn’t nearly melted with fever twenty-four hours ago.
“You’re disgusting,” Aaron croaked.
Kevin’s eyes flicked over. “You’re not much to look at yourself.”
Aaron huffed, leaning back against the headboard. For a moment, they sat in silence, the kind that wasn’t jagged. The room felt muted, softer, like the world was giving him a break.
Aaron’s stomach twisted with words he didn’t want to say. He looked away, out the window, at the gray winter sky. “Back then,” he started, low and hesitant, “the fight we had. You know the one.”
Kevin finally looked at him.
Aaron’s chest tightened. “You said some shit about Andrew and Neil. And then—you looked at me.” He swallowed. “Like you thought I was about to swing at you. Like you thought I’d… be like…” he could not finish the sentence to find the reference he was looking for.
Kevin had looked at him like he thought Aaron was gonna hurt Andrew. Like he was truly capable of hurting him.
Kevin’s expression didn’t shift, but the air thickened between them.
Aaron pressed his lips into a thin line. He hated how small his voice sounded. “Did you really think I was capable of hurting my brother like that?”
Kevin exhaled slowly, setting his phone down on the nightstand. “No,” he said after a long pause. “I thought you hated what they had. I thought you hated them for it.” His mouth twitched, almost a grimace. “And I didn’t want to see it. Not from you.”
Aaron blinked. “What the fuck does that mean?”
Kevin’s gaze sharpened, but his voice softened in a way Aaron wasn’t used to. “It means you’re loud when you’re angry, Aaron. And I thought that anger was aimed at them.” He looked away, toward the window now. “I don’t think that anymore.”
Aaron’s jaw worked. He wanted to push, to demand what Kevin thought instead. But the words stuck, heavy, in his throat.
“Good,” he muttered finally. “Because if you thought I was like… that, I’d kill you.” Scowling, Aaron looked away. “I just hate Josten, because he is him, and sadly happens to be Andrew’s soulmate, or whatever.”
Kevin’s mouth quirked—the ghost of a smile. “Terrifying.”
Aaron glared at him, but the heat in his chest didn’t match. Something unsaid lingered between them, fragile and strange.
Kevin reached for his phone again, casual as ever. “You should get dressed. You look like you wrestled a raccoon.”
Aaron threw a pillow at him. Kevin caught it one-handed without looking. Smiling.
For a moment, the room felt lighter.
The quiet stretched after Kevin’s half-smile, and Aaron felt as if he stared at him any longer, the air would go brittle. He shoved the blanket off and dragged himself out of bed, moving with the graceless stiffness of someone who’d been wrecked by fever just a day ago. His legs still felt heavy, but compared to the ache that had hollowed him out yesterday, this was practically paradise.
He dug through the mess on his desk for clean clothes. “You’re not still sick, are you?”
Kevin raised an eyebrow without looking up from his phone. “What do you think?”
“I think you look like shit,” Aaron said flatly, tugging a sweatshirt over his head.
“You’re a terrible judge of appearances,” Kevin replied, slipping the phone into his lap. His voice was as sharp as ever, but Aaron noticed the way Kevin’s shoulders moved a little slower than usual, the way his throat bobbed with an effort.
Aaron hesitated, then dropped into his chair, arms crossed. “You didn’t drink last night, did you?”
The question landed sharper than he intended. His tone made it sound like an accusation, but his chest was tight with something else—something he didn’t want to name.
Kevin’s head tilted. His mouth quirked, almost amused. “What, are you my babysitter now?”
Aaron scowled, heat rising to his face. “No. I just don’t feel like watching your hungover corpse again.”
Kevin’s eyes lingered on him for a beat longer than necessary. “No, I haven’t drunk in a week, actually,” he said, voice quieter, almost shy.
Aaron blinked. He felt the emotions pooling in his body. Proud and swift and almost gentle. He shoved his hand into the drawer instead and pulled out his handheld console. “Good. Then you won’t embarrass yourself when I destroy you at Mario Kart.”
Kevin gave him a look like he was half a step away from laughing, but he didn’t protest when Aaron shoved a controller into his hand.
