"you gotta give me time,
I ain’t perfect
but I’m tryin’ to
erase you perfectly."

He’s floating between the constellations once again. The calm settles into his bones, he would have sighed in contempt if not for the water occupying his throat. Not that it matters anyway. He smiles as he lets the lazy waves swoon him gently. The silence is so thick he can feel it accumulate in his throat, blocking the air, but he doesn’t really mind it. He swears he has never encountered such a perfect silence before, not even in the ratty room he wasted two years of his life after high school. Back then the silence was terrifying, depressing, it was a proof of his own incapacity of composing. Back then the lack of music was enough to make him go insane. What changed? When did the music become so pressuring, he was relieved by its absence? When has he started craving for silence?

A little splash breaks his thoughts. The noise is so low he would have missed it if not for the complete stillness. But he hears it and it annoys him infinitely. It’s like a dark spot on a perfect white wall, once you noticed it you can’t ignore it. A crack in this perfect reality. A few seconds later he hears it again, a little louder, is it closer or is he just hyper aware of it? The strangest part is that it seems to come from underneath. One more splash and the stars suddenly seem to fade away.

He swears this time it was closer, right next to his left ear, a little under the water, but how? Then a pop echoes and he instinctively knows that whatever was there, it reached the surface. The lights around him turn into pitch darkness and the silence is once again broken by a loud exhale. I couldn’t be his, right? He would have noticed the air going out, he would have felt the dip of his stomach, right? The inhale that follows should be expected, so why does it creep him out even more? Another exhale and the air hits the left part of his face, bringing goose bumps on the back of his neck. It’s cold, like the wind of November, and it stinks, so much that if he could, Jihoon would have been puking by now. The fear and the water in his throat prevent him from doing so. He tries to turn his head around, but he’s paralyzed, the control of his own body long gone.

The harsh breath ghosts around his neck over and over again, terrifying him with each inhale. The air starts coming out in strangled, unintelligible whispers and then, after minutes or hours of terror, a single word finally reaches Jihoon’s brain, so loud and clear that his body jerks violently.

“Hyung!” It’s bright, full of life and pure joy and he almost smiles at the little boy’s call until he registers who just called for him. The scream that cracks the night must be his, it’s certainly is his voice, but his mouth remains closed, is it closed?, and the water keeps flowing inside him, is it really inside? His head is surely facing upwards so how is it possible to see what’s on his left when his eyes didn’t move? He does, though, and another inhuman scream of his resounds around when he makes eye contact with the little boy beside him. The small kid faces him, clouded, lifeless eyes boring into his own, slightly blue skin stretching into a wide grin, the same smile that Jihoon always thought to be astonishing now a horrifying grimace.

He screams again and again, his mouth closed, no sound getting out but he still hears himself screaming as small hands come around his shoulder, dragging him up and suddenly there is light, lots of mercilessly white light and voices, so many voices, and he screams again.

“Hyung, calm down!” one of the voices manages to distinguish itself from the others. It’s closer, just above his face and he desperately tries to make his eyes focus on something. It’s hard, with the little specks of white obstructing his vision. He stops screaming thought, but just because the voice seems awfully familiar, but so very different from the one he heard just a minute ago. The hands on his shoulders are still there, but they are bigger, stronger, and seem to keep him down instead of dragging him up. The air collides harshly with his lungs when he struggles to take it in, another difference. He succeeds in calming down enough for his chest to stop aching from the rough inhales. His vision also clears enough for him to realize that he is staring at the ceiling, hence all the white. This only pops up another dilemma, his ceiling isn’t that tall. He doesn’t have long neon lights either and his room is not that wide. Where is he?

“He’s fine now.” A voice, the same as before, speaks up, but it’s not directed to him. A few loud sighs, of relief?, surround him. He finally turns his head to the side, staring at the person that still pins his shoulders down. The face is familiar, the kind of familiar something gets after you see it daily, but his brain fails in giving a name straight away. The same happens with the other two boys that wait a little behind. He knows them well, to the point that he can pinpoint how he met them and what annoys him at each one of them. He is just incapable of recalling their names. For a reason or another this doesn’t bother him as much as his location.

“Where am I?” his own voice sounds strange to him, a little too low, a little too distant. The boy closer to him turns around abruptly, his hand leaving Jihoon’s shoulders in shock.

