The clinic was unusually quiet that morning. The faint scent of antiseptic lingered in the air, mingling with the subtle fragrance of blooming sakura drifting in from the open window. Altair sat propped against the pillows, his blanket pulled up to his chest. His complexion had mostly returned to normal, though a faint tiredness clung to his eyes.
Levi stood awkwardly at the foot of the bed, shifting his weight from one leg to another. His usual easy smile was absent; instead, his expression was heavy with guilt. He clutched the strap of his bag tightly, fingers digging in.
"I… didn't know," Levi said, voice uncharacteristically quiet. "Altair, I swear I didn't know. If I had, I never would've—" His voice broke, and he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "I just wanted you to try my mom's recipe. I thought you'd like it."
Altair blinked at him. For once, his sharp tongue didn't leap forward with mockery. He looked down instead, fiddling with the edge of his blanket. The memory of gasping for air was still too raw, the panic too recent.
Cassian stood near the wall, arms crossed, his presence as steady as a mountain. He hadn't said much since Altair woke up, but his gaze never strayed far.
Levi tried again, forcing a small smile. "I'm sorry, really. You must hate me now."
Altair opened his mouth, ready to reply with a sarcastic remark, but the words got stuck in his throat. He couldn't bring himself to tease Levi when his friend looked so utterly crushed. Instead, he gave a little huff and turned his head aside. "Idiot. I don't hate you. Just—don't bring me shrimp again. Ever."
Levi's shoulders sagged in relief, and though the guilt didn't vanish, a shadow of his usual smile returned. "Got it. No shrimp, ever again. I promise."
Cassian shifted, uncrossing his arms. "Altair."
The way he said the name—calm, low, unyielding—made Altair glance up despite himself. Cassian's expression was unreadable, but there was a faint weight behind his eyes.
"I should apologize too."
Altair blinked. "What? Why?"
Cassian's lips pressed into a thin line. "Because I should've remembered. I did remember—but not soon enough. I should've stopped you before you even took the first bite."
Altair tilted his head, brow furrowing. "Wait. What are you talking about? You—" He pointed at Cassian, incredulous. "You knew? You knew I'm allergic to shrimp?"
Cassian held his gaze without flinching. "Of course."
Altair stared, dumbfounded. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "How—? Even I didn't know! I just thought shrimp was… gross. Are you telling me you knew something about me that I didn't even know myself?!" His voice pitched up as if the very idea offended him.
Cassian's expression softened with the faintest trace of a smile, though his tone remained serious. "Grade four. You probably don't remember."
Altair froze. His mind fumbled through half-formed images of playgrounds and messy lunches, but nothing clear surfaced. "Grade four…?"
"You swapped lunches with a classmate that day," Cassian said quietly, his gaze steady as if replaying the memory in perfect detail. "He had shrimp tempura. You ate it without thinking. Within minutes, your face turned red, your throat started closing up. You panicked, couldn't breathe properly. The teacher didn't know what was happening."
Altair's breath caught. The words painted a vague image in his mind—he could almost feel the burning in his throat, the dizziness. His chest tightened unconsciously at the memory.
"You collapsed near the water fountain," Cassian continued. "They rushed you to the nurse. I was the one who carried your bag and stayed outside the office until your parents came."
The room went still. Levi's eyes widened, staring between the two of them.
Altair's mouth opened, but no words came out. His chest felt strangely tight, not from an allergic reaction this time, but from something else entirely. He looked at Cassian, whose calm expression betrayed nothing yet somehow conveyed everything.
"You…" Altair whispered, his voice barely audible. "You remembered all that?"
"Of course." Cassian's answer was simple, as though it required no thought.
Altair's throat worked, struggling to form words. His cheeks flamed red, his usual shield of arrogance slipping. He turned his face away, hiding behind his blanket. "…Idiot."
Cassian tilted his head, faint amusement flickering in his eyes. "Pardon?"
Altair's voice dropped to almost nothing. "I said… sorry. For snapping at you earlier. And… thanks. For remembering. For—everything."
Levi blinked, stunned into silence. Was this really Altair? The same Altair who would rather bite his tongue off than admit fault?
Altair buried his face deeper in the blanket, only the tips of his ears visible, glowing scarlet. "Don't make me repeat it."
Cassian's lips curved into a subtle, victorious smirk, though his voice remained gentle. "You're welcome."
Levi, still dazed, muttered, "Wow. Altair actually said thank you. I feel like I just saw a unicorn."
"Shut up, Levi!" Altair snapped instantly, springing up in bed, his face still red. "It was one time! A mistake! Forget it happened!"
But Cassian only watched, the edge of his smirk softening into something almost fond. His sharp memory, his steady presence, his unshakable gaze—all of it wrapped around Altair like a silent promise.
And though Altair fumed and sputtered, his heart wouldn't stop hammering against his ribs.
Because somewhere deep down, he knew—Cassian would always remember him. Even the parts he himself had forgotten.