It started as a distraction. A way to burn the leftover fever fog out of their systems. But within twenty minutes, Aaron was hunched forward on the edge of the bed, swearing under his breath as Kevin somehow dodged three consecutive shells, and Kevin was muttering to himself in French every time Aaron got lucky with a power-up.
By the third race, Kevin was swearing in English, too.
“Stop aiming at me!” Kevin snapped, leaning dangerously forward, knuckles white on the controller.
Aaron smirked. “What, do you want me to give you a participation trophy? It’s not my fault you’re garbage.”
Kevin’s eyes narrowed, but there was no venom in them. If anything, there was heat, sharp and focused—like Aaron had accidentally become another match he needed to win.
“You’re infuriating,” Kevin muttered.
Aaron’s grin widened as he crossed the finish line first. “And you’re predictable.”
Kevin groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “How do you even have the energy for this after yesterday?”
Aaron shrugged, setting the controller down like a victor tossing aside his sword. “Guess I’m just built better.”
Kevin muttered something under his breath that Aaron didn’t catch.
Aaron barely looked up when Matt stuck his head in the room. They were on the 5th round.
“Whoa,” Matt said, taking in the scene. “This is—wow. Cute date, guys.”
Aaron’s head snapped up. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Matt grinned, unbothered, and leaned against the doorframe. “You, Kevin, video games, cozy lighting. Don’t let me interrupt.”
“Boyd,” Kevin said evenly, without looking away from the screen. “If you don’t leave in the next ten seconds, I’ll make sure you run extra drills tomorrow.”
“Aw, he’s blushing,” Matt said, eyebrows raised.
Aaron threw a pillow at him. Scowling. Matt ducked out of the doorway just in time, laughing as he disappeared down the hall.
Kevin sighed, finally setting his controller down. “Your teammates are unbearable.”
“They are your teammates, too.” But Aaron didn’t disagree.
Nicky showed up not long after, balancing two mugs of tea like a waiter. He froze when he saw them side by side on the bed, controllers in hand, the TV lighting their faces.
“Oh my god,” Nicky whispered, eyes wide with mock reverence. “It’s happening.”
Aaron groaned. “Don’t you have someone else to annoy?”
“Not when I walk into my cousin’s room and find him on a—” Nicky paused, looking between the two of them, then grinned. “—bonding experience. A rare sighting. Like catching Bigfoot on camera.”
Kevin took one of the mugs from him without comment and sipped. “Leave.”
Nicky winked at them before taking a seat on the couch. A tight squeeze.
Aaron rubbed his temples. “I hate everyone.”
Kevin’s shoulder brushed his when he leaned back, their arms almost touching. “Me too,” he said, and it was the first thing that had sounded like genuine agreement all morning.
“Aww, don’t be like that, guys! It’s bonding time, let’s play while I tell you what happened at the practice today!” Nicky filled them with every unnecessary event that took place that day in Palmetto
They ended up playing until the clock made it impossible to ignore practice any longer. Aaron wasn’t sure how time had folded in on itself, how Kevin had gone from an opponent to an anchor, steady and immovable beside him. He only knew that when Kevin stood, stretching his long frame, Aaron felt an unexpected pull in his chest, like gravity had shifted.
He ignored it. He was good at ignoring things.
***
Kevin stayed over while Nicky made food, complaining about the lack of green until both Aaron and Nicky snapped at him in unison: Oh my god, shut up, Kevin. He sulked with a miserable expression, poking at his plate as if the vegetables might magically appear, whining all the while.
When they finished, Nicky dragged Kevin back to the living room for more games, chatter spilling like static. Aaron stayed behind in the kitchen to do the dishes, hating every second.
He heard the knock at the door, muffled voices, and then new footsteps entering. He didn’t expect his twin to walk into the kitchen. The air thinned instantly. Aaron turned back to the soapy plate in his hands, refusing to meet his gaze.
“Not looking worse than usual,” Andrew said.
Aaron’s heart jumped before he could stop it. His body hadn’t gotten the memo that he’d given up on Andrew days ago.
“You drove me back yesterday,” Aaron muttered. He remembered waking in Andrew’s car, fever-drunk and disoriented.
