“You don't pass or fail at being a person, dear.” 
― Neil Gaiman, The Ocean at the End of the Lane

A week later

Luhan wakes to a day that's too bright for his liking. He sits up in bed and pushes the blankets back, wondering what time it is but not interested enough to check a watch. It's probably Wednesday, but he doesn't really know, and the lack of surety is so familiar that he almost welcomes it.

He has a sinking feeling that he's beginning to lose his grasp on his own reality. Things that were there yesterday and the day before are suddenly becoming subjects of uncertainty in his mind. As he looks around, blinking sleepily, Luhan finds himself questioning whether or not the walls had always been that colour, and if the creaky spot in the floor of the hallway had always been there and not in the living room.

But one thing has stuck in his mind in absolute clarity, and that's the memory of Yoona. At first, his recollection of it had been tainted with fear, with his initial thought that she was completely crazy, and then slowly, as he had sunk into reflecting on his memories of her, Yoona's accusations had made him angry. How dare she just barge right up in his face and demand such things of him, demand him to be something he isn't? Who is she to tell him who he was?

But as the days had passed, Luhan's opinion had changed; mainly because things had changed, too. For one, the name on the toy train and the name of Yoona's son—who, apparently, is also his son—being the same couldn't be a coincidence. Yesterday Luhan had looked up how common the name Jongin is, and that's the thing— it isn't. He'd also thought about the things she'd said, and it had occurred to him that her being Jaejoong's sister could make it quite possible that even if he isn't who she claims he is, they must at least know each other. He'd have to ask Jaejoong about that.

The strangest thing of all, however, is that just last night, he had found a photo of Yoona in his wallet. It was one taken from close up, so there was no denying it was her. There can't be anyone in the world who looks exactly like her, Luhan thinks. And if it was a photo taken from that close to her face, if it was a photo he had taken, then maybe she really had meant something to him. Once.

It's with this thought in his mind that Luhan gets to his feet, tucks his wallet into his back pocket and leaves his apartment without a backwards glance. His destination is by no means exotic or far—in fact, it's right next door. Luhan raps his knuckles on the door three times, and the moment it opens, he draws himself up and prepares to speak. "Yoona, I—huh?"

He stops short. The person who had opened the door is not at eye-level with him, but rather, a few feet lower down, and instead of being faced with a woman, Luhan is received by a little boy with large, guarded eyes. While Luhan is alarmed that the boy had opened the door to a stranger, he also thinks, This must be Jongin.

Luhan clears his throat. "Um, hi," he mumbles awkwardly.

"Who are you?" Jongin asks without preamble, in the way children do.

"My name is Luhan. I live next door," he replies, slightly taken aback. Luhan glances behind Jongin, into the apartment. "Have you been left alone?"

Jongin shakes his head. "No, Mommy asked Uncle Jaejoong to look after me, but he's asleep."

Luhan resists the urge to roll his eyes. Of course. "Where's your mom, Jongin?"

"How do you know my name?" Jongin asks, eyes widening further.

"Your mom told me. I'm a... friend of hers," Luhan says, hesitating not just because he's afraid he's scared Jongin, but also because he isn't even sure what part he has in Yoona's life. "I wanted to talk to her."

"Oh. She's not here. She said she had to go somewhere, but she'll be back real soon. She promised."

"Oh," Luhan echoes.

The two of them look at each other, wordless, for a moment, before Jongin says, "Do you got any kids, Mr. Luhan?"

Luhan almost chokes. Mr. Luhan. How cute. "No," he says slowly, and unbidden, he hears Yoona's voice in his head, yelling at him about how he doesn't remember their children. A grimace is inevitable as he pushes the thought away. "What were you doing before you answered the door?"

Jongin shrugs. "Nothing," he sighs. "I got books, but I don't know how to read yet. And I don't really have much toys to play with 'cause Mommy didn't bring any."

Toys. The word strikes a chord within Luhan. "Wait here," he tells Jongin abruptly.

Rushing back into his apartment, he gathers all the toys he had found in the last week, the ones he had no explanation or need for, and comes back to Jongin, who is still standing at the mouth of his gaping door. His face lights up when he sees Luhan with an armful of toys. "Is that for me?"

