Episode 17 — I Think We Were Lovers (8)

“Did we take walks a lot?”
Agathe asked. Ashley answered with a low question in return.
“What do you think?”
“Oh… if you ask me that…”
She couldn’t answer confidently, so she trailed off and looked down.

“There was just one walk,” he said, remembering. His eyes stared off somewhere far away. Even though she couldn’t see his face clearly, it was obvious he was thinking back to that day.

Agathe felt sadly that she couldn’t remember the moment they’d shared. She felt sorry for him and a little ashamed of herself.

“How did I lose my memory?” she asked.
“You got shot trying to save me. The shock hurt your shoulder and stole your memories,” Ashley said, turning his dark eyes on her. His voice went hoarse.
“If I hadn’t saved you, you wouldn’t have been hurt or lost your memory.”
He went on in a heavy tone, as if he were taking all the blame.
“I’m sorry I made you suffer.”

“That’s not your fault,” she said.
“It is my fault,” he replied. His seriousness made it sound like everything bad that happened to her was on him.

Agathe’s chest ached. She wanted to comfort him, hold him, tell him he didn’t have to blame himself. She’d been hurt — but it wasn’t his fault, so it wasn’t right for him to suffer so.

She laid her hand on his, smoothing his large palm with her own small hand, and gently squeezed.
“You did nothing wrong,” she told him.

No person in love would stand by and watch their beloved get shot without trying to stop it. Agathe felt sorry for all the worry he must have gone through.

“I know we were lovers,” she said. “I realized it too late. I’m sorry.”
“Memory…?” he started.
“I remember.”

It wasn’t a full memory like a recorded scene, but something inside her heart had come back. It was still hazy, like fog, but she was sure they had been lovers who shared feelings. The big tree, the way it didn’t feel strange — fragments of being with him under that tree floated in her mind. She imagined them sitting close together, talking and looking into each other’s eyes.

Ashley asked again in a grave voice, testing her truth.
“So your memory is back?”
He watched her sharply, listening for any sign of lying. He held his breath and focused.

“It’s not that my memory is fully back. But my heart remembers the feelings I had for you.”
She could tell he’d been pretending to be calm, but inside he wasn’t. She remembered words he had once said: “What will you feel when your memory returns?” He’d sounded angry then—when she had left him and calmly seen off another man, he’d been different. He even snatched the bouquet from her in a bitter way.

“I realized it too late. I’m sorry,” she repeated, and buried her face against his arm.

Her small face pressed into the muscle of his arm. Tears wet his sleeve as she cried quietly into him.

Ashley stayed in the moment like an actor lost in a scene. She was apologizing with her pretty eyes and tears, leaning into him like she recognized him as her lover. He felt full and satisfied—this was what he’d wanted.

He slipped into the role of the loving man naturally.
“Come here.” He wrapped his right arm around her waist and used his left hand to wipe her tear-streaked face.
“So you’re a crybaby, huh?” he said with a smile, his blue eyes filled with her.

Agathe stared at him, enchanted.
“You did well. Keep looking at me like that, okay?” he asked.
“Of course,” she answered, looking down and then raising her eyes.

Ashley tilted her chin up to look at him.
“Your words and actions don’t match.”
“It’s not that…” she started, meaning that it felt too close, too intimate, and she couldn’t finish the sentence.

He smiled faintly. His thick thumb brushed her lower lip and pressed it gently.
“Captain?” she whispered.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.

His eyes lingered on her mouth. Feeling his breath so close, Agathe’s heart beat wildly.

He drew nearer, head tilted, moving closer and closer. Heat spread between them. He spoke softly, like confessing in a chapel.
“This is the first time.”
“Huh?” she replied, confused.

He didn’t explain what he meant by “first time.” His lips hovered near hers, and his breath was deep. Agathe closed her eyes and accepted the kiss. His lips were soft and warm, gentle as if he was careful not to hurt her.

Their mouths mixed wetly, a careful, lingering kiss. He cradled her face as she slowly opened her eyes. A faint string of moisture connected their lips. He wiped the wetness from the corner of her mouth with his thumb.

Earlier, he’d said something was a “first” with her. Agathe tilted her head, wondering what he meant. The kiss made her dizzy — it was more intense than before, drowning out the earlier quick kiss. Her breath came fast as he explored her mouth like an unextinguished flame. Still, he kept it tender, breathing into her gently.

The passionate kiss only ended when Agathe lightly pushed him away and rested her hand on his shoulder. His throat worked with a ragged breath. He needed to calm the rising heat, so he panted a bit until his chest settled.

He looked at her full lips with dark, deep eyes. Then he let out a sigh, closing his eyes for a moment and opening them with a slightly hardened expression. Had something interrupted him? Agathe noticed his sudden color change and worried.

Before she could ask if he was okay, he apologized quickly.
“Sorry.” He bowed his head politely.

Why was he apologizing? His apology made her uneasy, as if he might leave suddenly or withdraw the kiss. She didn’t know what to say. How could she tell him that his face and his very words made her fall to pieces?

“It was what I wanted. You don’t have to apologize,” she said, holding back swelling emotions. She stood up, trembling, and started walking quickly back toward the field hospital.

But she hadn’t gone far when he grabbed her wrist.
“Agathe.” He spoke her name hard and gasped it out. She glared at him and pulled her hand away angrily.

“Why are you doing this to me?” she demanded.
Why would he confuse her like that—kiss her tenderly and then apologize? Why look at her with a shaken gaze?

“I know your memory isn’t complete,” he said.
“If you keep talking about my memory, please stop,” she snapped. She was tired of him bringing up memories all the time. Her feelings for him were real, even without a fully formed memory. The faint, colorless memories weren’t the only thing that mattered—what mattered was the feeling she shared with him, the faint echo of their past in the place they’d been together.

But he kept treating the moments they shared as if they were mistakes he should be sorry for.

“Nothing happened between us today,” she said coldly, and turned away.

“Stop.” He spoke between measured breaths, like he was holding something back. Agathe kept walking, not wanting to talk anymore.

“Don’t go.” He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. In his embrace, she felt his strong heartbeat against her back.

“I’ll take back my apology,” he said.
“…”
“Calm down. I was reckless.”

He buried his face in her shoulder. Agathe hadn’t meant to demand an apology; she’d only spun away in hurt and confusion. Now, held in his arms, she felt the turmoil ease a little.