The brunette flipped through endless pictures in her scrapbook, refusing to believe I couldn't remember.  "What about that time you showed me your hand?  You remember that, right?"

I stared blankly at the pages she had opened to.  "Grauntie Y/N?  What's a grauntie?" 

Her face crumpled and she bit her lip.  "It's a great aunt.  You're a grauntie, you're my grauntie.  Don't you remember anything?!" 

I scanned over the pictures she had put in.  The girl - Mabel? - and I posing with cheap plastic sunglasses.  Mabel pointing a prosthetic hand into a finger gun.  Was that my hand?!  I glanced down at my wrist, and saw it was connected to a robotic left hand.  Okay.  That exists.  That's a thing now.  I tore my eyes away from that revelation and continued down the page, hungry for more information. 

The very last photo caught my attention. It was a strip of polaroids, the kind you get in a photo booth. The grey haired man from earlier and I were back-to-back in the Charlie's Angels pose, then myself on my toes to close the height gap, and finally the stranger giving me a peck of the cheek. Mabel had scribbled around it in bright crayon, the most prominent words being "so cute!" and "OTP!"

"Who's that?" I whispered, my eyes trailing back to the man in the lab coat.

Mabel's tears started leaking out of her eyes. "I thought of all people you would remember him. That's Stanford Pines, my grunkle, your fiancé."

"I-I'm engaged?!" I pulled out my robotic hand again to see a thin silver band encircling it. I bit my lip to stop from crying. Just how much was I forgetting?! "Is there anything else I should know? Anything huge like that?"

The alpha twin glanced nervously around the room, as if looking for approval to tell me. Her brother nodded, his pine tree hat nearly covering his eyes. She gathered her courage in a quick breath. "You're dying. Or, you were. Now, you're healthy. I think."

My jaw dropped. "What?! Details, please!"

Mabel winced, like it brought back bad memories. Like I would know. "I was never told all the details, just that you had lung cancer.  You didn't tell anyone for a long time, and you were supposed to die today."  She buried her head in her sweater, not wanting to talk anymore. 

I felt a migraine coming on.  Was my life really this messed up?  Was it even worth remembering?  I shook my head.  Of course I wanted to remember.  It gnawed at me, a raw emptiness that needed to be filled. 

Stanford, my apparent fiancé, walked into the room, head held low. He flipped a copper and glass gun over in his hands, lost in thought. A hillbilly-looking man with a large beard trailed him, appearing nervous. "Ya know, Stanford, if this doesn't work, the memory will be gone from yer mind, too."

Stanford gave a small nod in reply. "I know the risk, Fiddleford, and it's one I'm willing to take. If this doesn't work, nothing else will." He grit his teeth and closed his eyes tight, and shot himself with the copper gun.  As is this was completely normal for him, he flipped the weapon over and pulled out a glass vial, protected by metal on each end. 

"What?  You just shot yourself!  How are you unharmed?!" 

He sighed.  "This gun doesn't do any physical damage, it finds brain cells holding memory and destroys them.  Lucky for us, it only deletes them after it makes a copy."  He showed me the vial, which appeared to be holding camera film.  "I can't remember what memory I just erased, but it was my favorite, and important to both of us.  It's a long shot, but if anything's going to jog your memory, it's this."

He placed the tube on a wire connecting to the television.  The screen flickered on, blurry and staticky.  The video sharpened, showing it to be from the early seventies, and focused on two teens, one in a red party dress, and the other in a stained pastel blue tux.  They both looked vaguely familiar, though I didn't know why.  I squinted and pushed my glasses up my nose.  Was that Stanford?!  His hair was a rich brown color, and his chin wasn't as prominent, but it was definitely him.  I glanced at the girl in the red dress, noticing how her left arm ended at her wrist.  She must be me, then.  Weird. 

The girl - I - looked ticked off.  She took Stanford's drink and stormed right into the middle of a crowd of dancers.  I only had to wait a moment to hear an ear-shattering scream pierce the air.  The crowd parted for a millisecond, and I managed to catch sight of a snobby teen drenched in punch.  I couldn't help but smile.  I had newfound respect for my younger self. 

She returned to Stanford with a casual swagger, and this time I could hear her words. "Oh, what a shame.  She must've spilled her drink."

Teenage Stanford was wonderstruck, he held his arms out for an awkward hug, then realized he was covered in punch. She just laughed and poured a cup on herself, accepting his hug and taking him onto the dance floor. She laid her head on his shoulder, taking advantage of his height.

Would you believe in a love at first sight?
Yes, I'm certain that happens all the time.

Suddenly, faces and words filled my brain out of nowhere.  With those lyrics, my memory came back full force, ramming into me like a fire truck. Meeting Stanford in the hallway. Spring Formal. The portal. Cancer. The wedding. Bill. Monique. My head spun with all the newfound images. I took a step back, accidently running into Stanford.

He smiled at me, excitedly realizing I recognized him. It all was back. This was Stanford Pines, the one I loved, and nothing was going to keep us apart this time. His chocolate brown eyes shimmered, the same eyes I had known all these years. "Did I ever tell you I love you?"

My heart involuntarily leaped in my chest.  "Don't stop now."

He he wove his fingers through mine, pulling me close to him.  "I love you, Y/N. I really do."

I traced his jaw with a metallic finger, savoring this moment.  "I love you too, Stanford. I really do."

🆃🅷🅴 🅴🅽🅳