“You were stupid enough to show up to practice with a fever.” Andrew’s tone was flat, but Aaron could feel the weight of his stare. “You don’t eat.”
Aaron scowled, rinsing the plate. “I just ate.”
If Andrew could produce any kind of reaction, he would have rolled his eyes. Aaron was sure. “First time for everything.”
Aaron set the plate down harder than necessary. “I eat plenty. Don’t trouble yourself.”
“It didn’t look like it yesterday.” Andrew fiddled with his armbands, voice low. “Is it because of the cheerleader” No question mark, just fact.
“Don’t talk about her,” Aaron snapped.
Andrew smirked, thin and cutting. “You forgot to mention the breakup.”
Aaron froze. He hadn’t forgotten. He just didn’t want Andrew to know. He never wanted Andrew to know.
“Humor me, brother.” Andrew leaned into the words, mocking. “You broke the deal because of her. You stopped going to the sessions. You started sneaking in practice at night, like a mouse. Have a breakdown in a bathroom and throw a proper tantrum, how we are through and through.” Andrew full-on mocked Aaron on the last phrase.
Aaron’s teeth ground together. “That’s your assumption.”
“Observation.”
Aaron shook his head, suddenly exhausted, like the air itself was draining him. “What do you want, Andrew?”
He felt out of breath. Tired like he ran the marathon. Talking with Andrew always drained him in the worst way, but today, he was totally unprepared for the punch.
For a moment, Andrew only studied him, eyes sharp and unreadable. Then: “Come to Bee’s.”
Aaron’s chest tightened. “You told me not to come.”
Andrew tilted his head, gaze flicking down to Aaron’s fists clenched in his pockets. “And now I’m telling you to come.”
Aaron closed his eyes and pulled in a breath that didn’t fill his lungs. Hollow. Always hollow.
What was he supposed to make of this?
Andrew dragged him in when it suited him and shoved him out when he was bored. That was the rhythm - push, pull, discard. The first time Aaron had given it a chance, he let himself believe something might shift. That they could stop clawing at each other long enough to coexist. That maybe things between them could soften into something almost human.
It hadn’t.
Aaron could never loosen his guard, not in front of Andrew. And Andrew never stopped pressing on the bruises just to see if they still hurt.
So why now? Why should Aaron give it another go? He’d already decided, after the weekend at the family home, that he was done. That he could live the rest of his life without trying again. But here Andrew was, poking at him anyway, like a knife testing the edge of a scar.
“I have to think about it,” Aaron said finally.
His twin did not stay after the answer; he left the room. Aaron took first proper breath after the encounter. Flexing his hands, he took them out. Looking up, he found Nicky lingering by the door. Sad puppy eyes fixed on him.
“You heard, then?” Sighed Aaron.
“It’s a good thing,” Nicky said and pulled him closer. Throwing his arms around Aaron’s shoulders. The hug was sweet and satisfying. Something broke within Aaron. “Trust me on this, baby. Everything will work out.”
Nicky’s whispers calmed the unsteadiness of Aaron’s body, and eventually they went out to the vacant living room.
Kevin was gone with Andrew.
***
Practice was brutal. With this close to an actual game, even the dust in the air was tense.
The court smelled of sweat and varnish and something metallic, as if the walls themselves had soaked up years of fights. Aaron felt every sound in his bones: the slap of shoes against the floor, the hollow thud of the ball, Kevin’s clipped voice cutting sharp enough to peel skin.
His body wasn’t ready for this. It hadn’t been ready yesterday, hadn’t been ready all week. Fever and rest hadn’t vanished overnight; they’d just retreated to the edges, waiting. His limbs felt hollow, like they were full of air instead of muscle, and his skin sat too loose over the sharp planes of bone. He caught his reflection in a passing window and thought he looked like a bag barely holding its shape.
“Move your feet!” Kevin barked.
Aaron flinched more at the sound than the meaning. He pushed himself into the next sprint, legs aching with every strike against the ground. His stick wavered, the pass falling short.
“Again,” Kevin snapped, already repositioning the ball.
Across the court, Allison groaned audibly. “You’re kidding.”
