Emma's head was pounding with a newfound clarity as she ripped off the polaroids on the wall. Pictures of her laughing with Dylan, posing with Dylan, just being with Dylan – that all went into the box on the floor, and she didn't even care if she'd smudged fingerprint marks on them this time.

The red haze of anger was still there, ever since she came storming back from the hospital in a flurry of barely-concealed tears, her fists clenched and every fibre of her being wound like a tightrope. And she was like that failed balancing act, with fingers clutching desperately on the rope, trying to hang on even though everything had already spiralled out of control. She was angry with Flo for clearly having led Dylan on; mad at Dylan for trusting her so blindly and furious with herself for losing grasp on the situation so quickly.

Maybe if she'd explained herself better, or said something to trigger his memory, or done something else –

No.

Beneath all that anger, Emma felt a sinking in her heart, something along the lines of resignation. The look on Dylan's face when he talked to her, the look on his face when he talked to her about Flo – that all seemed definitive. He'd made up his mind and there was nothing she could say or do to change it. Even before the accident, he'd always been obstinate as hell, but it seemed like his stubbornness had tripled in recent weeks.

Swallowing the bittersweet twang in her mouth, Emma pulled off his large t-shirt from her clothes hanger and tossed it onto the pile of things on the floor. She was going to miss sleeping in his shirts, but clearly, that was now a thing of the past too.

So absorbed in her task was Emma that she didn't even hear the patter of feet across the hall, until Scout's voice echoed round the corner. " – you should really change the hiding place for your key, leaving it under the mat is not a hiding place and just about the most obvious thing in the world," Scout was saying, before coming to a pause by the doorway. She took one look at the mess in the room and sighed. "Oh, I knew this would happen."

Emma ignored her and chucked another of Dylan's shirts onto the pile.

"I knew it," Scout repeated, dragging a hand through her hair and picking her way slowly across the room towards Emma. "That's why I had Dave look after the baby and came over to look after you. Every trip to the hospital has you coming back looking even worse than before. Emma. Emma," she stopped the other girl, reaching out to stop Emma from moving around.

"I'm fine," Emma sidestepped her and headed across the room to pull open the doors of another cupboard.

"That's what all the people who are not fine say."

"Then what would you rather me say? That the nurse called Flo pretty much convinced him that they're undeniably, irrevocably in love with each other? That Dylan's convinced that I'm the one lying to his face instead of her? That I'm just a stranger to him, someone who he can very well forget, let alone live without?"

"There has to be a way," Scout reasoned, leaning down to pick up one of Dylan's shirts. Casting a brief glance to see if Emma's back was turned, she quickly folded the shirt and surreptitiously placed it back in the closet. "You said so yourself – these things need time."

"I did say that. I just didn't think I was racing against time all this while," Emma added, almost bitterly. Crossing the room, she placed down one of Dylan's books on the pile, before her eyes narrowed as she noticed Scout standing near the closet, in the midst of folding another shirt.

"You're being too pessimistic about this," Scout shook her head when Emma headed towards her. But before Emma could reach for the shirt to throw it back on the floor, she slammed the closet shut, placing a hand out to barricade the door. "Listen," Scout's voice was steady, "love is – a struggle, sometimes. Did you think it was going to be all rainbows and sunshine from the moment you began dating him? There would inevitably be fights, and screaming matches, and misunderstandings; but you work through them all the same. That's part and parcel of what love is," she added softly, looking at Emma with faint understanding in her eyes. "Because if it's not worth fighting for, then maybe it's not worth holding on to."

Emma paused. She wasn't blindsided enough that she couldn't see the point Scout was making. Of course love could be a struggle sometimes. She knew that. But it somehow seemed that all it ever was anymore was a struggle.

And, much like a little kid who had caught a butterfly, only to know he had to release it sooner or later – Emma thought that, maybe, it was time to let go.

"You're right," she said at last. "Maybe it's not worth holding on to."

Scout's eyes widened in evident alarmed, and she hastily began to backtrack. "That was not my point – "

"No, you're right. I am – " Emma swallowed, blinking hard and trying to find a way to put her feelings into words. " – exhausted," she finally settled on the right word. "Do you know what it feels like to keep reaching out and trying to grasp onto some flimsy illusion of love when it no longer exists? So maybe, maybe, it's ever elusive because that's not what I'm supposed to have in the first place. Not with him, at least."

Scout didn't stop her when she tried to reach for the closet, only watching quietly as Emma yanked the doors open, pulling out the folded shirt. Emma stopped for a moment, feeling the shirt sift beneath her fingertips and even though it was clean and washed, with the heady smell of soap and fabric softener, she could've sworn it smelled just like him.

Time to forget that too.

She tossed the shirt onto the pile on the floor, and Scout didn't say a word this time.