“You are awake!” the high pitched squeak does nothing to help Jihoon’s actual poor mental capacity. He just blinks in response, trying to not show how annoyed he starts to get. The boy, what the hell is his name?, turns around to the others and repeats the sentence in an even more excited tone.

“We can see, you know?” One of the others, the slightly shorter on, says in the exact deep voice Jihoon was expecting. The third boy mumbles something about a doctor and turns on his annoyingly long legs to walk away. Jihoon ignores them in the favor of looking around. He manages to raise himself in a sitting position, even if his head starts to spin a little.

“You are in the hospital.” The deep voiced-boy finally answers him, approaching the bed but still keeping a polite distance between. His arms are crossed and his eyebrows frowned, but Jihoon knows him well enough to realize that it’s because he’s feeling out of place and not because of anger.

“Thanks.” He lets out a grumbled version of the word. Awkward-boy just nods while Loud-boy takes a seat on the bed next to Jihoon’s legs. Jihoon frowns. Their names linger around his tongue, but he just isn’t able to form the words. He blames it on the headache that buzzes around his left temple.

“And why am I here?” he wonders out loud, a finger pressing lightly on said temple. It’s sore, and when pushed, the skin tingles slightly. The pain only intensifies. The boys before him sigh at the same time. Jihoon sends them both a glare. He should know that it doesn’t work with these two. Eventually Loud-boy takes mercy on him.

“You fainted in your dorm room yesterday. Wonwoo hyung found you.” He points to Awkward-boy. Wonwoo. Right. His name is Jeon Wonwoo. A little relief washes over him when he recalls the boy’s family name by himself. However, the fact that he fainted doesn’t really make him any better. He tries to remember when that happened. Loud-boy, why is his name still escaping his thought?, said that it happened yesterday. With a sharp intake of pain he recalls falling to the ground after he saw his keys. A frown graces his forehead as he recalls his sudden realization from earlier. Or yesterday.

“My door was locked.” He finally says after a few minutes of silence. He clearly recalls locking the door after… After… God damn it! Blue hair, stupid smile, high school friend. What the was his name? This is starting to seriously get on his nerves.

“Yeah. Mingyu got the key from the dorm’s administrator.” Wonwoo clarifies. He’s frowning too, his eyes tracing Jihoon’s face carefully. “Are you okay?” he asks concerned. Jihoon wonders if his annoyance is that visible.

“Yeah. Just a headache.” He murmurs back, pressing with the back of his hand on the sore spot. The coldness of his fingers helps him gather his thoughts again.

“From the admin you said? That old hag gives my key to anyone?” Loud-boy lets out a shocked sound at his crude words but Jihoon ignores him. If the key to his room is that easy to procure his scandal is not that hard to explain anymore.

“No.” Wonwoo rejects the idea, his voice a little more distant, colder. “Mingyu had his father’s permission.” Mingyu, long legs, annoying kid. Good. Another name to add to the short list of what Jihoon can remember. “He and I were in the hallway when we heard a loud noise from your room. We knocked but when you didn’t open we started to worry. That’s when Mingyu called his father.” Wonwoo’s voice is sharp, the words coming out in rough patches. It doesn’t need a genius to understand that he is angry.

“Sorry.” Jihoon whispers, a little guilt actually gathering in his stomach. “And thanks, I suppose.” He adds. Wonwoo shrugs him off with a nod, but Jihoon can see how his shoulders relax just a little. That’s when Mingyu comes back in long strolls, two other men behind him. One is old, white streaks of hair passing his forehead and an even whiter robe covering his short frame. Jihoon knows him well enough for him to sigh heavily. Even if the man seems to have aged more in the last 2 years, he recalls how his eyebrows had met in concentration when he was covering the scars on his burned hand. The other one is young, slightly orange hair framing a soft looking face. The names are missing, of course, but Jihoon knows that he’s in a dangerous situation. He can only hope that the doctor doesn’t remember him.

“Mister Lee, how have you been?” the old man asks when he is next to Jihoon’s bed. His voice is cold, resentment clear in his eyes. The blackmail is obviously still a fresh memory. Jihoon lets out a long sigh, but traces his eyes on the man’s name tag. Kim Shingyon. Name-tags, wonderful invention. Jihoon thinks that everyone should wear one, at least until his brain gets over this hindrance.