"Yep," Luhan says, a smile unexpectedly creeping onto his face. Something about Jongin's youth is intoxicating. "I don't know why I have them, but I don't need them, so I thought you could have them."

Jongin looks like he's won the lottery. "So... so they're for me? Like, to keep forever and—and not give back?"

"They're all yours," Luhan laughs, nodding, "forever."

"Wow, thanks, Mr. Luhan!" Jongin exclaims, jumping up and down. He runs towards Luhan, who awkwardly holds his arms out for Jongin to run into. The little boy throws his arms around Luhan's neck, and says, "You're the best."

Luhan laughs, but slowly, the smile on his face fades. There is something strange about this, something strange about having Yoona's son in his arms while she's not here, especially after she's claimed that this little boy is supposed to be a part of his life.

After a moment, he detaches himself gently from Jongin's grip. "I have to go now," Luhan tells him, even though he doesn't really have anywhere to be. "I'll just come back later to talk to your mom, okay? It was nice meeting you, Jongin."

"Nice meeting you, too, Mr. Luhan."

Jongin smiles at him, and Luhan smiles back, but for some reason, as he makes his way to his apartment, he feels empty, and he doesn't know why.

***

"So he didn't give you any trouble?"

"Not that I can think of," Jaejoong says, and it's probably because he had been asleep for the majority of the time, but Yoona doesn't have to know that. "He's pretty much an angel compared to T—" he cuts himself off, and Yoona purses her lips, looking away.

Jaejoong clears his throat. "How was it, then?"

A strange light ignites itself in Yoona's eyes. "It's Taemin's birthday tomorrow. It can't be his time yet, that's all I know," she says, but Jaejoong isn't completely reassured. A mother's determination to hold onto hope is strong, but sometimes it isn't always rational.

He nods slowly, not sure Yoona would appreciate him voicing his true thoughts. Suddenly, Jaejoong  remembers something. "Oh, um, before I forget," he says, "Luhan came by earlier. He was looking for you."

"For me?" Yoona's eyebrows almost hit her hairline. "What did you say?"

"I..." Jaejoong bites his lip. "To tell you the truth, it wasn't me who talked to him at the door."

Yoona frowns for a moment before realisation dawns on her face. Her eyes widen to the size of moon craters. "You mean Jongin talked to Luhan?"

Jaejoong nods.

There is a war being fought across the battlefield of Yoona's visible emotions, and clearly, fear is winning. "Did anything...?" she leaves her question in the air, but he understands.

"No." Jaejoong's face is grim, and he thinks fleetingly that he almost can't remember his face wearing any other expression. "Luhan didn't remember him. If he did, he would be here."

A sigh comes from Yoona. "What's going to happen to him?"

"You mean his memory? The doctors are still not sure if he'll get it back at all, Yoona. Usually in these cases, they try to trigger the memories by making sure they have constant contact with the people or places he's forgotten, but you know, that hasn't worked."

Yoona swallows. "That's not what I meant. I was talking about the other parts of his life. His job, for example. Didn't you say he got a job at the zoo, driving the train there?"

The unexpected subject of Yoona's concerns digs up a deeper frown on Jaejoong's brow. "Yeah... The Tangerine Express. What about it?"

She gives him a look, as if to reprimand him for being so slow. "Won't they fire him soon if he doesn't come back?"

***

A few hours earlier

It's been five hours and Yoona thinks that if all she had to do to secure Taemin's health was to stay in this chair forever, then she would do it.

But after all this time, after what feels like her own little forever, Taemin is the same as ever. He wakes up every now and then, but he can do little more than blink and draw in laboured breaths. At around noon, Yoona drags her chair closer to his bedside. His eyes are open, and his stare alternates from being fixed on the ceiling to darting around the room, as if he's engaging his eyes in some much needed exercise. After a moment's hesitation, Yoona takes his hand. Taemin flinches slightly, weakly, and slowly, his eyes make their way to her face. She tries to smile, but she can't feel her face, can't feel anything. "Hi," Yoona whispers, and almost laughs out loud. Six years, and the first thing she says to her son is 'hi'.

