This is a very sappy short story written for a teacher who says we'll get good marks if we make her cry. Let me know what you think.

Don't be surprised if I take it down and expand a little. There was supposed to be a page limit. I think I overreached it. Oh well, ne? Don't be surprised if I never touch this thing again either…it happens to my writing with alarming frequency, -.-

Forget-Me-Not

Breath left the young man's lungs in a huff as he plopped down onto the battered couch. He put his feet up onto the equally battered coffee table and got as comfortable as he could. Despite the couch's tattered appearance, it was the most comfortable piece of furniture in the apartment. That was the only reason why it hadn't been put out to pasture. Or, a least, that's what he told any visitors he or his roommate entertained. The truth was that although the couch was comfortable, it was more that neither of them could afford anything better.

Oh well, he thought, the price we pay for education. He tilted his head back to rest against the faithful old couch… just in time to catch a pillow in the face.

"Hey! What the heck do you think your doing, Ayden?" He tried to grab the pillow, but his roommate was a little too fast for him. It probably had a lot to do with the few beers he had consumed earlier.

"Tim, just because you're drunk doesn't mean that you can ignore the house rules," Ayden gave the feet on the table a pointed look.

"I am not drunk!"

Ayden raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. Tim saw the look and interpreted it correctly.

"Okay, okay. Sheesh, so I'm slightly intoxicated. It's not the end of the world. Hell, it's not even a school night." Despite his protests he knew exactly why Ayden didn't like him drinking, and why he never took up his roommate's offers to accompany their friends to the campus bars. Tim only offered because he didn't want his best friend to feel left out, even if it was a self-imposed exile. But Tim understood well why Ayden had a phobia concerning alcohol.

When Ayden was seven years old, a drunk driver had hit their car. His father, who had been driving, died at the scene. His mother had died shortly after at the nearest hospital. Ayden himself hadn't escaped unscathed. He had suffered a broken arm, three cracked ribs, and was in a coma for four days. The only reason he knew anything about this was because a family friend had kept all of the newspaper clippings of the crash; when he woke up from his coma he didn't remember anything. Not even his name. The family friend was actually Tim's mother, Ayden's mother's school time friend. When it came to light that none of Ayden's family were capable of taking him in, Clara and Todd Williams offered. Ever since then, Tim and Ayden had been inseparable…except when Tim went drinking with their buddies.

"If it makes you feel any better I only had a couple," he said, hoping to get the subtle look of fear out of his friend's eyes. It didn't work very well. And I took a taxi home."

Ayden sighed. "I know you were careful, but you're like a brother to me. If anything happens to you, I won't have any family left," he replied plaintively.

"Don't worry about me, Ayd. I'm superman, remember?" It was an old, old joke between the two of them, and it had the desired effects; Ayden cracked a small smile.

He rolled his eyes. "I'm going to bed now."

It was then that Tim noticed his friend's attire. He was dressed in a pair of flannel pajamas and a bathrobe. "Aw, Aydy! Did you wait up for me?" He teased. All he received in reply was another eye roll. The other man went into his bedroom.

Just before the door shut completely he heard a faint, "And keep your feet off the furniture!"

With a groan he pulled himself up off the couch and staggered to the bathroom for a shower. Twenty minutes later, feeling if not 100 better, at least a bit refreshed, he headed towards his bedroom, feeling a touch frustrated. Ayden wasn't a very open person and sometimes that grated on Tim, who tried to be as open and honest as possible. His friend on the other hand preferred not to talk to anybody about his problems, and when things started to get to emotional he was much more likely to clam up than confess. Tim honestly didn't know how his girlfriend put up with it. She was a very sensitive young woman. Well, they've been dating for three years, so he must be doing something right.

Passing by his "bother's" room he heard a whimper float out. His door hadn't actually been shut all the way and a sliver of light entered into the room. From the room itself, the glow of Ayden's computer gave the room a soft ambience.

Tim turned the hall light off so it wouldn't disturb the other, then pushed the door open further and walked in. He looked around the neat room and grimaced. He had no idea where the other young man had learned to be so neat. It might have been ingrained from his parents, even if he didn't consciously remember. All Tim knew was that no one in his family had taught him to be neat. While none of them were slobs, simple things like dusting never seemed to get done. Every other week his mom had paid for a maid to come in and clean for them.

