Nana stood in front of her full-length mirror, smoothing down the pink dress for the third time in as many minutes.
It was a simple dress—soft cotton with a fitted waist and a skirt that fell just above her knees. She'd bought it months ago, before Avalon, but had never worn it. It had always felt like too much. Too pretty. Too feminine. Too different from her usual hunter gear and practical clothing.
But today... today she wanted to look beautiful.
For him. For Zayne. For this lunch that might or might not be a date but felt important enough that she was willing to wear a dress and actual makeup for the first time in what felt like forever.
She'd kept the makeup simple—just enough to make her eyes look bigger, her lips look softer. Her hair was down, falling past her shoulders in waves that she'd carefully styled. No ponytail today. No practical hunter braids.
Just... Nana. As pretty as she could make herself.
"Okay," she said to her reflection. "You can do this. It's just lunch. Just a casual meal with the man you love who doesn't remember loving you back. No pressure."
Her reflection did not look convinced.
Before heading out, Nana glanced at her computer. The screen showed a website she'd created a week ago—simple, clean, with a single purpose:
**AVALON SURVIVORS**
*If you remember a place between life and death. If you remember ice portals and blood moons and impossible creatures. If you remember surviving something that no one else believes existed. You're not alone. Contact us.*
Below that was a contact form and a comment section.
Both were empty.
Nana refreshed the page anyway, hoping—always hoping—that someone would reach out. That Mina or Jisu might have escaped through some other blood moon cycle. That someone else who'd survived Avalon and kept their memories would find this page and know they weren't crazy.
But the notifications remained at zero.
Of course they did. Anyone who'd died in Avalon and been reborn would have no memories. Would have no reason to search for information about a realm they didn't remember experiencing.
And the ones who'd escaped alive... well, Nana had been looking for them for weeks. If they existed, they were either in hiding or didn't want to be found.
Or they'd never made it out at all.
Nana closed the laptop with a sigh that felt heavier than it should. She missed them. Missed Mina's teaching and Jisu's laughter and all the people she'd lost in that nightmare realm.
But dwelling on it wouldn't bring them back.
Her phone buzzed with a text:
**Zayne: I'm at the cafe. Take your time.**
Nana's heart did a little flip. Right. Lunch. Date. Pretty dress. Focus on the present, not the past.
She grabbed her purse—an actual purse instead of her hunter equipment bag, which felt strange—and headed out, pausing only to check her reflection one more time.
"You've got this," she told herself. "Just be yourself. The charming, only slightly reckless self. Not the 'I've watched you die six times and I'm carrying the weight of memories you don't have' self. Easy."
The motorcycle ride to the cafe was mercifully short, though her carefully styled hair did not survive the helmet. Nana caught sight of herself in a shop window as she parked—hair sticking up in places, slightly windswept, definitely not the polished look she'd been going for.
"Great," she muttered, trying to smooth it down. "Very romantic. Very date-appropriate."
But there was no time to fix it properly. Through the cafe window, she could already see Zayne sitting at a corner table, a coffee in front of him, looking impossibly handsome in his casual clothes—dark jeans and a light blue button-down that made his hazel eyes look even more striking.
He was early. Had probably been early, because Zayne was always punctual to the point of being early, because time management was apparently one of his core personality traits regardless of memory loss or dimensional trauma.
Nana took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and walked in.
.
.
.
.
.
Zayne had been prepared for Nana to look nice. She'd texted him last night saying she was "dressing up a little" and he'd assumed that meant... well, he wasn't sure what he'd assumed.
He was not prepared for this.
She looked beautiful. Not in the carefully polished way of the women who sometimes asked him out at the hospital, all perfect makeup and designer clothes. But in a way that was somehow more striking—natural and genuine and so distinctly Nana that it made something in his chest tighten.
The pink dress suited her perfectly, complementing her skin tone and making her look softer than usual. Her hair was down and slightly mussed from the motorcycle helmet, which should have looked messy but instead looked endearing. And she'd done something with her makeup that made her dark eyes seem even larger, even more expressive.
Zayne felt his ears heat up. This was supposed to be a casual lunch between colleagues. Friends, maybe. Not... whatever this was turning into.
"Hi!" Nana approached the table, slightly breathless, a hint of uncertainty in her smile. "Sorry, my hair is a mess. Helmet problems."
"You look beautiful," Zayne said before his brain could catch up with his mouth.
Her eyes went wide. A blush spread across her cheeks. "Oh. I... thank you. You too. Look good, I mean. Not beautiful. Well, you are beautiful, but in a handsome way. Handsomely beautiful. I'm going to stop talking now."
Despite himself, Zayne smiled. This was more familiar territory—flustered Nana, rambling Nana, the Nana who kicked Wanderers with her bare legs and climbed trees during medical conferences.
But there was something else in her expression today. Something that looked almost like sadness behind the cheerfulness.
She sat down across from him, setting her purse aside and picking up the menu with hands that weren't quite steady.