“I don’t kid,” Kevin returned, blank as stone.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Matt muttered, sweat dripping down his jaw as he bent into position.
Nicky, panting dramatically, threw an arm around Aaron’s shoulders as they reset. “He’s evil to everyone.” He squeezed once before jogging off, winking at him over his shoulder. “But don’t worry, you look like death warmed over, so maybe he’ll go easy on you.”
Aaron didn’t laugh, but the knot in his chest loosened just a fraction.
The drill restarted. Kevin’s voice chased them around the court, sharp corrections and clipped demands. Aaron’s body lagged behind his will, each motion a half-beat too slow. He felt clumsy, breakable. When Neil intercepted his pass, his stick jarred against Aaron’s fingers so hard his knuckles went numb.
“Again,” Neil and Kevin said together.
“Jesus, give him a break,” Allison snapped, hands on her hips.
Kevin’s jaw flexed. “You don’t win with breaks.”
Aaron ground his teeth and reset. He wouldn’t give Kevin the satisfaction of watching him fail. Even if every breath scraped, even if every muscle trembled like it might split open.
The next few rounds blurred. Neil darting like a live wire, Andrew catching shots with detached precision, Matt’s easy laugh turning brittle as fatigue dragged at them all. Kevin never stopped, driving them forward, demanding more, like perfection was the only air he knew how to breathe.
By the time Wymack’s whistle cut across the noise, Aaron thought his legs might collapse under him. His arms dangled heavy at his sides, stick nearly slipping. Sweat stung his eyes, and his chest felt like paper-thin over the frantic thud of his heart.
“That’s it,” Wymack called. “Cool down before you drop dead on my court.”
Matt collapsed onto the floor with a dramatic groan. Dan smacked Kevin’s arm on her way past him, muttering something that sounded like tyrant . Nicky dragged himself upright, grinning even through his panting.
“Good hustle, cousins,” he told Aaron as if they’d just won the lottery. “If you don’t die tonight, we should celebrate.” He leaned down, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “And if you do die, I’ll make sure you get a tasteful headstone.”
Aaron rolled his eyes, too drained to bite back. Still, something about the absurdity of it cut through the fog in his head. Kevin was silent as he collected the scattered balls, jaw tight, shoulders stiff. He looked ready to argue with the whole world if anyone gave him an opening.
Aaron stripped off his helmet and sat on the bench, the cool air of the court brushing damp against his overheated skin. His body ached like it was one sharp knock from breaking apart completely.
Content wasn’t the right word, but it was close to his being right now. He was tired down to the marrow, yes, but the weight of it anchored him. He’d given everything his body had to give.
When Aaron made it to class, his body felt like someone had rung it out and left it to dry. He dropped into his seat, bones grinding like old hinges, hoodie tugged over his head as if fabric alone could keep him upright. His pen hovered over the notebook, but the lines blurred. He couldn’t tell if it was exhaustion or if his eyes just didn’t want to focus anymore.
The professor started, voice droning, chalk squealing against the board. Every sound pressed heavily against Aaron’s skull. His hand shook as he wrote, the words uneven, letters slanting like they were sliding off the page.
Halfway through, his fingers went slack. The pen rolled from his hand, clattering onto the floor. He cursed under his breath, leaning forward, but someone else bent down first.
A slender hand scooped it up. “Here.”
Aaron blinked, disoriented, as she set the pen on his desk. Long hair slipped over her shoulder, framing a face that was familiar only in the way some people seemed to be echoes. Her smile wasn’t bright, not like Nicky’s forced sunshine, but small, steady, the kind that asked nothing in return.
For a second, Aaron forgot where he was. Katelyn used to smile like that, patient when he was at his worst, grounding him with something quiet. His chest twisted, sharp enough he had to look away.
“You okay?” she asked softly.
“I’m fine,” Aaron muttered.
She didn’t push. Just slid back into her seat, notebook open, pen tapping once against the margin. When the professor rattled off a definition, Aaron found himself blanking, mind stalling out. Before he could force his hand to move, she tilted her notebook toward him, angled so he could see the neat handwriting: the answer written clean across her page.
