The café was surprisingly warm and cosy, and Eunhyuk gratefully took off his coat the moment he stepped in. It was thankfully rather empty, the wooden surfaces and hole-in-the-wall nature making it feel lived-in and quaint. Eunhyuk was unashamed that he was a grown man buying himself hot chocolate, and felt somewhat amused when Donghae copied him. They settled themselves down in a corner table that had a slightly sad looking flower in a vase in the centre. Eunhyuk pulled his sleeves down so that he could hold the hot mug comfortably.

“Are you sure that this is okay?” Donghae asked, joining him uncertainly. Eunhyuk’s amusement grew at the fact that Donghae was definitely attempting to copy his body language, but failing because he was wearing a button-up shirt. The other man was obviously nervous. Is he that embarrassed by an ex-girlfriend? 

Eunhyuk pulled out his phone, turning on the recording function. “It’s fine. I’ll have one of my colleagues clean up the file and upload it. Special circumstances.”

And Leeteuk would never have to know any better.

“Right,” Donghae said, reaching to take a sip of his drink. His fingers closed around the vase. In one swift movement, Donghae singlehandedly sent an entire vase-full of water plus one wilted flower into his mouth and down his shirt. Eunhyuk’s mouth fell open. “Oh !”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone try to drink a flower,” Eunhyuk observed. Donghae burst into hysterical laughter, covering his face with his hands. Eunhyuk stared at him, resting his head on one hand. “You could if you tried really hard, I guess…”

“Shut up,” came Donghae’s muffled voice as he extended one hand towards his mug.

Unbeknown to Eunhyuk, he was grinning. “That’s hot chocolate, just in case you’re panicking.”

“Am… not,” Donghae said between laughs, even though he was blatantly peeking through his fingers to check.

“Remember, that one is for humans.”

Donghae chortled. It was such a difference from the cloud of unhappiness he’d been walking under earlier. Despite how awkward he felt about this entire situation, Eunhyuk felt himself loosen up just a fraction at the sound. Once Donghae’d had a nice long sip of his drink as though to reassure himself that he did in fact know which was one was drinkable, he set it down and asked, “Should we start?”

Unlocking his phone, Eunhyuk nodded, and pressed the record button. “Patient Lee Donghae,” he said slowly and clearly, “Please tell me about the memories you are interested in erasing.”

The other man fiddled with his mug, looking uncomfortable again. “I have a childhood friend…” he started hesitantly, “His name is Choi Minho. We’ve known each other since…forever, basically? And we still talk even though we don’t live near each other anymore. Yeah. Um, what else?”

At Donghae’s long silence, Eunhyuk said encouragingly, “What is Minho like?”

That seemed to open up the floodgates. “He’s a good guy. He’s really loyal and thinks he’s hilarious when he isn’t, and he’s …the nicest person I know. He’s pretty competitive too. He’s… a little younger than me and calls me hyung – we…we ended up becoming friends because we were the only kids, the only kids living on our block. We would play football together. Um… We were in the same class every year because um… I got… held back in kindergarten.”

Eunhyuk resisted the urge to say that’s a thing? because that was clearly a sore spot for Donghae. Well, he’d been wrong about the ex-girlfriend, which surprised him. He hadn’t pegged Donghae for the sentimental childhood friend type. When Donghae fell silent, Eunhyuk prodded, “And you’re interested in removing your memories of this childhood friend?”

“What? No! I would never!” Donghae cried, sleepy eyes growing wild and alarmed. Never say never, Eunhyuk thought cynically to himself, the hot chocolate he was sipping suddenly tasting disgusting. At Donghae’s genuinely horrified expression though, he softened a little and nodded for Donghae to explain himself. “Um… I’d just like to remove…a few memories? Nothing that would leave a giant hole. Trivial things.”

“If you’d explain in more detail what these memories are.” 

Donghae’s continuous fiddling with his mug was starting to become distracting. “Um…there’s one when we were little kids, it was Minho’s birthday. Another in elementary school. A few in middle and high school and – oh yeah, senior prom. I think there were two in college. And the last one was pretty recent.”