* * *

Morgan was late.

Which wasn't much of a surprise considering that was pretty much the norm for her. Emma decided not go into Dylan's room and risk getting into another heated argument with him. Instead, she sat outside on one of the benches, the box of Dylan's things placed carefully on her lap.

If she was in tears several days before, she was entirely cool and collected now. For some reason, being resigned to the fact that her relationship with Dylan had come to its unfortunate end was somehow...settling. Like pricking helium out of a balloon, and all Emma felt now was emptiness, but it made her calm at the same time.

The sounds of shoes scuffing against the floor made her look up, only to see Morgan coming down the hallway, pushing Dylan in his wheelchair. Emma froze. When she'd asked Morgan to meet her, she hadn't pre-empted meeting Dylan as well. She imagined he would've been in one of his physiotherapy sessions.

Evidently, she was wrong.

"Sorry I'm late," Morgan said, quirking a brief grin as she spotted Emma. "Stupid here wanted to get coffee from the cafeteria," she added, throwing a mock-disgusted look at Dylan, who had his fingers wrapped around a Styrofoam cup.

On any other occasion, Emma would've smiled at Morgan's nickname for her brother – 'stupid' being just one of the huge variety the latter had come up with for him – but now, she simply shook her head. "It's alright," she replied and got to her feet, ignoring the way Dylan stared at her.

Morgan wheeled him to a stop, just inches away from Emma. "So what did you need to see me for – " she began, only to pause when Emma wordlessly held out a box to her. "Oh, hell," Morgan swore under her breath, before her eyes narrowed at Dylan. "You!" Without wasting another moment, she smacked her brother on his shoulder, who promptly jumped in surprise.

Dylan turned to glare at her. "What the hell was that for?"

"What did you do to Emma?"

"Nothing!" He insisted, but his eyes instinctively swept to Emma, and she didn't miss the flicker of uncertainty in them.

"Right," Morgan scoffed, reaching over to grab the box from Emma. "Then why's she returning this box that contains crap that's obviously yours?"

Emma really didn't want to hear another monologue from Dylan about how they clearly didn't have anything to do with each other and that she was just messing with his head. Taking a step back, she smiled faintly at Morgan. "I should probably get going."

Morgan's eyes widened. "Wait, you're leaving? So soon?"

"Yeah," Emma nodded, side-stepping Dylan's wheelchair so she could head to the nearest exit. But before she could leave entirely, Dylan stopped her, his voice unexpectedly calm and free of any of his previous hostility.

"Wait."

Emma paused. She was so stunned that it took a moment to register that he was speaking to her. Slowly, she turned to face him, faltering when she saw the expression on his face. He didn't seem closed-off this time and he was staring at her with something akin to vague curiosity. Like he was properly looking at her for the first time in a long while.

"I need to have a word with you," he said, and her eyebrows rose even further.

"With me?"

He nodded, before looking pointedly at his sister. It took a second or two for realisation to dawn on Morgan, but when it finally did, she huffed in resignation.

"Fine," she sounded almost reluctant to leave, and Emma had to fight the urge to smile. "I'll put this box in the car," she said, before looking at Dylan warningly. "Don't be an idiot."

"That's your job, monkey."

Morgan rolled her eyes and headed off, leaving him alone with Emma. The hall was silent, with the arbitrary nurse wheeling a patient past them, or doctor striding quickly down the corridor. But other than that, it was quiet enough to carry out a decent conversation.

"Have a seat," Dylan's voice made Emma turn back to him.

Feeling almost self-conscious, she settled down on the bench, stiffening in surprise when he reached down to wheel himself closer, until their knees were almost brushing. It was very much like that first date they were on, when he brought her to this little café someway off the interstate.

It was a table for two; a tiny table at that, and his knees kept nudging hers by accident. He'd blushed crimson and apologised profusely, but she'd laughed and nudged him back with her knee, on purpose, over and over again, until his blush had faded and he was no longer feeling awkward around her.

Thinking about that made a wave of nostalgia rush through her, so she discarded that thought and focused on the situation at hand instead. Dylan was studying her with an intensity that was almost unnerving, and she fought the urge to fidget.

"How're you doing?" He asked at last, sounding just as hesitant as she was.

Emma looked up immediately. "I-I'm good," she managed, frowning as she tried to figure out his game plan for today. "What're you – "

"I removed my wrist brace today," he blurted, before she could say anything else.

She froze, her eyes darting down to his arm, where the white cast was no longer there. She hadn't noticed that he'd gotten it removed earlier, but now that he'd mentioned it, she couldn't think of anything else.

"Why didn't you tell me about this?" He asked, his eyes fixed on her as he slowly shifted his arm so that his palm was facing up. And her breath caught when she saw the four tiny black letters inked across his wrist –

e m m a