Aaron scrawled it down before he could stop himself. He wanted to bristle, wanted to say he didn’t need help, but his body was too tired to hold the lie.
The lecture dragged on. Aaron’s vision blurred more than once, and each time he faltered, he noticed her pen moving, writing just a little slower than before, waiting for him to catch up.
When class finally ended, he shoved his notebook into his bag, ready to disappear before anyone could catch him. But she touched the edge of his desk, just enough to hold his attention.
“A few of us are putting together a study group next week,” she said. “Library, evenings. You should come.”
Aaron stared at her. The words didn’t make sense at first, not when all he could see was the tilt of her smile, the ghost of memory it tugged out of him. Late nights bent over Katelyn’s books, her laugh soft when he complained, her hand steadying his when he got frustrated. His throat tightened until he had to swallow against it.
He wanted to say no. That was his instinct, always. Shut it down before it could go anywhere, before she could expect something from him he couldn’t give. He didn’t do groups, didn’t do chatter in bright rooms, didn’t do people.
But she didn’t look like she was just offering.
Aaron tightened his grip on his pen, knuckles white. “Maybe,” he said, quiet.
Her smile widened, still soft. “I’ll write down the time.”
He shoved his bag onto his shoulder before she could hand him anything. Still, as he left the room, the ache in his chest followed him out into the hallway.
***
Aaron dreamed of the face again.
Blurry, half-lit, always turning away. He chased it through a crowd where sound drowned itself out, voices bleeding into bass, light strobing across bodies. The harder he ran, the further it slipped from him, dissolving into smoke and shadow. He woke gasping, chest hollow, as if he’d lost something vital in the night.
His alarm dragged him the rest of the way out of bed. Game day.
He showered on autopilot, water too hot against skin already sensitive, then tugged on the uniform. The orange jersey clung to him damply, still carrying detergent from the wash. Walking through campus toward the bus, he couldn’t miss the surge of color: students in bright orange jackets and scarves, faces painted, banners waving. The campus buzzed like it was alive, one pulsing heartbeat carried in shouts and chants.
Aaron kept his head down. He wasn’t here for the noise. He was here because he had to be. Still, something in the air pressed against his skin, that old reminder that Exy mattered here in ways he could never escape.
The first quarter was adrenaline, pure and biting. His legs felt shaky at the start, but he forced them into motion, teeth clenched against the protest in his muscles. His stick cut sharper than usual, passes landing cleaner, his body moving like it wanted to prove something. Kevin’s commands barked across the court, clipped and merciless. Aaron found himself responding faster than he expected, pulled into the rhythm before he had time to think.
By the second quarter, the burn set in. His lungs clawed for air, sweat slicking down his spine, jersey sticking damp against him. Still, he held his ground, sharper than he’d been in weeks. Neil was everywhere at once, reckless and precise, Andrew a wall in the goal, disinterested but impossible to breach.
Aaron nearly collapsed when the halftime whistle blew. His helmet felt heavy in his hands, like it could drag him under. He stumbled toward the bench, vision narrowing to static at the edges.
“You’re sitting out,” Wymack said flatly, before Aaron could argue.
The protest caught in his throat. He wanted to fight it, wanted to say he wasn’t weak, but his legs trembled under him as he lowered onto the bench. Wymack’s word was final.
Matt slid in beside him, grinning despite the sweat dripping down his jaw. “Not bad, Minyard. Really not bad. You’re sharper tonight. Kevin’s probably foaming at the mouth with joy.”
Aaron raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.
“I mean it,” Matt pressed, hand lifted for a high five. After a beat, Aaron lifted his hand, palm slapping against Matt’s. “See? That’s progress.”
Aaron rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched before he could stop them.
Out on the court, the game surged forward. From the bench, Aaron had a different view: his twin in the goal, sharp and controlled, but his gaze flat, detached. Neil was weaving through chaos like it was his natural state.
And Kevin.
Kevin moved like the court was his stage, each play precise, merciless. The ball bent to him, passes flowing like water, shots sharp enough to carve the air. His body carried Exy the way it was meant to be played: no hesitation, no flaw.
