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Wilford wakes up and is not alone. There’s someone under the sheets next to him, someone who he probably knows but doesn’t know at that moment. So he acts like any sane person would, throwing the sheets off of himself and tearing out of the room. Where am I? He jumps to the hall. He seems to be in an apartment of some sort? Whose apartment is he in? He steps closer to the light pink walls. Pictures of him and the attractive man in the bed (his bed?) litter the walls. Memories jumble around in his brain like a can of shaken alphabet soup. Beach. Blinding white smiles. A fluffy golden retriever. Cocktails. A disco club. His heart rate accelerates an alarming amount, and he takes a large breath in through his nose.
Calm. He needs to calm himself down. He teleports to the kitchen. (How does he know where the kitchen is?) He is really hungry. Shuffling over to the refrigerator (also covered in photos of him and the man) and opening it, he finds some weird pink fluid, a box of pizza, a jar of olives, and a couple of limes. What a strange assortment. He decides not to risk the fluid or the pizza, grabbing the olives and a lime. He likes limes. That will ground him, surely. He takes a large bite out of the lime, swirling it around in his mouth, letting the juice coat his tongue, face pinching. He spits the skin in the sink, turning around. Right. Figuring out where he is.
He leans against the kitchen sink, head in his hands. Think. Where am I? Think. He hears a soft noise behind him, turning around sharply, fight-or-flight in high gear, pulse in his ears. The man from earlier is standing in the doorway, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“Will? Will, baby, what are you doing up? Come back to bed, it’s lat-” The man’s sentence trails off in a yawn, and he shuffles closer, arms outstretched. Wilford unconsciously steps closer. Wait, what? Why is he about to dive into the arms of a man that he doesn’t fully remember? He pulls a knife out of space and brandishes it at the blond in front of him.
“Who are you?!” The man’s eyes widen slightly, but he backs up with a sigh.
“I’m your husband, Ken. I’ll be back.” Wilford stays pressed against the counter, chest heaving, vision going spotty. Is he married to this hunk of muscle? Alamo, Lord save him. He adds it to a mental list in his head, alongside “pink walls” and “I like limes”. Why can’t he remember anything? The blond man comes into the room again, holding some sort of electronic device. Wilford tenses again. “I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do with this… But you said to give this to you if you’re” the man waves his hands and does what Wilford assumes is an impression of his voice “in a state of being that doesn’t fit this timeline. Whatever that means.” The man scratches the back of his neck, handing him the device. He smiles sadly, walking towards the bedroom. “I’ll see you soon.”
Wilford inspects the tablet, unlocking it and sitting down on the linoleum floor. A video of himself (?!) starts to play.
“Hello, future me. Or? Alternate timeline me?” Video Wilford shrugs and turns to a whiteboard behind him, uncapping a pink Expo marker. ”I’ve instructed our lovely Ken to give you this tablet and thus, this video, whenever something happens. I know that your- our?- brain feels like mush right now, so I’ll keep this as simple as possible.” The Wilford in the video goes on to explain how he met Ken, some of their favorite memories together (with drawings on the whiteboard!), and so on. Bit by bit, Wilford’s brain untangles itself, his heartbeat slows down, and his breathing calms. Once the video ends, he takes a deep breath, stretching and popping his joints. Damnit, his foot is asleep. He cautiously stands up, rolling his ankle to regain feeling. He paces around the kitchen until he can feel his foot again.
He tiptoes into his bedroom, sliding gently under the silk sheets. Ken hums drowsily and turns to face him, hair tousled, eyes half lidded.
“D’you know who I am now?” his pillow muffles his words ever so slightly. Wilford also turns on his side to face his husband, taking in the sight of the love of his eternal life. He nods, tears welling in his eyes.
“I’m sorry that I forgot. I’m so sorry.” Wilford chokes out a soft sob around the lump in his throat, and Ken pulls him closer.
“Hey, hey, no, shhh, it’s okay, honey, it’s okay…” Ken whispers sweet nothings to him, massaging his back lightly, and Wilford feels the other man’s tears dropping onto his head. Wilford pulls himself even closer, tangling their legs together and running his fingers through his lover’s short hair.
“I-I don’t know why I keep forgetting…” he whimpers, cradling his face against Ken’s collarbone. He nuzzles closer, maybe if he gets close enough to him, his soul-crushing guilt will be left behind. Ken hums again, and Wilford can feel his chest vibrate.
“You remember now, that’s all that matters. C’mere, let me see your face, handsome.” Wilford obliges and curls himself out of Ken’s embrace. Ken holds his face in both hands, gently swiping away his tears with the pads of his fingers. He presses loving kisses to the corners of Wilford’s eyes. “I’ll remember when you don’t, I promise.” The sentiment gets a fresh wave of tears out of Wilford, and Ken presses their foreheads together. “I love you, Will.” Will nods and kisses Ken’s cheek.
“I love you too, doll, until the stars go dim. And even then, you’ll always be in my heart.” They share a gentle kiss, and then Wilford pulls Ken into an embrace. They fall asleep curled together, safe, warm, and comfortable