The next morning, back at the hospital, I learned that Jin has weakened overnight. His mom was in the cafeteria when I arrived, but his dad was sitting in the chair in the corner, his hands on his knees, staring at Jin's face. Once, when I left to go to the bathroom and came back, I saw him standing at the bed, his hand on Jin's shoulder. He moved as soon as he saw I was there.

Mrs. Kim pulled a chair up next to Mr. Kim's. They sat together without looking at each other, without talking. Jin slept on, and eventually Mrs. Kim reached for Mr. Kim's hand.

"I can't stop thinking," she said, "that there's something more we can do."

"He's a fighter," Mr. Kim said, his mouth tightening into a grimace. "We know that. The boy will fight."

Later, on my way back from buying a magazine, I heard Mrs. Kim in the hallway, having a muffled argument with Jin's doctor. She couldn't understand why they didn't know what was happening. She couldn't understand what was taking so long with the MRI results. She reminded him that Jin had been having headaches for months - she wanted the doctor to reexamine the scans. "The headaches were severe," I heard Mrs. Kim almost wail. "I know my son. I'm a neurology nurse. I can tell when a person's in pain."

After, when a nurse was taking Jin's temperature and blood pressure - something they were doing every half hour it seemed - Mrs. Kim called me out into the hall.

"You can see how serious this is," she said. I nodded. "So if there's something you know about Jin, something that for some reason he didn't tell me, this is the time for you to explain it."

I couldn't tell if I was relieved that she was asking or terrified. I do know I instantly felt a little sick.

"I'm not stupid," Mrs. Kim went on. "I've been watching Jin for the past few months. I though it was you. I thought it was stress, but now I don't know. Suzy, why is he quieter? Why is he . . . nicer? As a mother, I can see that he's changed." She paused. "Is this about drugs?"

"Drugs?" I couldn't help it. I laughed. "You think Jin is taking drugs?"

"I don't see what's funny about drugs."

I quickly squashed my laughter. "No," I said. "Drugs aren't funny." She was still looking at me like she was waiting for something. "Jin doesn't take drugs." She kept staring. "He drinks beer," I offered.

"I know that," she snapped. "You think I don't know that?"

And it was seeing her frustration that made me realize I couldn't withhold the truth. "There is something," I began before I could think better of the impulse. Mrs. Kim's eyes immediately narrowed. "It's going to sound strange." I think I actually closed my eyes, the way you might when you're ripping off a bandage or waiting for a loud noise. "He thinks the headaches he's been having are coming from memories." I swallowed. "He feels like he's having memories of the future."

"What?" Mrs. Kim hissed at me. Her face was contorted, as if she's just noticed that I was a mutant zombie baby killer.

"He thinks he knows what's going to happen to him in the future. That he's living in the future and come back, almost like a ghost, inhabiting the body of a younger version of himself."

"That's -" Mrs. Kim sputtered. "That's crazy."

"He remembers being in a war," I said. "After he becomes a marine. He believes that he will fight in a war in Iraq. He thinks he's dying there. Of burns."

She put her head in her hands. "It's a tumor. I knew it was a tumor. How could they miss this?" I was standing in front of her, but she wasn't talking to me anymore. "I work with this," she said. "I know this. Personality changes. Headaches. I just thought . . . I thought he was maturing. Ha!" She turned to me now. "I thought it was you that had changed him. Or seeing me stand up for myself with his dad. I'd been hoping he'd abandoned his great love of the marines . . . I welcomed this change. I said nothing because I didn't want to" - she took a deep, painful-looking breath - "I didn't want to jinx anything. Omo."

She started to cry. Gingerly, I put a hand on her shoulder, but she was already spinning away. "I have to find a doctor." Her eyes rolled back in panic.

˭̡̞(◞⁎˃ᆺ˂)◞*✰

That afternoon, I met Dr. Kat, a neurologist with a specialty in psychiatric disorders who was a friend of Mrs. Kim's. He was very undoctorly, wearing sunglasses, long-sleeves, khakis, and running shoes. His dark hair was on the long side and so curly it looked unbrushable. He asked all kind of questions about Jin's dreams and headaches and what I thought was happening. I could tell that he was trying to decide whether I was lying. And that he was almost more interested in the girlfriend's telling lies than the boyfriend's being crazy.