Taemin says nothing, but he doesn't look away, either.

His skin is pale and each time he takes a languid blink, the veins in his eyelids are disturbingly pronounced. Almost like spider-webs; just waiting to break. Yoona wants to say something—anything—else but then the sound of voices, distant but definitely conversing actively, reaches her ears, and she her head slightly, listening. They seem to be coming from outside, and the voices are vaguely familiar.

"He doesn't have long," someone says. "The oxygen machine will not be light on the bill. I don't think any family wants to bear paying so much when all it does, really, is delay death."

Another person makes an admonishing sound. "Don't speak like that. Material things go away eventually. Money can be replaced, and if it so happens to buy even just a little more time for a dying child, there is no question as to whether or not it should be spent."

"What if there is no money to spend? Dr. Jung, neither of these boy's parents are working right now, as far as I know. They can't afford—"

The woman who had been speaking—a doctor Yoona has seen once or twice—stops short when she sees Yoona burst out of the room, but she doesn't need to; even if she had kept talking, Yoona wouldn't have heard.

Yoona is already far past them, heading for the doors of the hospital. A great blackness burns behind her eyes, threatening to swallow her from her heart out, but she blinks hard, willing—forcing—it away. "They're lying," she whispers furiously under her breath. "He's going to make it. He'll make it past his birthday."

And with that thought planted firmly in her mind, Yoona decides to buy Taemin a cake, as usual, as if doing so will seal the guarantee of his life.

***

The night before the present day

The sky is starless but as dark as Yoona's recent days when she gets home from the hospital one evening. Her shoes clack against the stairs sharply as she makes her way up; the elevator is undergoing maintenance. As she goes, she reaches into her bag for her keys, but when she happens to look up, she stops.

Luhan is standing in front of her apartment door.

He straightens when he sees her, visibly drawing in a breath; it lifts up his shoulders, but apparently not his confidence. "Yoona," he says, and she almost wants to turn around and run away.

Yoona hasn't seen him since the night of the disastrous dinner, and while at first it had been Luhan who had said he didn't want to see her again, she had since given up the hope of changing his mind—or rather, fixing his mind. Sometimes things that have to be fixed aren't always broken.

When she forfeits the idea of running, she thinks of ignoring him, but one look at those eyes of his and Yoona knows she can't. She left him once and came back, and then he left her and came back; they're on level ground now. Equality demands the perspective of two opposing sides.

"What are you doing here?" she asks finally, stopping at the top of the staircase and leaning against the rail instead of approaching him.

Luhan clears his throat. "I don't know, to be honest."

A laugh works its way into Yoona's throat, but doesn't make it out. She swallows it down. "I'm sorry," she says quietly, not sure if he can even hear her. "You know, for... that night."

Which one? his eyes seem to say, but Luhan just nods. "I'm not mad at you," he says. "Not anymore."

Yoona doesn't quite know what to say to that.

"You know," he starts, reaching into his back pocket and bringing something out. Yoona squints, trying to see what he has in his hands. It looks like a wallet, but she can't be sure. Luhan looks back up at her. "I was thinking. It's... it's no accident you're here, is it?"

"You lied," Yoona says, avoiding the question. "You do remember what I said at dinner."

"I never said I forgot what you said," he tells her. "I just said I'm not mad about it anymore."

Yoona stares at him, unmoving, even when he gives her that lopsided grin that is too familiar that it hurts more than it makes her happy. "You said you're sorry, and I am, too," Luhan says. He hesitates for a moment, then, "Would you like to come in for tea?"

She raises an eyebrow. "You're going to trust me after last time?"

He shrugs. "The path forward starts somewhere, right?"

A lump forms in Yoona's throat when he says that. "Okay," she says, before she's even sure she's making the right decision. "Just for a bit."

Before she knows it, she's following Luhan into his apartment, and he disappears to prepare some tea. Yoona sits at his table, looking around and taking in her surroundings for the first time; she realises she hadn't really paid attention last time she'd been here. She's observed already that Luhan had remained as simple as ever, but his apartment is a true testament of it— there are no fancy paintings on the wall, no arty statues or nifty rugs. Just plain walls and furniture, arranged neatly in the places they should be.