“Doctor Kim.” He salutes back. “I suppose not that well, otherwise I won’t be here. Aren’t you the one that should tell me what’s wrong?” he casually asks, watching the man tense up. He receives a warning glance, but the smile that stretches on the man’s lips scares him more than a glare.

“Well...” the doctor begins, eyes going over the file in his hands, probably Jihoon’s. “A lot has changed since the last time I’ve seen you. You lack a few vitamins, especially potassium, but calcium and magnesium are also ridiculously low. Some serious dehydration, but you tried to solve that, didn’t you?” He stops to throw a little smirk to the patient. “You should know, Mr. Lee, that alcohol doesn’t help.” Loud-boy lets out a characteristically loud gasp, wide eyes searching for Jihoon’s. The latter ignores him completely.

“Anything else?” he asks through gritted teeth, facing the taunting doctor. The man hums, obviously satisfied with himself as he flips some pages.

“Some high stress level, and a beginning of anorexia. You should take better care of your body, Mister Lee…” he goes back to the first page and frowns. “Woozi. Hm... I guess another thing that changed in the meantime. If you ask me your past name suited you better.”

“I didn’t ask.” Jihoon cuts him short, dodging his friends’ curious glances. “When can I leave?”

“I’ll be the best for you to rest for a while. You hit your head when you fainted.” His long, wrinkled fingers come up to the side of Jihoon’s face, pressing lightly on the sore spot. The boy hisses in pain and drags his head back.

“I’ll rest at home.” He argues.

“It’s a little obvious that you are not capable of that.” The man clicks his tongue loudly. “But if you feel uncomfortable here then we can’t force you to stay.”

Jihoon translates that into a ‘get lost’ and proceeds to do so, legs already swinging to the ground.

“Woozi, maybe it’ll be better to stay for a while.” The young man with orange hair speaks for the first time. Jihoon turns towards him, setting the man with a glare.

“I don’t like hospitals. You should know that.” He spats. The man’s cat-like eyes leave him, knowing that he can’t win this.

“Oh, Mister Hong. I almost forgot about you.” The doctor says, casting a glance to the man before returning to Jihoon. “I’ll need you to confirm that Mr Hong is your guardian so I can finish your papers.”

“Why do I need a guardian?” he snaps. The headache increased considerably, a nearly unbearable throb spinning around his temples.

“So that we know that somebody’s taking care of you.” The doctor’s voice dropped a few octaves, any trace of the amusement gone now. “As your records can easily prove, Mr Lee, you are not capable of taking care of yourself. Your condition is quite serious and we can’t let you go if we are not sure that there is someone looking after you. Thankfully, this time you had a contact number on your file. I guess is the only good change from the last time I saw you.”

Jihoon turns to send an angry glare at Joshua, but doesn’t ask why his number was mentioned in his medical records.

“Fine.” He settles for now. “He is my guardian. Anything else?”

“Not much. We’ll give you some vitamins, Mr Hong will have to sign your papers and you are free to go. Just make sure that in the next few days you rest well. You will also have to eat more than you normally do, which, I guess, it’s not that hard to achieve. Drink lots of water and try to stay away from stress sources. I think neither you nor I want to see you here again.” The man ends, closing the file in his hand loudly. “Any other questions?” he asks a little sarcastically and even if Jihoon hadn’t had any questions, he would have found one just to further rile him up. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to think too much of it.

“Can you give me something for the headache?” he asks, pointing to where he guesses the bruise is placed. The doctor, about to turn and leave, stops and leans forward to scrutinize at the boy’s face.

“Why? Does it hurt that much?” he asks, pressing a cold finger on Jihoon’s temple once again. For a second it soothes the burning, but is quickly removed.

“I wouldn’t have asked if it didn’t.” Jihoon admits.

“Well, it’s not that surprising since you hit your head. I thought the medication we already gave you would suffice. Can you describe the pain?”

Jihoon sighs: “It’s on the left side, more intense around the temple.” he points in the general direction. “It’s throbbing, like a toothache… but in my head. And it burns. Do I have a fever?” he ends up asking.

“No, you don’t.” Mr. Kim says as he takes out a pen from his chest pocket and scribbles something on the Jihoon’s file. “Anything else?”