But he wasn't entirely dismissive. For one moment he even toyed with a theory that considered what I was saying. "It's fairly elegant proposition," he said, "from a neurological standpoint, the idea that the brain's ability to assemble memory could, with the right energy surge - the kind you'd muster in a life-or-death situation - reach outside of one brain through space and time and into another. That the host brain would manifest medical symptoms the future body is experiencing." But then with a shake of his head, he abandoned the idea as impossible and returned to the only real option he saw: one of us, either Jin or me, had completely lost our minds.

Scans were reexamined. Tiny pinpricks of irregularly were considered. Surgery was discussed. Mr. Kim remained in his chair in Jin's room, silent, still, his eyes fixed on the bed like he was on guard duty and could keep Jin out of danger through vigilance alone.

The next morning, I didn't even pretend to go to school and when I got to the hospital, Jaehwan was already there, waiting on a bench in the hall outside the ICU.

"His mom's meeting with a doctor again," Jaehwan told me, standing. "I'm supposed to stay out here until they're done."

"How is he?"

"He was sleeping when I got here," Jaehwan said. "I think they tried to wake him up for the doctor."

"Tried to wake him up?"

Jaehwan nodded, like he didn't want to say out loud how bad things seemed. Then he put an arm over my shoulder in a very un-Jaehwan-like gesture and proceeded to give me the most awkward half hug I had ever received. I guess it was a sign of how scared I was that I was grateful for the contact. He's heard what I'd said the day before about Jin's memories and dreams, but he didn't mention it. He was being kind.

Mrs. Kim appeared in the hall, walking with a doctor I hadn't seen before. She was saying. "I've told you, he's been having headaches for weeks. He reported dizziness. He's been delusional. I agree the scans don't show ay hemorrhaging or lesions, but something isn't right."

"Mrs. Kim," the doctor replied. "I know you're a nurse. I know you're in neuro, but you have to trust us. We've looked at the scans three times."

"So what's happening to him?" Mrs. Kim growled. "You must have a theory, at least?"

"I'll tell you honestly, we don't," the doctor said. "The fever, that abnormal EKG, the lethargy, the pupil dilation - these symptoms together, they say physical trauma. I don't have to tell you we see them in patients who present with multiple lacerations, internal organ damage, puncture wounds, broken bones."

"I know."

"But in the absence of a physical injury or evidence of brain infection, we can't account for the symptoms."

"What about the head trauma? Do you think he's responding to the fall he took on the ice?"

The doctor paused. "Jisoo, you're fishing. Head trauma like Jin experienced could result in some of these symptoms, but not all of them. It's not enough. There's something else going on."

"I want a team meeting," Mrs. Kim decided. "Kat didn't rule out a tumor. I feel like I'm carrying information between else going on."

"Of course," the doctor said. "Great idea. Let's set something up for lunchtime."

As soon as the doctor stepped away, Mrs. Kim noticed Jaehwan and me. "Oh, you guys." She sighed as though even the sight of us was exhausting. "Go on in." She was still wearing the sweatshirt with the stain. When Mr. Kim emerged, car keys in hand - I assumed heading out for an errand of some kind - they clasped hands before he continued on to the elevators.

This time, I wasn't prepared for how sick Jin looked. All the color in his often ruddy face was gone. Someone had shaved him, which should have made him look better, but it just made it clear how sunken his cheeks were. Something had changed about his hair too. Maybe it was the lighting in the room - the window shade was drawn - but it looked as gray as his skin. He couldn't have gone gray overnight, could he?

"Is he sleeping?" I asked. I spoke quietly; I didn't want to wake him.

"Very deeply," Mrs. Kim explained. "But we should wake him. We're waking him every ten minutes now." She stood by Jin's shoulder and gently shook him.

Jin dutifully shifted, then regulated his breathing without fully gaining consciousness. "Jin," his mom said. "Open your eyes." She lifted a cup with a straw from the table by his bed. "Drink something," she said. She put the tip of the straw into his mouth. "It's apple juice. Your favorite."

Jin tightened his lips around the straw, which darkened as juice passed through it. He opened his eyes. "Hey, Eomma," he said. I wondered if he knew where he was. If he was thinking he was in the other hospital he had described. His hand lifted and closed around her wrist. He looked up into her eyes. He said "Eomma" again.

When I heard the way he said that word, so tenderly, I knew he was scared. Mrs. Kim brushed Jin's hair off his forehead. "Your friends are here," she said.