Luhan returns with two steaming mugs, teabags left in. He sets them down on the table and takes the seat opposite her. Yoona mumbles a word of thanks and puts her hands around the mug; it's scalding hot, but she barely feels it. He looks at her silently, staring at her hands, as if telling her with his eyes that she might hurt herself doing that.

Suddenly, Yoona remembers something from yesterday, her conversation with Jaejoong. "I have something for you," she tells him as she reaches into her pocket, and it's not completely a lie.

This time, Luhan is the one who looks surprised, setting his tea down with his eyebrows reaching for the sky. "Oh?"

A moment later, Yoona produces a little scrap of paper, folded in half. "Here."

Luhan takes the note, and immediately starts to read aloud. "'Do you like trains, Luhan? The zoo—'"

"You don't have to read it now," Yoona interrupts loudly, her voice a harsh volume in the silence, and Luhan flinches. She mumbles an apology. "You don't have to read it now," she repeats in a quieter voice. "Because reading means thinking, and you can think later. When I'm gone."

Eyes wide, Luhan looks mildly alarmed. "Are you leaving already? But you just got here."

Yoona gives him a tight smile as she gets to her feet. Her tea sits on the table, untouched and getting colder by the second. "I need to get back to Jongin." She turns to leave.

"It's getting worse," Luhan calls after her, suddenly and briefly and without knowing why.

Yoona turns. "What?"

"My memory," he murmurs, looking at her with a desperation she had previously thought only she felt.

Apparently not. Yoona says nothing.

***

The night before the present day.

(March 16)

Most mothers know that when their child yawns, it is not an indication of the nearing horizon named bedtime, the same way a child always has space for dessert even though they insist they're too full for anything else. So Yoona knows that when Jongin yawns, he's not going to say, "Mommy, I'm sleepy," and instead will most likely say, "One more story, Mommy?" for the fourth time.

And he does. Yoona sighs. She has dealt with negotiations in the court room before, but nothing compares to haggling with a little boy over the number of stories he wants to hear before going to sleep. "Fine. One more story," Yoona relents finally, ruffling Jongin's hair affectionately. "But just one."

The almost six year old breaks into a smile that says, You're the best, Mommy, and despite everything, Yoona can't help but smile, too. There's nothing better than that special smile Jongin reserves for her, and her only. It makes everything worthwhile.

Jongin scrambles off the bed and runs over to the stack of books near the door, digging through the pile with frantic fingers, searching for a specific book. It takes him a few seconds to find it, and when he finally does, he takes it back to his mother and drops it onto her lap.

"This one," he says proudly, as if he's presenting her with his first swimming ribbon.

Yoona blinks at the book. "The Elephant Who Learnt How To Fly," she reads aloud, turning to Jongin with a frown, because the title strikes her as familiar. "I thought we read this one yesterday, baby."

Jongin nods, jutting his outer lip out as if to say, So? "But I like it," he says simply.

There will be no arguing with him, Yoona sees. Her eyes flick to the analogue clock over the door, and as she does so, her ears are more conscious of its singular ticks, each passing second writing itself into a history book that no one will ever read. 11:42. She sighs again. "Okay," Yoona says. There is still time, she tells herself, and, turning to the barely patient Jongin, begins to read, in a lilting voice: "There once was an elephant who longed to fly, but as everyone knows, elephants were not simply not made to fly..."

Seven minutes later, Jongin is tucked beneath his covers, already being pulled into the depths of the dream sea (after several reassurances that Mommy will be sleeping soon, too, baby, just close your eyes).  Yoona lets her gaze linger over him for a moment longer before she even thinks about leaving the room. Just like his father, she thinks as she walks away, the image of Jongin's sleeping position burned in her mind, reminding her of someone else. Just like Luhan.