Jihoon knows that he should tell him about his… incapacity of remembering names. But he doesn’t. Because he is sure that if he’ll say it, he’ll have to remain in the hospital. Maybe it’s just the headache problem. Maybe it’ll pass after he takes a few pills.

“No. Nothing else.” The old man gives him a strange look. Like he knows Jihoon is lying, but he doesn’t comment on it.

“Alright then. I’ll go with Mr Hong to finish your papers and get your medication. You can get ready to leave in the meantime.”

“Thank you.” Jihoon murmurs. The man nods his head and turns to leave, with Joshua following him. Jihoon sighs deeply. Now he feels indebted to the man, even more than before. He lowers himself on the bed, tempted to go back to sleep. His eyes won’t close though.

“Hyung.” A voice interrupts his thoughts. Oh, right. He’s not alone. And he still didn’t remember the last boy’s name.

“Yeah?” he asks without moving his eyes from the ceiling.

“Are you really ok?” there’s a slight tremor in the boy’s voice, a trace of panic that makes Jihoon raise himself to make eye-contact. There are tears swimming the younger boy’s eyes and Jihoon sees Mingyu and Wonwoo casting him worried glances.

“Don’t be a drama queen. I’m fine. It’s just a headache.” He grumpily argues. But he does extend an arm to awkwardly pat the boy on the head. Loud-boy sniffs loudly, shaking his head.

“It’s not just a headache, hyung!” he argues. “We all heard what the doctor said. Your body just shut down, hyung. And you have so many problems. You didn’t even eat?”

Jihoon watches in shock as a tear runs down the boy’s cheek. “Don’t cry. I have been just… preoccupied with other stuff. Come on... Don’t cry.” He silently begs. He can’t deal with crying people right now… or ever. The boy nods twice, hand brushing off the rest of the tears.

“I’m sorry. I was just so worried. It’s like this week is out to get us. When I received your call I was already on the way to see Chan. I guess it’s some sort of twisted luck that you’ve been taken to the same hospital.”

“Wait.” Jihoon stops the boy’s rant. “What did you just say? About Chan?” he urgently asks.

“Seungkwan!” Wonwoo hisses loudly. “This is not the right time.” Finally a name.

“I’m sorry!” Seungkwan squeaks.

“What’s wrong with Chan?” Jihoon asks again, more demanding this time. Mingyu and Wonwoo both sigh heavily while Seungkwan casts him a guilty look.

“Look,” Wonwoo starts. “The doctor has just said that you should stay away from stress… ”

“And you think I won’t be stressed if I know he’s in the hospital, but have no idea why?” Jihoon cuts him off. His elbow is starting to give up under his weight so he fully lifts his body to rest on the wall behind the bed.

“He has a point.” Mingyu unnecessary admits. He gains a sharp slap on the back from Wonwoo.

“Shut up.” The older boy threatens. Jihoon ignores them both.

“Why is Chan here?” he asks Seungkwan. The boy fidgets with the sleeves of his sweater and digs his teeth into his lower lip.

“He said he… um… fell on some stairs two days ago.” The youngest finally answers. Jihoon’s mind goes blank for a second, even the throb in his head disappearing into the background.

“But he’s okay!” Seungkwan quickly adds. “Just some bruises and his ankle…” he trails off quietly.

“His ankle?” Jihoon wonders, more out of reflex, mind still a little off.

“He kind of… broke his left ankle.” Seungkwan murmurs. Jihoon’s eyes turn wide.

“A broken ankle in not ‘okay’!” he angrily quotes in the air. “He is a dancer, you know how much that can affect him.” He knows he shouldn’t be angry at Seungkwan, but he can’t stop himself. In front of him, Wonwoo scoffs loudly.

“If you’re telling him at least tell him the whole thing.” He argues, taking a seat on Jihoon’s bed. The pink haired boy turns to him curiously.

“He has a LOT of bruises, a busted lip, two fractured ribs and a broken ankle. But he’s healing fast.”

“How the hell did he manage that?” Jihoon asks. “Did he fall on his face or something?”

“That’s what he says.” Wonwoo answers, sighing once again. There’s something off in the sentence or in his tone.

“What do you mean?”

The older boy frowns, turning to face the wall beside Jihoon’s bed.

“He keeps saying he fell on the stairs. But his bruises are strange. There are finger marks on his neck.”