Shaking off his thoughts he headed towards the bed set against the far wall. To the right there was a small closet and to the left Ayden had his prized possession - his computer. For once the computer was turned off, or at least, the monitor was. Tim was pretty sure that the only time the other man turned his first love off was during thunderstorms.

Moving further into the room, Tim chuckled. There was Ayden wrapped up like a pig in a blanket, one foot sticking out near the end of the bed, and his fine, blond hair spread across the pillow. Tim's mother used to call Ayden an angel. She said that God had sent him to their family so that they could help each other. Ayden's accident had come just after Clara had lost a baby through miscarriage. She believed that God was giving her a chance to raise another child by bypassing a pregnancy that she wouldn't have been able to carry through.

Tim didn't really believe that Ayden was an angel. It was kind of hard to connect divinity and mud fights.

At the moment though it didn't look like his 'brother' was sleeping like an angel. A frown marred his features and his brow pulled together in a sharp 'V' of unhappiness. Ayden didn't seem to actually be having a nightmare though, and Tim was reluctant to wake him. He'd obviously been up for most of the night, and any sleep, no matter how uneasy, was better than no sleep at all.

Turning away, Tim's curiosity was satisfied, only to be caught again, this time by the bedside table. Or, more accurately, what was on the bedside table.

Moving a bit closer he picked up a book that had been carelessly left open. It looked like a sketchbook, sized 11" x 14", and was almost full. His eyes widened as he flipped through the pages. On each and every one of them were things like newspaper clippings, pictures, bits of paper with Ayden's writing on them, ticket stubs, magazine cut-outs. Every little memento of the past year was pasted into it. He recognized a few of the ticket stubs. One was from a hockey game they'd seen last month. The other was from a movie Ayden and his girlfriend had gone to see for her birthday in May. Tim could remember that one especially clear because when he asked Ayden what the movie was about, the other young man had just replied, 'I don't know'.

He looked back down at the floor in thought and saw a box. Standing up in the box were more of the same type of book. All of books where the same size, but not always the same brand. Different logos were visible along the spines. Without looking Tim knew that they would hold the same kinds of things, near forgotten memories of his roommates' life.

He didn't want to pry anymore, but a little voice in the back of his head insisted that he find out why his friend was keeping a scrapbook. So, instead of putting down the book and leaving Ayden his privacy he flipped to the first page. Inside was a little inscription. It read:

Dear Ayden,

I'm writing this to you (me) in the hopes that if you (I) were to loose our memory not everything would be lost. In this book, and all of the others before it, you will find that I've recorded everything. Not just my life, but events around me as well. It is my hope that if amnesia was unavoidable that you (I) could trigger your memories with the memories I've left to your perusal. At the very least you will know those around you to some extent, and will realize that you are loved and cared for. I've left my (our) diary in the top drawer of the night table and I hope that it will help you.

Ayden Tanner

P.S. - Don't eat curry! You won't like it!

Tim read through the short letter and understanding flooded through him. It seemed that alcohol wasn't the only phobia a shell-shocked boy had gained from that nightmare all those years ago. The confused pronouns were kind of funny, though; English had never been Ayden's strong suit. The diary wasn't a surprise. He had teased him about keeping a diary, but had readily given his promise to not read it. He realized that this scrapbook was just an extension of that diary, and by looking at it he was breaking that promise.

Giving his slumbering friend a sympathetic look he closed the book and put it on the table. Thick paper had been glued on top to cover the ugly logo and company name on the front of the Art book. On the paper, beautiful flowers had been drawn, and in calligraphy at the top was Ayden's full name:

Ayden Gregory Tanner

And below the blue flowers in larger letters the title was inscribed:

Forget-Me-Not

Both of the writing was silver and penned very carefully. Catherine, Ayden's girlfriend, who was at the university for her Arts degree, had probably done it.

Forget me not. The words echoed through his head as he left the room and headed to his own bed at last. Don't worry, he thought, between Catherine and me, you wont ever need those scrapbooks for anything but showing your children and grand children you life.

Forget me not. No, never. He would never forget his brother.