Jin looked over at us, smiled wanly, then closed his eyes. Mrs. Kim set a timer on her digital watch. "That's about all he's got right now."

"Whoa," Jaehwan said.

Jaehwan and I sat in the room all morning, taking turns waking Jin on a ten-minute schedule, listening to his mom ask every doctor who dropped in for a meeting of the whole team, which eventually was set for three, when Dr. Kat would be available.

Eomma and Viviane showed up at lunchtime. Eomma peeked through an opening in the curtain, saying, "Annyeong!" Viviane followed her with a white shopping bag with handles made of silk ribbon, saying, "Hongjoo's Samgyupsal, anyone?" As if Jin's mom would know who Viviane was and the name of the meat shop she and eomma had just discovered.

But in the panic-meets-deariness hospital context, Viviane's cluelessness and eomma's professional cheer came as a huge relief. At least for me. Eomma's freshly dry-cleaned cashmere sweater dress, Viviane's funk glasses - this was my real life, my life before Jin, my life when it was just eomma and Viviane, who thought everything I did was perfect, who believed nothing for me could ever go wrong.

At least the meal gave us all something to talk about, with Mrs. Kim debating between hard-boiled eggs and pork, and Jaehwan lifting the beef into his tomato and lettuce wrap. Mrs. Kim drank half a bottle of water by herself and saved a to-go for Mr. Kim.

Jin didn't eat the salad Viviane bought for him. Or even the chocolate mousse. He took two sips of broth and went back to sleep.

Jaehwan went back to school.

Eomma and Viviane went back to their offices.

And suddenly, things got quiet and still.

Mrs. Kim's head was drooping when a nurse came in and put a hand on her shoulder. "No one's in the lounge, Jisoo," the nurse said. "You'll better understand what's going on in the meeting if you're at least a little rested. We'll send someone to you before the doctor comes. You've been up all night."

Mrs. Kim stood. "You'll wake him?" she said to me.

I nodded. The nurse explained what they'd already told Jaehwan and me that morning. They had Jin's vital signs displayed on a monitor at the desk, and a reminder alarm would sound at ten-minute intervals. It was better to have someone he knew waking him, but if I somehow forgot, we'd be covered.

I woke him at 1:15 and again at 1:25. But then, at 1:32, Jin's eyes opened on their own. I was watching his face, so I saw his eyelids flutter. He said something I couldn't understand.

I leaned in closer. "What?" I said.

"Juice," he said.

I reached for the apple juice, which I'd just refreshed new ice cubes. I held the straw to his lips. He drank.

"It's almost over," he said. I was so focused on the here and now, on the job of waking him every ten minutes, on things like ice chips and the doctors' meeting, that at first I didn't understand what he was talking about.

"The dream," he said. I ducked my head. I knew I needed to be strong for him and listen, but considering everything else going on, I didn't know if I could.

I wondered if I should explain that I'd told his mom about his memories, that he didn't have to lie to her anymore, but before I could speak, he was talking.

"I know what happens when the bomb goes off," he said.

"You saw?" I was trying to sound casual, but my hand was shaking. I could the ice sloshing in the paper cup. I put it down.

"I've been dreaming the same thing over and over. First just fragments, shards. The boy. The desk. The ceiling in the stairwell. Then other shards. Then they start to connect. It's like my brain's putting a puzzle together."

"Right before the bomb went off," he went on, "there was a second, probably, between when I saw the boy and when I felt the explosion. That was important, that second. That was when everything became clear."

"What became clear?" My voice was rising in panic.

"The desk I've been dreaming about. I know where it's from now. It was in the room, with the boy, lying on its side. It must have been used to barricade the door, bu then we pushed it aside when we came in. And in that second when I knew the boy was holding a bomb, I dove for it. The desk." He laughed. "As if it could save me."

"Next thing I knew, I was in the stairwell. The desk was too. The explosion pushed us both clear out of the apartment. I felt like I'd been hit by a wave."

I was listening so intently - I was with him - that I felt the heat and fear almost as a physical sensation.

"But it wasn't just the bomb. What pushed me back -" He looked for my eyes with his. I think he needed to be sure I was really there. And I was. I'd forgot where and even who I was, I was so completely focused on what he was telling me. "Suzy," he said. "It was something else."

"What?"

"My feeling," he said. "My feeling pushed me. I could see that my life is - was - wrong."