"Are you okay?" Zayne asked.
"Hmm? Yes! Fine. Totally fine." But her smile didn't quite reach her eyes.
Zayne watched her for a moment, trying to read what she wasn't saying. Then, acting on instinct rather than logic, he reached across the table and took her hand.
Her smaller hand fit perfectly in his, just like it had yesterday on the bench. He felt her startle slightly at the contact, saw her eyes go wide again.
"You look sad," he said quietly. "You don't have to tell me why. But I wanted you to know I noticed."
For a moment, Nana just stared at their joined hands. Then she looked up at him, and there were tears gathering in her eyes that she was clearly fighting back.
"Just... missing some friends," she said, her voice slightly rough. "People I lost. It's silly. I should be happy—I am happy—to be here with you. But sometimes the sadness just... sneaks up on you, you know?"
Zayne squeezed her hand gently. "It's not silly. Grief doesn't follow a schedule. It comes when it wants to."
She gave him a watery smile. "When did you become an expert on grief?"
"Medical school. We had an entire course on it. How to help patients and families process loss." He paused, thumb tracing small circles on her hand. "And... I don't know. Sometimes I feel like I'm grieving something too. Something I can't quite remember. Does that make sense?"
Nana's breath caught. "Yes. It makes perfect sense."
They sat like that for a moment, hands joined across the table, sharing a grief that only one of them could fully understand.
Then Nana squeezed back and straightened up, her smile becoming more genuine. "Okay. Enough sadness. Tell me what you're ordering, because I'm starving and I want to judge your lunch choices."
"Judge my lunch choices?"
"It's a very important part of dating— I mean, friendship. Friend lunches. Where friends judge each other's food decisions in a completely platonic way."
Zayne felt his lips twitch. "Is that what this is? A friend lunch?"
"What else would it be?" But there was a hopeful note in her voice, a question hidden in the deflection.
"I'm not sure," Zayne admitted honestly. "But I know I wanted to see you. Outside of the hospital. Outside of missions. Just... to spend time together."
"I wanted that too."
They ordered—Zayne getting a sensible salad with grilled chicken, Nana getting the largest burger on the menu ("I burn a lot of calories kicking things!"). And slowly, gradually, the sadness in her expression faded, replaced by the bright energy he'd come to associate with her.
She told him about a new cafe that had opened near her apartment. "They have the best macarons! And these little cakes that are almost too pretty to eat. Almost. I still ate them. But they're exactly the kind of thing you'd like."
"How do you know what kind of things I'd like?" Zayne asked, genuinely curious.
"I... pay attention." She ducked her head, focusing very intently on her burger. "You always get the strawberry candies. And yesterday you ate three of those macarons I brought you before you even got home—I could tell because you had pistachio crumbs on your coat when you were leaving. So clearly you have a secret sweet tooth that you try to hide behind your serious doctor facade."
Zayne blinked. She was right. He had eaten three macarons in the car because they'd looked too tempting to resist. And he did prefer sweets, though he tried not to indulge too often.
"You're observant," he said.
"I like knowing things about you." She looked up, meeting his eyes. "Is that weird?"
"No. It's..." Zayne searched for the right word. "Nice. Most people see the doctor. The professional. They don't really look past that."
"Well, I'm looking. And I like what I see."
His ears heated up again. To cover his embarrassment, he asked, "What kind of candy do you want to try? Since I'm apparently out of strawberry stock."
Nana's eyes lit up. "Really? You're going to get me different candy?"
"I should diversify my offerings. In case you develop strawberry fatigue."
"I could never get tired of strawberry. But..." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "I've always wanted to try those fancy European chocolates. The ones that cost more than my motorcycle payment."
"Those are not candy. Those are investments."
"Edible investments!"
"I'm not buying you fifty-dollar chocolates."
Nana stuck out her lower lip in an exaggerated pout. "But what if I kick a really impressive Wanderer? With my bare leg? Doesn't that earn me luxury chocolates?"
"That earns you a lecture about proper equipment usage."
"You're no fun."
"I'm very fun. I'm having fun right now."
"Are you though? Because you look like you're calculating the nutritional value of my burger and judging me."
Zayne realized she was right—he had been mentally calculating the caloric content. He made a conscious effort to relax his expression. "I'm not judging. I'm... concerned about your sodium intake."
Nana burst out laughing. Really laughing, the kind that made her throw her head back and clutch her stomach. "Oh my god, you really are worried about my sodium! Zayne, I fight monsters for a living. I think I can handle a salty burger."
And despite himself, Zayne laughed too. Really laughed, the kind of genuine amusement that he rarely felt. The kind that made his chest feel lighter, made the world seem a little brighter.
It felt... familiar. Like he'd laughed like this before, with her, in some context he couldn't quite place.
When their laughter faded, they just smiled at each other across the table, hands still joined, the lunch crowd bustling around them unnoticed.