Donghae sat back and looked pleased with himself for remembering what he wanted. It took every ounce of Eunhyuk’s self-control (and a little voice that sounded suspiciously like Leeteuk screaming be a professional!) to not mutter well that told me absolutely nothing.

“Well,” he said at last, “I would say that fulfils our criteria for what we can erase since it’s only a handful of specific incidents. Thank you, Do – Mr Lee. We will need you to schedule an appointment for the pre-surgery preparations, where you will need to bring along all materials related to the memories you want removed. Please do not hold back on this. It will create confusion for you and may result in your memories returning.”

Donghae nodded again, and Eunhyuk ended the recording. They stared at each other awkwardly for a moment at the dawning realisation that neither person was getting up but uncertain whether it would be rude to flee first. “Childhood friend,” Eunhyuk bleated, trying to figure out how to get out of the café so that he could lie face down on his bed thinking about the drudgery that would come tomorrow.

“Yeah,” Donghae responded, grasping the thread so fast Eunhyuk could've sworn he'd gotten whiplash, “So…Uh…Do you have a childhood friend?”

His grip on his mug tightened, and he said with forced calm, “Me? Yeah. Yeah, I do. Her name’s Kim Hyoyeon. She was my neighbour when I was growing up.”

“Just like Minho!”

“Yeah. She’s getting married this Friday.”

“Oh, wow. That’s…great? Are you going?”

“No. No, I’m not. Couldn’t get leave, you know.”

“Oh. That .”

“Yeah. It does.”

Donghae and Eunhyuk stared at the table in front of them for a long moment in increasingly awkward silence: Donghae because he had no clue where to bring the conversation from here, and Eunhyuk because he felt like he’d been dunked into a vat of ice cold water. The wedding was in two days.

He was forgetting so many things – the wedding date, his dog’s name, to smile and actually wake up feeling like he wanted to be here on this Earth and talk with the people around him. Perhaps he had imagined it all. Perhaps he had erased those memories and now he was feeling the gaping holes in his being. The thought made him feel even worse, that he was just like Ryeowook and Yesung. Hell, he probably was like Yesung and Ryeowook, considering how his life had gone.

Maybe we should form a support group, he thought dryly to himself. The club for people whose lives . Zhou Mi and Kyuhyun can be honorary members.  

Donghae, misinterpreting Eunhyuk’s gloom, quickly said, “Ah, but I’m sure she’ll send you the photos. And it’ll be just like you were there. Except not. But mostly. Um…”

“Thanks, Donghae,” Eunhyuk said, knowing that the man opposite didn’t really mean any harm. Admittedly, Donghae’s weirdness was surprisingly soothing to his soul, and the reality of Hyoyeon’s looming nuptials disappeared for the moment. “Ah, I should get going. I need to buy groceries.”

“I’ll go with you, I need to buy coffee,” Donghae said, getting to his feet alongside Eunhyuk. Eunhyuk blinked at him as they stepped out of the café and back into the cold air. Was Donghae being sincere, or was he just trying to stick near him? He seemed a small child who didn’t want to be left alone for the moment. Considering how morose he seemed, maybe he was afraid of where his thoughts would go, once you didn’t have someone or something around to distract you. Eunhyuk gave a grunt of acknowledgment, wondering if he could abandon Donghae in the cereal aisle.

The local minimart came into view, as Eunhyuk grabbed a trolley, too lazy to carry a basket around. The automatic doors opened with a hiss as they stepped inside, Eunhyuk turned immediately towards the ramyun section. Unthinkingly, he grabbed the first couple of containers within reach, dumping them into the metal trolley. Donghae arched an eyebrow as he continued to stack more and more.

“Isn’t it really unhealthy to eat that all the time?” he asked, picking up one of the containers. “Damn, the salt content in this crazy.”