When I didn't nod or show that I was following, he went on. "I'm not talking about my life now, the way I am with you. I'm talking about my life in the future. How I felt was - Suzy, I didn't want to go."

"And that was the feeling that pushed you out of the room? You think a feeling did that?"

"You've got to understand how strong it was. It was - it came from every fiber of my being."

Jin was speaking so softly I had to lean in close to hear him.

"I landed in the hallway. On top of one of my guys - Henry. His Ak, I think it discharged. I felt it. He probably hit someone. I don't know."

I held my head. Dizzy.

"When you die, you do see your life flash before your eyes," Jin said.

"Okay," I said.

"The flashing - it's where you and I are right now. All this time that we've been together, I've been in Baghdad too, or somewhere, dying. Seeing you, being here - it's been a gift. From . . . the universe."

"You're real, Jin," I reminded him. "I'm touching you."

"Not really," he said. "But I'll take it. I've loved every touch, being with you, being eighteen again."

"You are eighteen," I said. "You're going to stay eighteen."

"No," he murmured, growing weaker. "Iraq - what's happening to me there. I think it's almost over."

"But you think you're dying in Iraq," I repeated stupidly. I could feel my voice cracking. "And that can't be, because you're here, with me." I shook my head. The tears were flowing down my cheeks. "You're here because of the strap on your head accessory," I insisted. "This is a head injury, and the doctors are going to figure it all out."

"No, Suzy," he whispered. "The strap has nothing to do with this. Maybe it sped up what was going to happen anyway. Maybe not. I can't control this. The future, that's what's in control."

I started to argue, but he stopped me. "I'm sure," he said. "I'm in a dream here with you, and I just need to wake up." I could see that it was taking all his strength to talk. "I love this dream," he said. "When I think back . . . to the beginning, when I didn't even know . . . what was going to happen to me . . ." I could see he was getting sleepy again. He might have drifted as he was talking. "I just got to see you again . . . to smell you . . . to kiss you . . . to stand with you . . . in the snow . . . skating with my little brothers . . ." He stopped. "When I skied to your house." His voice broke. "I would anything. To keep this. To keep the dream."

"You have to believe me, Jin. This is real," I said. "I know it's real. I am real."

Jin blinked slowly.

"What year is it, then?" I said. "In the future, the place you think is real? How can you remember so many things and not remember the date?"

Jin closed his eyes, as if the light he was looking at had gotten too bright.

"I'm going to hold on," he said. "As long as I can."

I thought about his mom. I thought about calling her. But I didn't know what would happen if I let go of Jin, even for an instant. He seemed that weak and afraid. I was holding his hand, trying not to squeeze too hard, because when I did, I stopped being bale to feel him squeezing me back.

"You will have a good life," he said. "You will forget me."

"I won't forget you." I choked through sobs. "I couldn't. I can't."

"You'd be surprised." He was speaking so softly now I had to strain to understand him.

"No," I said through clenched teeth, surprised at the anger I felt toward him.

He tried to smile. "Write it down if you want." He swallowed with difficulty. "But, Suzy? Before? Can I hold you? Can I . . . just . . . have you?" My anger lifted.

I climbed onto the bed with Jin. We lay on our sides, facing each other, our heads resting on the same pillow. I looked into his eyes, tracing the way the lines of darker blue mixed into the light. I watched him blink until I stopped being able to see it. The rhythm of our blinking, our heartbeats, became the same. He leaned toward me to kiss me and then we just lay that close, our nose touching, our lips an inch apart, our eyes locked. I don't know for how long.

A feeling of sweetness came over me. Over us, I believe; I am certain Jin felt it too. "Jin," I said, feeling so sure of the way he loved me that I could be sure about everything else too. I could step off a cliff and know that he would keep me from falling. He held my hand.

"Jin," I said. "I will never let go of you."

"You will," he said, sounding just as drugged as I felt, just as unwilling to disturb the still surface of the pond.

"I think you're fighting it," I said. "And I want you to. I want you to fight this."

Jin made a noise, part groan, part sigh. "I want . . . ," he said. "So much." He was fading. When he blinked his eyes, they stayed closed.

"Keep fighting," I repeated.

I said the words half-sleep, feeling as if I were gazing down on the room from above. And looking back, I remember it that way. I see the stark white bed, the shiny steel bed rails, the dark question marks of Jin's and my bodies curled toward each other, our noses touching, sharing the same air, as if nothing bad were ever going to happen to us.