"This is nice," Nana said softly. "Being here with you. Like this."
"It is," Zayne agreed. And meant it.
After lunch, they didn't want to part ways.
"There's a bookstore nearby," Zayne offered. "If you want to walk for a bit."
"Yes! I mean, sure. That sounds nice. Very casual."
They walked hand in hand through Linkon's downtown district, drawing occasional glances from passersby. Zayne was acutely aware of every point where their bodies touched—her small hand in his, her shoulder occasionally brushing his arm, her presence beside him feeling more right than it had any logical reason to feel.
The bookstore was one of those old-fashioned ones with floor-to-ceiling shelves and the smell of paper and ink. Nana immediately gravitated toward the fiction section while Zayne found himself in medical texts, but they kept drifting back to each other, sharing discoveries.
"Look at this!" Nana held up a book about urban legends. "It says there are caves in the forest outside Linkon where people have vanished. Supposedly they fall through portals to other dimensions."
Zayne's stomach did something strange. "That's... unlikely. Scientifically."
"Yeah, probably just stories." But something in her expression looked haunted. "Still. Weird to think about."
She put the book back quickly and moved on to the next shelf.
After the bookstore came a pastry shop—the one Nana had mentioned, with its elaborate cakes and perfect macarons. Zayne bought a box of assorted flavors despite his protests about sugar intake, because Nana looked so happy picking them out.
"One raspberry for you," she said, carefully selecting each piece. "One chocolate. Two vanilla because I know you like vanilla even though you pretend you don't. And obviously strawberry."
"How do you know I like vanilla?"
"I told you. I pay attention."
By the time the sun started setting, they'd wandered through half the downtown district, still talking, still learning about each other, still holding hands like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"I should get you home," Zayne said reluctantly. "It's getting late."
"I have my motorcycle—"
"I'll drive you. Someone can deliver your motorcycle to your apartment tomorrow."
"You don't have to do that."
"I want to." He squeezed her hand. "Let me. Please."
Nana studied his face for a moment, then nodded. "Okay."
The drive to her apartment was quiet, comfortable. Zayne's car smelled like antiseptic and coffee, familiar and safe. Nana sat in the passenger seat, watching the city lights pass by, feeling more content than she had in months.
When they pulled up to her building, Zayne put the car in park but didn't immediately unlock the doors.
"I had a really good time today," he said, looking at her with those intense hazel eyes. "I know this was supposed to be just lunch, but it felt like... more. To me. Did it feel like more to you?"
Nana's heart was pounding so hard she was sure he could hear it. "Yes. It felt like much more."
"Good." He reached behind him and produced something from the back seat—a small bouquet of flowers. Pink roses, carefully wrapped. "I bought these during lunch. When you went to the bathroom. I was planning to give them to you at the restaurant but I lost my nerve."
Nana took the flowers with shaking hands. "Zayne..."
"I like you," he said, and his ears were bright red now but his voice was steady. "I don't fully understand it. I feel like I've known you much longer than a few weeks. Like there's something important I'm forgetting about you. About us. But even without understanding why, I know that I like being around you. That you make me laugh. That holding your hand feels right in a way I can't explain."
Tears were streaming down Nana's face now, but she was smiling. "I like you too. So much. More than you know."
He reached out and gently patted her head—an awkward gesture that was somehow perfect in its awkwardness. His hand lingered in her hair, thumb brushing against her temple.
"Don't cry," he said softly. "Unless they're happy tears."
"They are." Nana laughed through the tears. "They're very happy tears."
"Good." He pulled his hand back reluctantly. "I'll see you tomorrow? At the hospital?"
"Yes. Tomorrow. And the day after. And probably every day after that because I'm shameless and I've given up on playing it cool."
"I noticed. I appreciate it. Your shamelessness makes my life easier."
"Happy to help."
She got out of the car, clutching her flowers, feeling like she was floating. At her apartment entrance, she turned back to wave.
Zayne was still sitting in his car, watching her with that soft expression she'd seen more and more lately. He raised his hand in a small wave back.
And Nana realized something that made her heart feel like it might burst:
He was falling for her again.
Without memories. Without understanding why. Just following what his soul recognized even when his mind couldn't remember.
The Zayne from Linkon who'd carried strawberry candies. The Zayne from Avalon who'd kissed her on rooftops and promised to escape together. The Zayne from today who bought her flowers and held her hand and admitted he felt a connection he couldn't explain.
They were all the same person. The same soul. The same love that transcended memory and death and impossible circumstances.
And even though he didn't remember their past, he was choosing her anyway.
All over again.
Nana clutched the flowers to her chest and watched his car drive away, and for the first time since waking up in that forest without his memories, she felt truly, completely hopeful.
They would be okay. Eventually. However long it took.
Because love didn't need memories to be real.
It just needed two people who kept choosing each other, again and again, no matter how many times the universe tried to tear them apart.
And they were very good at choosing each other.
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.
To be continued.