The bell above the door chimed, and Finn looked up to see Mrs. Patterson entering with her usual cheerful energy, her arms full of the romance novels she devoured like literary candy.
“Finn, dear,” she said, approaching the counter with obvious warmth, “I just wanted to thank you again for our lovely chat yesterday. You were so sweet to listen to me ramble about Harold, and your suggestion about the grief support group was exactly what I needed to hear.”
Finn felt his stomach drop into his shoes. “I'm sorry, Mrs. Patterson. Yesterday?”
“When I was telling you about missing Harold's voice, how quiet the house feels without him humming off-key in the shower.” Mrs. Patterson's expression shifted to concern at Finn's obvious confusion. “You suggested I might benefit from talking to other widows who understand what it's like to lose someone after forty-three years of marriage.”
“I... yes, of course,” Finn managed, though panic was rising in his chest like flood water. “I'm glad the suggestion was helpful.”
Mrs. Patterson chatted for a few more minutes about her progress with grief counseling and her gratitude for Finn's compassionate listening, then left with her weekly selection of happily-ever-afters. Finn stood behind his counter, shaking with the realization that he'd apparently provided meaningful support to someone during a period he couldn't remember experiencing.
His phone buzzed with a text from River:
River
How did the appointment with Dr. Voss go? Want to grab dinner and talk about it?
Finn's hands trembled as he typed back:
Finn
Can you come to the shop? I need to see you. Something's happening.
River
On my way.
The fifteen minutes it took River to arrive felt like hours while Finn sat among evidence of a day he'd lived but couldn't access, wondering how much of his life was happening withouthis conscious participation. Was he becoming a spectator in his own existence, watching from the sidelines while some other version of himself handled daily responsibilities and human connections?
When River burst through the door with obvious concern written across his face, Finn felt something inside him break apart with relief and terror.
“What's wrong?” River asked, moving immediately to Finn's side with the kind of protective instincts that made Finn's chest ache with gratitude and fear.
“I lost an entire day,” Finn said, his voice cracking with emotions he couldn't contain. “I apparently had customers, made sales, had meaningful conversations with people about their personal lives, and I can't remember any of it. Mrs. Patterson just thanked me for helping her process her grief over her dead husband, and I have no fucking idea what she's talking about.”
River's expression cycled through concern and growing alarm as Finn showed him the customer notes and described Mrs. Patterson's visit. “This is more extensive than your previous episodes.”
“It's getting worse, River. I'm disappearing piece by piece, and I don't know how to stop it.” Finn felt tears burning behind his eyes, months of accumulated fear finally overwhelming his ability to maintain composure. “What if I end up like my mom? What if I forget who you are, forget who I am, just drift away until there's nothing left?”
“Hey,” River said, pulling Finn into his arms with the kind of gentle strength that made everything feel temporarily manageable. “That's not going to happen. We're going to figure this out.”
“How can you know that?” Finn asked against River's shoulder, breathing in salt water and warmth while his world felt like it was disintegrating around him.
“Because I'm not letting you disappear. Because Dr. Voss thinks your condition can be treated. Because whatever's happening to you, we're facing it together.” River's hands moved in soothing circles across Finn's back, and Finn felt some of the panic ease despite the impossibility of their situation.
But as River held him, Finn experienced something that felt like déjà vu but deeper, more specific. The exact pressure of River's arms, the particular way his hand settled at the base of Finn's neck, the rhythm of his breathing against Finn's temple—all of it felt familiar in ways that suggested this comfort had been provided before, many times, under similar circumstances.
“This feels like we've done this before,” Finn said without thinking, then immediately regretted voicing something that sounded completely insane.
River went still for a moment, his hands pausing in their gentle movement. “What do you mean?”
“I don't know. It just feels familiar, like muscle memory or something. Like my body remembers being comforted by you even though my mind doesn't have those memories.” Finn pulled back to look at River's face, noting the way his green eyes held something that looked like recognition mixed with confusion.
“That's probably just because you feel safe with me,” River said, but his voice carried uncertainty that suggested he'd experienced the same sense of familiarity.
Before Finn could respond, the room began to shift around him with the now-familiar sensation of reality becoming fluid. But this episode felt different—shorter, more targeted. Instead of general disorientation, Finn experienced a moment of expecting River to know things he hadn't told him yet.
“She thinks the episodes are connected to emotional intensity, especially around our relationship. She wants to monitor how being with you affects my temporal—” Finn heard himself saying, though he was pretty sure he hadn't decided to speak.