There’s a chill running on Jihoon’s spine, turning the little hairs at the back of his neck up.

“You mean… he’s lying?” he slowly asks. There’s actually a million other thoughts swirling around his brain, but for some reasons he can’t form any of them into words.

“We don’t know that. All I’m saying is that it’s suspicious.” Wonwoo says, but the answer is already obvious.

“I want to see him.” Jihoon demands, moving his legs off the bed. His shoes are waiting on the floor, and he slips his feet into them. Wonwoo’s arm stops him though.

“Not now. His mother is there.” He says, like that will make any sense to Jihoon. “She’s not really happy about us visiting him so often.” He continues.

“Why?”

“She’s just worried, hyung.” Seungkwan speaks up. “This happened at school… she’s just trying to protect him.”

“From us?” Jihoon voice is incredulous. “We are his friends!”

“She doesn’t know that, hyung.” Mingyu says softly, trying to calm him down.

“Of course she doesn’t! It’s not like she paid him any attention before!” he angrily hisses. He’s being harsh, but it’s the truth. He remembers the woman he saw in Chan’s house, remembers how the boy couldn’t wait to get out of there.

“If you go now you’ll just make things harder for the kid.” Wonwoo puts an arm in front of him when he’s trying to get off the bed. “He’s already struggling. Let’s not make this worse than it already is.”

This succeeds in giving Jihoon second thoughts. He is worried, but maybe stomping his way in Chan’s ward and with high chances of starting a conflict with the kid’s mother won’t bring any benefit to anyone. The pink haired boy lets out a long sigh before nodding once in agreement.

“You can visit him tomorrow morning, hyung.” Seungkwan offers and Jihoon nods again, trying to suppress the wave of worry in his chest. He’ll visit tomorrow. Chan will be fine until then.

“I want to go home.” He absent-mindedly mumbles, eyes on his feet. He’s lacking socks and his toes are freezing now that they are out of the blanket, starting to turn an ugly shade of blue. It’s more some kind of grey actually or maybe purple. It takes him a whole minute to recognize the actual color: towards the edges of his toes, where the skin is now darker, it’s the same shade as the body in his nightmare had. He feels his stomach churn, his throat constricting instinctively. He swallows the nothingness in his mouth just to stop himself from puking.

“I’m going home.” He announces, this time louder, enough for the others to hear. He hops off the bed. On the white hospital floor, his legs look even more alike to how Jihoon looked in his dream. He hears Seungkwan protesting in the background, something about waiting for Joshua to get back, but his mind is preoccupied. Why did Park Jihoon suddenly appear in his dreams? That hadn’t happened in a long time. He thought he was over that kind of nightmare. Maybe it’s because of the hospital. After all, he’s barely been in one after Jihoon died.

“Woozi.” It’s Wonwoo’s voice that snaps him out of his thoughts, but he second-handily registers that it’s not the first time they called him. He lifts his eyes to meet their worried glances but can’t hold the eye contact for too long. Right now he’s feeling stripped of his own flesh and bones. Like they could see his bare thoughts if he lets them watch him long enough.

“Where are my shoes?” he asks. It’s not because his feet are starting to go numb from the cold tile. It’s because he feels like throwing up when he sees them, their blackening skin. There’s a loud sigh before a hand reaches under the bed to get out a pair of shoes. He vaguely remembers wearing them the last time he went out, throwing them near the door when he went back home.

“They were the first pair we found. I thought you’ll need them.” Mingyu says as Jihoon bends down to fit his feet in them. He remains there for a few moments, staring at the white shoes, now covering his skin, and finally taking in a deep breath. 

“Thank you.” He whispers from down there. He hopes they understand that this is not just for the shoes. It’s for everything they’ve done for him. He wishes he could express himself better, that he could admit out loud how they are amazing friends and how he doesn’t deserve any of them. The small ‘thank you’ is the only thing that leaves his lips.

There’s a hand on his shoulder when he gets up. It’s strangely warm, pulsating with life, a proof of the reality he’s living in. This quick thought flashes through his mind and it scares him.

“You don’t need to thank us, hyung.” Seungkwan says from his left side, the hand on Jihoon’s shoulder gripping with some reassuring force. “You can count on us. I know that it’s hard for you right now, but we’ll be here for you. Us, Joshua hyung, Chan and Seungcheol hyung. We’re not going to leave you alone. We’ll figure it out.”

