“Choi Seunghyun. Seunghyun. T.O.P.”

When I open my eyes, everything is blurry. My vision is glassy and when I breathe in, I understand why. My head throbs and the brightness of the room strikes me like a bowling ball hitting the back of my head, shards of glass poking into my eyes.

I raise my hand to touch my face and I feel my cold, wet skin. I sniff a congested breath and exhale slowly through my mouth. I hastily try my best to wipe away the tears that stained my cheeks. Even this small action causes me great pain.

I am hurting. I still do not know who I am. Nothing has changed.

I blink countless times to clear my vision and see that I am still in the same room, however with different clothes and different sheets. The noises surrounding me are still the same, and the cards I threw away are still on the floor. The letter is the farthest away, and I wish I had kept it next to me instead.

I reaffirm this over and over again until I convince myself that this is really happening. Yesterday was not a dream.

Suddenly, I hear a new noise, and my heart almost skips a beat. The machine beside me confirms this.

I turn towards the source of the foreign, yet familiar sound, and my breathing evens out again.

It’s just him.

The chairs lined up against the wall are still empty, but the same boy from moments before stayed behind. The boy I had disappointed.

He is sound asleep at my side, his head resting beside my hand as he turns his neck, his face turned towards the empty wall across from me. He readjusts himself in the uncomfortable-looking chair he had parked beside my bed, and lets out a tired murmur.

He seems so peaceful, I think to myself. By instinct, I reach my fingers out to touch his light-hazelnut hair, and the softness of his hair calms me down. I smile as I enjoy myself, combing through his messy hair as though it was something I’d done countless times before.

He makes a tiny groaning noise and I freeze, my smile fading as I reclaim my warm hand. It falls beside me longingly, palm facing up, seeming as though it already missed the feel of the boy’s smooth hair.

I suddenly felt sad, as I came to a depressing realization. I still do not know who he is. As I continue this thought, my sorrow deepens.

I won’t know who he is, no matter how many times I touch his hair, or watch him in his peaceful slumber. I won’t remember who he is even when he wakes up, with a hopeful smile and gleaming eyes. I won’t know how to respond, as he calls my name with a promising voice.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my throat as dry as sandpaper. “I still don’t know what happened to me for me to forget you.”

xxx

Sunlight is peaking through the blinds by the time I am pulled out of my long reverie. The boy, who I recalled was named Jiyong, was still sound asleep by my side.

Suddenly, I hear a knock at the door, and I revert my attention to the solemn pale blue door. A woman entirely in white makes her way in, quietly wheeling in behind her another machine. I hold in my breath, anxious at the sight of more instruments capable of doing who knows what to me.

After clicking the door shut behind her, she greets me first with a weak smile, then quietly gasps at the sight of Jiyong.

“My, he’s still here?” she asks quietly, making her way around the room to my right side. I eye the machine she brings with her, an unsettling feeling in my chest. I ignore her question, but she continues.

“He’s been here every night, ever since you got into that tragic accident,” she says, unwinding a tube connected to the machine and a faded black cuff. “It’s quite a miracle, how you woke up. We thought you were a goner for sure.”

My impression of this woman doesn’t clear up. “The doctors suggested we got you off of life support to let you go, but that young man wouldn’t have it. He was determined to get you back, even if it meant spending the rest of his life cooped up in this room.”

She moves toward me with the cuff, wrapping it gently around my right bicep. She slides it down a bit and a shudder runs through me as the cold leather comes into contact with my skin. She tightens the cuff and moves back to the machine, setting down my arm to rest to my side.

“From the looks of your vitals,” she says, after the cuff tightens around my arm. “You’re just about ready to go.” The cuff’s grip loosens and she slides it off, guiding a plastic-shielded medal rod into my mouth. “No fever. Yup, you’re just about fine.”

I don’t say a word, but I am relieved. Maybe if I get out of this depressing room, I will be able to remember other things.

“That boy,” she says again, moving towards Jiyong, setting her hand lightly on his forehead. “Cares a lot about you. He’s the type of person you keep in your life, and never let go.”

My gaze rests at him again as she leaves with the machinery. After the door clicks shut behind her, I touch the same place on his forehead and watch him as his eyes roll under his lids.

His skin is warm and welcoming; almost like a piece of the home I used to belong to. I brush my thumb across his forehead and close my eyes, reaching out to the missing piece that could bring me back to Jiyong.

But still, there is nothing.

Remembering the nurse’s words, I open my eyes, registering onto the sight of my legs under the pale blue sheets. Slowly, trying my best not to wake Jiyong, I peel back the covers and carry my legs over to the side of the bed, expecting a terrible pain to wash over me.

Surprisingly, there was none.

With this newfound hope, I press my bare feet against the cold, porcelain-like floor, pushing half of my weight against it, as I will myself to stand. I grab a hold onto my bedside table, trying my best to balance myself out. I felt like a toddler learning how to walk again, as I felt uneven with now both my feet on the floor.

I quickly turn to Jiyong behind me, trying my best not to fall as I tighten my grip to the furniture around me. I make sure I didn’t wake him up, and turn back around in relief as I hear him snore peacefully.

Staring hard at the floor, I feel determined to take a step. With my arms reached out at my sides, I bring my right foot forward, pushing my weight forward, but not too much, just enough to let my other foot catch up. With this, I make one successful footstep forward.

Only a few more until I can reach the letter, I tell myself, determined.

Diligent, anticipating each step, I make my way to the far wall of the room, trying my best to be as quiet as I can. I don’t hear Jiyong stir in his sleep, so I know I’m in the clear.

At last, I reach the enveloped letter, and I catch my breath. I bend over to retrieve the letter, making sure to keep my balance as I rely on the wall next to me.

I take the letter with both my hands, forgetting the risk I am taking by standing by myself, and breathe in relief. “To my Hyunnie,” I read quietly. I turn the envelope over and pull the flap up to open the letter.

Taking the letter, I breathe in anxiously, determined to remember; determined to read through every handwritten word again, over and over – no matter what it takes, just to remember Jiyong and everything he’d brought with him.

I unfold the letter and begin to read, tracing every word with my index finger.

“Hyung?”

Abruptly, I fold up the letter tuck it under my shirt, whipping around and falling against the wall as I face Jiyong.

He stretches and yawns, rolling his head around as his neck bones snap with quiet, assuring clicks. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and looks around nervously, until he sees me leaning back against the wall across from him.

There’s a startled look on his face, as he reflects my own, and he rushes over to me. “Hyung, why aren’t you in bed!?” I bite my lip as I sense another barrage of questions, many of which I am afraid I won’t be able to answer.

“Did the nurse come in already? What time is it? Gosh, you should have woken me up to help you up! What are you doing out of bed, anyway? Did you need to go to the bathroom? Did you want to open the blinds? I could help you right now,” he says hastily, reaching over the windows beside me. I watch him, my mouth slightly open as I am struck with surprise by his overwhelming worry for me.

The sunlight hits his face and he turns away, his eyes darting to the floor. I watch him observantly, not sure what to do, or what to say. He brings his chin up to look at me, and his gaze gets my heart racing. The letter tucked under my shirt weighs against my chest and I swallow.

He tilts his head slightly, his eccentric mood fading to a hidden sorrow. I blink. He moves toward me.

“H-hyung... Do you remember me yet?”

I blink again and do not say a word. The letter under my shirt begins to tingle against my skin.

“Do you remember anything at all?”

Suddenly, my lips curl into a shy smile, as I realize I am able to answer even just one of his questions. “Yes...Jiyongie,” I say proudly, “I remember your name.”