“Yeah, I’m hoping it slowly kills me and I end up a withered skeleton on the kitchen floor.”

Donghae stared at him, wide-eyed.

“That was a joke,” Eunhyuk said a beat late, flushing awkwardly, “Uh…Too dark?”

“A little, yeah.”

They continued walking towards the coffee section, Eunhyuk rather studiously staring at the contents of his basket as though they’d personally betrayed him somehow. Well, with any luck, maybe Donghae would run screaming for the hills because of it. The thought made him feel strangely hurt. Donghae shook his head. “I thought doctors cared about their health?”

“First lie we tell our patients.”

“You should buy vegetables.”

“Ramyun has vegetables.”

“Real vegetables.”

“I’m not buying real vegetables,” Eunhyuk grumbled, aware that he sounded about five years old.

“You’re buying real vegetables,” Donghae continued brightly, completely ignoring Eunhyuk’s protests. He grabbed the trolley and started to drag it towards the fresh fruit and vegetable section, ripping it right out of Eunhyuk's hands. Eunhyuk was forced to chase after him. Donghae immediately began dumping cabbage into the cart.

“I can’t eat cabbage just like that!” Eunhyuk cried petulantly, feeling a strange vindication in acting like a whiny brat rather than an emotionless puppet. Oh dear god, what had happened to his professionalism? What happened to being aloof? 

“No, you eat it with these,” Donghae corrected, dumping an assortment of other vegetables into the cart with a broad grin, “It’s called a salad.”

“I know what a salad is and I’m not buying this,” Eunhyuk insisted.

*

“You’re buying all these vegetables and ramyun?” the cashier said with a bored grimace.

Eunhyuk gritted his teeth at Donghae smiled like an idiot next to him. “Yes,” he bit out. It had nothing to do with how wholesome and impossibly straightforward Donghae's request was as a…semi-acquaintance. It was just his concern for his own health and well being. Definitely.

Once they’d paid for their things, Eunhyuk lugging the various plastic bags with him and silently cursing seven generations of Donghae’s family, they stepped out into the darkened streets. “Well… I need to catch the bus,” Eunhyuk began.

“Oh, me too. I mean, I also take the bus,” Donghae explained, trailing right after him. As they walked through the frigid streets towards the bus stop, Donghae asked, “What number do you take?”

“Me? Number thirteen,” Eunhyuk answered.

“I take number fifteen.” Donghae gave a tiny smile. “Same bus stop.”

Someone upstairs evidently had a twisted sense of humour. Eunhyuk tried his best not to break into frantic run while screaming stalker in order to get Donghae to stop following him around like a confused puppy. He was supposed to be professional, keeping his patients at an arm’s length. At this rate, he was going to end up being the one erasing Donghae’s memories, and Eunhyuk didn’t know if he could handle wiping someone’s trivial childhood memories one more time without having another meltdown. “How long have you lived here?” Donghae continued.

Gee, do you want my blood type and astrological sign too? “I moved here two years ago,” Eunhyuk replied, scolding himself for being so testy. Clearly, having nobody but Kyuhyun and Zhou Mi to talk to on a daily basis was ruining his interpersonal skills. Or maybe he just needed to talk to more friends. That thought shook him. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d ever spoken to someone he considered a friend. Hurriedly, trying to quash the thought, he added, “I lived with...my mum before that.”

“I moved here…” Donghae counted, “Eleven months ago.”

As they reached the bus stop, Eunhyuk saw that his bus was arriving. Once more, Donghae gave a tiny smile that cut through his melancholic expression. “Thanks for making an exception for me.”

“Not a problem,” Eunhyuk said, and despite his reservations about the whole thing, he had to admit that Donghae could have been much, much worse to deal with. At least he wasn’t trying to give himself complete amnesia. For now. He gave an awkward little wave and then swung his shopping bags listlessly as the bus approached. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Donghae staring at the ground, brow furrowed with an expression of complete despair. Impulsively, he asked, “Hey, Donghae?”

“Yeah?”

“Why do