Allergies.

[Not quite. Fynn is actually sick but he doesn't want to admit it. Too prideful or dumb, whichever.]

Everyday is a difficult day but it makes no sense to complain. I'm fine, Ardyn.

[He flops down on the chair beside Ardyn with a grateful sigh. His poor feet are killing him. Every ache and pain he tried to ease away this morning with a hot shower came back with vengeance. That explains why Fynn looks so downright miserable right now, his bones ache.]

Besides, this sounds...urgent.

[Ardyn has learned over the years that when people are adamant about saying that they're fine, often times it means the opposite. And he knows Fynn well enough to tell when something is off. He's not quick to accept the "allergies" explanation.]

It is. But I've waited this long. Another day won't hurt.

[Ardyn's chair also has wheels, and with one easy glide, he lackadaisically rolls over closer to Fynn. He extends his arm, reaching out with the back of his hand to feel at his brother's forehead.]

You're warm. Are you getting sick?

No.

[Fynn lies as he slaps Ardyn's hand away. He definitely feels warmer than he should but Fynn ironically has the chills.]

So what's all this about?

[He's desperately trying to change the subject, more proof that Fynn is sick like a dog. The idiot probably overworked himself one too many days and got sick. A likely case since he's been working long fourteen hour shifts as of late. One of their department members outright vanished, some guy in the K-9 unit.]

I think I have three more hours in me.

[Ardyn frowns in obvious disapproval as his hand is slapped away. God, what a stubborn little brother. Some things never change, and Ardyn has not gotten out of his habit of fussing over him when it's obvious he's neglected taking care of himself.

He clicks his tongue, vaguely annoyed.]

Very well. You wish to know? [Guess what? Ardyn's priorities have flipped around. He's now more concerned about Fynn's health (the idiot probably overworked himself again) than he is about talking about memories. So Fynn gets the most flippant answer Ardyn can manage. It's basically the sparknotes version of the conversation he was planning on having.]

I remember three strange monsters, being an insufferable individual on a train full of snow, and healing the sick.

[Patronizingly:] That took far less than three hours. You can spend the rest of it in bed. Resting.

[Fynn wouldn't be an "Izunia" if he wasn't stubborn. It's simply in their blood. The Izunias are like stubborn weeds, they refuse to die even when uprooted.]

....Really, Ardyn? [He rolls his eyes so hard that they almost get stuck.] Wow. Are you certain that's it? You made it sound far more grand than just that! Sounds like you fell asleep last night with the TV on.

[More eye rolling ensues!]

I don't need rest. I just need coffee.

[Fynn grumbles as he rises out of the chair with a slightly fumble. He's not too steady on his feet. Must be allergies.]

[There's a lot more to his memories than just that, but Ardyn is not going to spend time talking about it now, especially with Fynn trying to get a cup of coffee at, what? 8 pm?]

No, you don't.

[Ardyn doesn't get up, but reaches out to grasp tightly at Fynn's wrist. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make a point. Surely.]

At least... not coffee. Lie down on the couch in the living room and I'll make you tea. [His mind, forever searching for what others might view as a fair compromise (even if it's just really him being shrewd when he feels it's necessary), churns for his next words.] I can tell you more about these memories of mine as I prepare it. Then you can decide if they sound like the ramblings of a madman.

[The sudden hand up on his wrist is a welcome one since Fynn was about to fall flat upon his face a second ago. His sense of gravity is nonexistent right now since he feels all congested and ridiculously cold. He swears Ardyn got all the damn windows open in this house. It feels like it's below zero.]

Alright. [Fynn mumbles as he shakes Ardyn's hand off him.] No coffee tonight. I guess I can stomach some tree bark instead. Make sure it's chamomile or something soothing. None of that Horny Goat tea!

[Guess who got pranked at the station once? Yep, this loser here.]

I...I'm still on the fence about all this weird shit happening but hopefully these memories ain't nothing other than dreams.

[It's a good enough answer for Ardyn, and so he stands up from his chair, straightening to his full height.]

I was planning on camomile anyway. Honestly, if I was going to serve horny goat tea, you think I'd give it to you?

[It's Ardyn's turn to nearly roll his eyes, but he somehow manages to avoid doing so. Instead, he follows his brother into the living room (keeping an eye on him, so that he doesn't topple over), then gestures to the couch.]

Lie down. [Then, responding to the bit about memories:] They're more than just... dreams, Fynn. I'm guessing you haven't had the pleasure of experiencing one yet.

[Ugh, Ardyn! Why must you be so much taller than him? Fynn feels hilariously short beside his brother and he's actually 5'10 at best. That's actually not short. Not at all.]

