+ a semi au in which son oh gong is unable to piece his memories back together, even with sun mi's visit. he's a lot more broken and pitiful, rather than angry.

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  The garden is dim, cold.

  He stands in the wintry swell after another fit, almost-swaying in the middle of the bridge.

  He thinks, without even meaning to.

  Quiet laughter, fingers brushing against his cheek - the phantoms of a woman who's face haunts him, and at the same time comforts his ill heart. He does not know her name, or why he keeps thinking about her. All he knows is that this must be some terrible, amazing, horrible, beautiful, hateful, lovely thing. 

  Love.

  His heart...oh, how his heart lifts with such joy when he closes his eyes and sees her smile.

  It's enough to find the pain afterwards worth it, as barbed metal sinks itself into the muscle of his organ, pushing through scarred tissue and yet-to-be-healed wounds. Even when he clutches at his chest, stumbling and kneeling on the chill cobblestones of the garden, her smile is all he can remember. He wants to engrave it onto the soft parts of his brain, so he'll never forget, but each bout of restless sleep steals the memory away for another time. 

  "Call my name when you're scared, struggling or in danger..."

  Her voice, sweet enough to calm him when the wetness of his eyes spills over...he wishes so badly to know her name. To remember, because he must have known it at some point, right? Otherwise he wouldn't be feeling all of this. He couldn't...

  "Son Oh Gong."

  Is tonight another where he falls asleep to the way she talks?

  "Son Oh Gong."

  It must be, he thinks while placing one hand on the railing to steady himself. Her voice is so strikingly clear though, as if she's just...

  "Son Oh Gong, turn around."

  Right behind him. 

  Crazy. He must be crazy, because he's never seen her like this. Never outside of his dreams and memories, his many hallucinations. None of them have consisted of her entire figure in his vision, dressed in perhaps the lightest shade of grey among her wardrobe and with a smile sadder than all the others she's offered him. 

  He opens his mouth as if to say her name, falling silent because...he still doesn't remember.

  "What's your name?"

  His own voice is scratchy from lack of use, torn from multiple crying episodes and late night terrors.

  He remembers watching her die.

  When she shakes her head he can feel the weight it places on his chest, and even the upturn of her lips - here and now - can do nothing to alleviate it.

  "I can't tell you."

  "Why not?" His desperation rings through the garden.

  "I just can't."

  So, they stay like that, fogged breaths mingling in the cold night. He wants to step forward, not to make her tell him, but just to be close. To be close...he hasn't had the company of another since Ma Wang's last visit, so long ago he can't remember now. He was too far gone for the now-deity to keep coming, alone ever since.

  She seems to sense this, coming towards him before he can so much as move a muscle. 

  Then her hand is against his shoulder and he's slumping to the ground, hand falling away from the railing because this is permission - it has to be - for him to clutch at her arm as she kneels with him. She's warm - so, so warm. Even with how hot he runs, the chill of winter has never left this place, and so he clings to her svelte frame in hopes of absorbing that warmth. 

  He doesn't even realize he's crying until she's telling him to stop. Not in a demanding way, but in a mother-like tone full of affection - there's no need to cry, that tone says, but he can't stop until every last tear has hit the wooden planks, until he's spent and their positions have changed.

  Now her back is to the railing - no doubt uncomfortable - with his head resting near her shoulder. He's still clinging to her arm, and yet she somehow has both of them wrapped around his torso. He must look like a child, but can't bring himself to feel anything other than a sad contentment. The safety of her grasp, the warmth and sweetness - he wishes to stay like this forever. Even if he doesn't know who she is. Even if she'll never tell him. Even if he can't be whole again. This is enough. 

  This is enough.