It's dark as Yoona steps into the small kitchen, but she skips past the light switches, and heads for the fridge instead, opening it and carefully extracting a white box from the third rack. Balancing the box on one arm, Yoona fiddles through her handbag for her lighter, then sets both on the table. Only after this does she turn on the lights.

This has become a ritual for Yoona. Every year, on this night, when Jongin is asleep and blissfully oblivious, she opens the white box (a different one every year, of course), and transfers the cake inside onto a plate. This year's cake isn't iced with a personal greeting, but then again, it never is; it can't be. Yoona tries not to let this bother her, but it bothers her, anyway. It always does.

If anyone were to walk into the kitchen right now, they would think that Yoona was preparing for a birthday party. Except even if the onlooker stayed a little longer, they would never see the birthday celebrant arrive. Instead, they will see Yoona sitting alone at the table, sans party hat, staring at the digital clock on the bench,  and waiting for four digits that have been tattooed on the inside of her mind: 11:54.

Then, when the time comes, she will light one of two candles on the cake (always two, every year), her hand trembling slightly as she brings the lighter over the first candle. And if the onlooker is still present, they might wait for Yoona to light the second candle, but she won't, because now isn't the time.

Quietly, a song will dance into the air, brought to life by Yoona's voice. A song wishing a 'Happy Birthday' to someone called Taemin, who isn't there; is never there. This year, Yoona rests her chin on her folded arms, and eyes the candle like a daring child looking right into the sun, singing:

Happy birthday, Taemin;

Happy birthday, Taemin.

Happy birthday, my baby;

Happy birthday, Taemin.

She doesn't sing it like a singer delivering the softest lines of a national anthem, or like a lullaby eternally on rewind. Yoona sings it as if Taemin is her only audience, as if he's sitting opposite her, waiting to blow his candles out. This song isn't for anyone else's ears, just hers, and Taemin's; once a year, every year.

But it's harder this year, hurts more somehow. Yoona fights the lump in , squeezing her eyes shut, but she can't stop the tear that slides down her cheek. It's joined by another, and then another, until she's sobbing silently into her hands.

Stop, Yoona whispers firmly in her mind. Be strong. Don't break. Chanting this, she slowly opens her eyes again to stare at the cake. Don't break, don't break, don't break.

Somehow, she can't bring herself to blow out the candles just yet, so she sings the birthday song again; she knows she'll have to sing it tomorrow, too, over the same cake, with the name in the song being the only difference, and the other candle lit.

The clock glows: 11:58.

***

Present

There's a note on the dining table that Luhan has no immediate memory of, though when he digs through his mind, he finds that a part of his brain−albeit a hazy, disconnected one that warps memories into a dream-like quality− recalls seeing it there the night before.

Maybe it's because he's just woken up that he doesn't remember, or maybe he's just having trouble connecting the dots after everything that's happened in the past few weeks. A voice resounds in his head. "You don't have to read it now. Because reading means thinking, and you can think later. When I'm gone."

He frowns slightly as he picks up the note; for a moment, the face of the person who'd given it to him flashes behind his lids.

Do you like trains, Luhan? The note says. The zoo has a job vacancy. They're looking for someone to drive their train−the Tangerine Express. The address is below if you decide to check it out.

There's no name below the little note, but Luhan already remembers exactly who it's from and how the paper came to be on the dining table. But that's not what he's thinking of.

His frown deepens as he reads the note over and over again so many times that the crisp, black lines blur into fuzzy on the paper.

Tangerine Express? Why does that sound familiar?

As if on cue, something in the corner of his vision makes him turn; a flash of orange, appearing suddenly in his sight as if it hadn't been there moments ago.

When Luhan turns, however, he recognises the sight and knows that it had been there moments ago, and many moments before those moments ago.

It sits on the mantelpiece above the fireplace− the little orange train he hadn't been able to get rid of. The one that has 'Jongin' written on the bottom of it, the name of Yoona's son.

Something stirs in his mind, pulling at the corners of his brain like hooks digging into fish flesh, but Luhan swats the feeling away, staring long and hard at the train.

He looks back down at the note.

Do you like trains, Luhan?

A/N: (5/07/14): Updated in record time! Are the dots finally beginning to connect?