Good point. You at least have better tact than my colleagues. [Just barely, though.] But yeah, chamomile tea with some honey if you don't mind.

And no, I haven't had the displeasure of getting to know any long lost memories. I don't think I would want to either.

[The slow trek to the living room is a slow one. Fynn almost keels over a few times thanks to the cat that keeps weaving in between his legs. Honestly, these little furry hellions aren't cute. They're hideous little fur bastards who are trying their best to trip him up and kill him.

Eventually, Fynn does reach the sofa without killing himself. He ungracefully dumps himself into the couch and let's out a pained gasp. He may or may not just laid down upon a certain black cat.]

Erebus. I know those claws anywhere.

[He leans up so the cat and get free.]

[It's your curse, Fynn, being related to a man who's tall enough to be a little intimidating to strangers. But it certainly helps the image of him being the big, older brother, taking care of his baby brother. Making him tea when he was sick (because yes, Fynn, you are indeed sick), and frowning at him when he attempts to squish one of his cats.

Erebus startles, of course, though he isn't the sort to get irritated. He had his claws planted squarely into Fynn's back, but that's only because the poor thing thought it was going to get flattened; when Fynn straightens, Erebus jumps off the couch and disappears down a hallway.]

Fynn, I'd appreciate it if you refrain from trying to smother my cats.

[But into the kitchen he goes! It's not far from being connected to the living room, so while Fynn will lose sight of Ardyn, his voice will still be clear as his speaks.]

Where memories are concerned, I don't think I'd want for you to. [The clinking noises of Ardyn rustling around in the kitchen goes here.] They're confusing and, as I've told others, will cause me to have an existential crisis sooner rather than later if it keeps up.

[It's a joke, but only half of one.]

Relax! Your furbaby is fine. [He grumbles once he manages to get comfortable against the cushions. His head is swimming around in circles right about now. Fynn doesn't feel too good at all. If anything, he feels slightly worse now.] Besides, I kinda like the black one more than the others. More personality.

[Please ignore his ramblings, Ardyn. Fynn is completely delirious.]

First things first, are you really certain that these memories are real and not just implanted imagery? [Fynn asks once he gains a moment of clarity.] Let's put some perspective here before we go deep off the guided path. These memories that everyone are suddenly gaining overnight, what's the catalyst?

[Ardyn raises a brow where he stands, though Fynn can't see it. He's heating up some water now, waiting for it to boil. He already has the tea bag and its mug otherwise prepared and ready to go.]

I can't be certain of anything, if I'm to be completely honest with you. In the context of reality, they lack sense. For instance, those monsters I mentioned? I can tell you that nothing of the sort exists in our world, but-

[He pauses, a moment of consideration.] But I know that they were real. Are real? Difficult to say, and even harder to explain to someone fortunate enough to not experience these memories. They're too vivid. Too... lingering, in the mind.

[But he shrugs. It still wasn't proof of them being real, and Ardyn knows that. All he can do is explain how it felt, and a lawyer like himself knows that falls short of physical proof.]

If you're asking what the catalyst is, I suggest you start with the common factor. Retrospec.

Retrospec.

[A scoff escapes Fynn as he closes his eyes briefly. They ache terribly.]

They're dancing circles around law enforcement like a damn ballerina. We can't get the top brass to give us the "Okay" to search their facilities even with all the weirdness happening. We literally have our hands tied behind our backs.

[A deep sigh escapes the younger Izunia as he opens his eyes again.]

But if they're the commonality between us all, we're looking at a wide spread epidemic that is bound to worsen. That's why I'm pretty damn worried. If you just know those memories are real, then how will these memories effect your everyday life?

[Eventually, Ardyn comes out, mug of tea in hand. He moves over to where Fynn is, sitting on the opposite end of the couch and offers it to him. (Frowning a little, too; Fynn just looks worse now than he did moments before.)]

I'm hoping that they won't. Perhaps that's what is most disconcerting about it all.

[A beat, and then.] Are you feeling warm or cold? [If Fynn has the chills, then he bets he has a fever too.]

I suppose we won't know until the truth shows itself.

[That's probably the most cryptic thing he's said all day.]

We'll wait and see, I guess. [He takes the mug from Ardyn with an inaudible "thank you" to follow. After a few sips, Fynn finally admits to his malady which a feat within itself.]

Colder than a witch's toe, to be honest. You got the damn windows open.

[No, he doesn't.]

[And so, once again the conversation concerning memories is put carefully to the side in Ardyn's mind. He chooses to focus on Fynn's health for now, as that appears to be the most pressing matter.

A frown.]

No, I don't. You're feeling chilled because you're probably running a fever.

[And then, a bit sternly, like a parent talking to a child:] Stay home tomorrow. You'd be useless at work anyway.