It’s sweet. The kid’s words are sweet. They should make Jihoon feel better, maybe calm his frantically beating heart. It does. For a second his heart stops all together. All because of one name and Jihoon feels like puking again.

“Why is hyung not here?” it’s Mingyu, the voice of Jihoon’s most secret thoughts. Why is Seungcheol not here? Does he want to know? He sees Seungkwan frowning and opening is mouth and he’s thorn between running away and staying put. He could cover his ears, but the idea comes too late.

“He’s not answering his phone.” Seungkwan’s voice seems kilometers away and right in his ear at the same time. “I swear nobody knows what a phone is made for actually.” The kid’s words are sarcastic and Jihoon feels the jab directed to him. “I’m actually a little worried. Bad things keep happening these days and nobody answers their phone before them.”

Jihoon had enough. “I’m leaving.” He heads to the door, ignoring their protests and leas of waiting for Joshua. He’s sure that just one more inhale of the stale hospital air will shove his stomach up his throat. He’s thankful they don’t follow him as he nears the elevator.

The hospital looks awfully familiar and as he reaches the ground level he realizes why. It’s the same one he donated blood in a few days ago. Was it days? It certainly feels like years. There’s no sweet boyfriend waiting him outside those glass doors this time, that’s for sure. He sighs his tears away and head to the front desk. It’s more the need of knowing something, anything for sure, of having control of at least one thing in his life right now, than filial worry that makes him salute the receptionist nurse.

“How can I help you?” the man, eyes tired and hollow, asks him. Jihoon stares a moment too long. Is this how he looks to other people too? The man, boy?, before him clears his throat to get his attention.

“Yeah… right. I want to ask how one of the patients here is doing. Miss Lee Jinhye.” He can see the annoyance creeping on the man’s face as he speaks.

“Are you a reporter?” the nurse’s tone is almost aggressive. “As I already explained a thousand times, we can’t disclose our patients’ private information. Unless you are a relative, please see yourself out.”

Normally, this kind of reply would get Jihoon to spit fire around, but not this time. Maybe he’s too tired, maybe he takes pity on the man before him.

“I’m not a reporter.” He softly replies, leaning forward to support his body on the desk. He can feel the exhaustion crawling up his body. “I’m the one who donated her blood. I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

There’s a spark in the man’s dull eyes, and he hesitantly extends an arm. “Your ID.”

Jihoon lifts his hand to the jacket's pocket, just to realize he's not wearing any jacket actually. “.”

The man throws him an unamused glare as he points to the door. Jihoon regrets ever thinking of being nice to him as he stomps his feet towards the exit. The only luck on this day shows in the form of his room’s key and a few crumpled bills in his jeans’ pocket, just enough for him to throw his body on the back seat of a taxi and recite the dorm address.

When he finally closes the door behind him, he abandons himself to his bed. He stays there, face planted in his pillow, feeling so hollow he can barely move his body. He almost feels his muscles giving up, one by one, each with a final tremor, until he is barely aware of his flesh. He hopes sleep will come soon. but it doesn’t. Instead time passes, seconds and minutes piling on top of him, pressuring his body into the mattress until he becomes hyper aware of it, until his body barely feels like flesh anymore. It starts turning into a carcass, a cage, and he can actually feel every bit of skin and bone that traps him inside. His thoughts are pulsating under them, pushing tentatively, trying to get out but knowing they never will.

His eyelids close softly, one last muscle yielding to exhaustion. Inside, he remains wide awake, overly conscious about everything but unable of doing anything.

And that’s worse than any nightmare he’d ever had.  

A/N

Thenk you guys! For still waiting for my updates! For subscribing and commenting even when I go MIA for months. You are really the best!

The chapter is not proof read... i'll do that.. soon. 

Sincerly, I thought I was getting to the end of his story since chapter thirteen... but at this point I realize there's still a lot to happen, so bear with me. I hope I'm keeping you 'entertained' with the plot. I hope its not getting dull or boring. 

I have a free week and I'll try to work on the next chapter but I'm not promsing you anything. Recently my 'mood-swings' keep me busy and incapable of writing.

Thank you once again. Please leave a comment with your thoughts about the story. It helps me a lot, inspiring me and giving me motivation to write.

I hope I'll see you soon!!