Fourth quarter, Wymack shoved him back in. His body screamed at him, every muscle frayed, but he tightened his grip on the stick and forced himself to move. He stumbled once, caught himself, teeth bared.
He played through the pain. Through the burn in his lungs, the ache in his legs. Every step felt like borrowed time, but he gave it anyway, until the final whistle blew and the court erupted.
Foxes won.
Noise surged from the stands, a wall of cheers crashing down. Helmets flew off, sticks lifted, voices overlapping. Aaron barely had time to brace before Nicky’s arms wrapped tight around him, pulling him into the mess of orange and sweat and laughter.
“Group hug!” Nicky shouted, as if anyone could hear him over the roar.
Aaron tried to push back, but Matt’s arm hooked over his shoulders, Dan pressing in, and suddenly he was swallowed whole. Heat and noise, bodies pressing, his own exhaustion drowned in their victory.
His chest heaved with each breath, lungs still aching, but for once the weight didn’t feel suffocating.
***
The foxes made a whole gathering out of it. Shuffling in the girls’ room and passing the alcohol around. Even Andrew was present.
The party had already started by the time Aaron drifted into the girls’ room. The space was too warm, lit in strands of yellow fairy lights Renee had strung up weeks ago. Music bled from someone’s phone speaker, not loud enough to drown conversation but steady enough to blur the edges.
The Foxes filled the space like they owned it, like they always did. Matt had taken over the center, retelling a play from the game with gestures so wide he nearly smacked Dan in the face. She ducked and laughed, throwing popcorn at him. Allison perched on the arm of the couch with a bottle in hand, hair glossy under the string lights, rolling her eyes every time Matt exaggerated another detail.
Aaron sat down on the far end of the sofa, nursing his drink. He wasn’t sure what it was—Nicky had shoved a cup into his hand before he could ask—and it buzzed low in his veins. The laughter rolled around him in waves. Dan leaned into Matt’s side, Neil lounged on the floor like he was immune to gravity, and Andrew leaned against the wall nearby, unreadable as always. Every so often, Neil’s gaze flicked toward him, like a tether, and Aaron tried not to notice.
“You should’ve seen Kevin,” Nicky was saying now, hand cutting the air like a sword. “The man was on fire. He looked like a sex god machine out there.”
“I always look like a machine,” Kevin muttered from where he’d claimed a chair in the corner, one leg stretched out, hair damp from his shower. The words were flat, but his lips curved at the edges when Allison smacked his knee and told him to shut up.
Allison launched into a story about something from class, her voice loud and sure, and Nicky punctuated it with exaggerated gasps and “no way”s that made half the room laugh. Aaron barely caught the details. The alcohol fuzzed the edges of his focus, and every time the laughter swelled, he felt smaller, as if the air kept closing him out.
Still, there were moments. Nicky passed by him at one point, dropping a ridiculous cowboy hat on his head just to see him scowl. “Yeehaw, cousin,” he whispered before darting off again. Aaron shoved the hat away, but the faint smirk tugging at his mouth lingered longer than it should have.
Later, Allison leaned across him to steal the bottle on the coffee table. “Thanks, Minyard,” she said absently, like it wasn’t strange to acknowledge him without venom. Her perfume clung to the air.
Eventually, the weight became too heavy. He slipped away when no one was looking, ignoring Matt’s half-drunken “aw, c’mon, stay!” from the couch. The hallway outside was quieter, air cooler against his skin.
By the time he collapsed into his own bed, exhaustion had already dragged him under.
***
Jerking out of sleep, Aaron chased the dream, pushing to slip away.
The memory sharpened like glass, sliding into place. The face wasn’t some stranger at all. It was Kevin. Kevin, with his head tipped back under the club lights, green eyes brighter than he’d ever seen them, body moving with a rhythm that wasn’t Exy drills but something lighter, freer. For a second in that dream, Kevin hadn’t looked like a boy breaking under pressure. He had looked… happy.
Aaron’s stomach turned. He hated that his brain had stored that look, treasured it enough to make a dream out of it. Hated it, and yet — he couldn’t let it go now that he remembered.