Joonmyun watches the white walls as the seconds tick, time passing into minutes until hours pass and he’s still staring at the exact same spot as he was before. He’s vaguely aware of the nurses talking to him, barely aware of the swoosh of the door and the swish of the bed sheets because there’s something red there that wasn’t there when he went to bed last night. He thinks one of the nurses’ spilled cranberry juice on it, but it smells of rust and not like the bitter fruit juice.

  Red roses fall to the floor as the vase shatters against the wall, tiny pieces of glass raining back on him because he hates the color red but loves it when it’s spilling from the mark on his shoulder. A nurse yells but he doesn’t really hear it because another nurse guides him to the other side of the room to pour something on him that stings, but he doesn’t flinch; the sting is dull. He’s deposited back on his bed, aware of the nurses watching him from the door as he stares at the yellow daisies in a plastic vase. Once they decide he isn’t going to knock them over again, they close the door, leaving Joonmyun running his hands over the clean, crisp linen, the white sheets almost blending in with his paled thighs barely hidden by the oversized t-shirt he’s hiding in.

  Blue skies turn into white lights, pink petals into white walls, yellowed grass into white marble tiles as he wakes up. He turns onto his side, watches two figures through the window on his door, tries to make out what they’re saying but he realizes he doesn’t even recognize them.

  But he recognizes his name being softly tossed back and forth in the conversation. 

  A tall man enters his room and smiles at him. Joonmyun zeroes in on the way his eye twitches when he does, wishing it to stop. Deep voice and curly hair and straight white teeth stare him down, seemingly judging him, picking him apart. He pulls the blankets over himself, peeking through the holes he tore in his sleep. He cringes when the man speaks, “you know me.”

  “I don’t.” Joonmyun doesn’t.

  “You do.”

  “I don’t.” Joonmyun doesn’t, and it annoys him that this person -this stranger- is lying to him. “I don’t,” he repeats a little quieter.

  “But you do,” the man urges, a smile still on his face. 

  “I don’t!” A push and the man leaning over his bed crumbles to the floor, grabbing onto invisible curtains to try and catch himself.

  The stranger shakes his head and pulls something out of his pocket and hands that something to Joonmyun as he stands from the floor. Joonmyun fingers the tattered edges of a photo as the stranger sits on the edge of the bed. He studies the picture, confused as a younger version of himself with fuller cheeks and a healthy smile stares back at him. There’s a younger version of the stranger next to the Joonmyun in the picture with straight black hair and a face still full of teeth that he begins to recognize in the back of his mind.

  “You know me.”

  Slowly, Joonmyun looks between the photo in his hand and the man sitting on the edge of the bed. He can’t seem to put the pieces together. “Do I?”

  “You do,” the stranger urges, gesturing for Joonmyun to flip the picture over. He does, and on the back is printed ‘Chanyeol + Joonmyun. 5. Kindergarten.’ The man -Chanyeol- walks to the side of his bed and opens the drawer on the tiny table, pulling out a handful of other various photographs. He spreads them across the bed, and Joonmyun flinches back at the images forcing their way into his mind. He picks one up, gaze intense as he stares at the teenager next to him in a photo. It’s not Chanyeol but, somehow, the face is familiar. “That’s Minseok.”

  No forms itself around Joonmyun’s mouth and he turns to vomit the word on the side of his bed, narrowly missing Chanyeol’s hands as he pulls the pictures away.

  “I don’t think you should see him today,” Joonmyun hears Chanyeol speaking outside his room, and he wants to ask who it is, but suddenly the yellow daisies are bothering him and he’s picking them out of the vase and plucking the petals apart until just the stems remain.

  There’s something sharp on his side and a drowsiness overtakes his body. He collapses into a nurse's waiting arms.

  The flowers are replaced with purple violets when he wakes up and he studies the white walls around him. There’s a dark oil stain on one of them but there’s no oil and he finds himself annoyed. Nurses’ hands are pushed away as he turns on his side, concentrating on the stain. The nurses stand by his door for a moment longer before he’s left to the four white walls that enclose him.

  The white carries him into a world of blues into pink into yellowed green grass that reminds him suspiciously of the landscape he so often dreams about; the landscape that sometimes has a face that’s familiar in all the right ways that it almost feels wrong that he doesn’t remember. 

  It’s been almost a year like this: remembering faces he doesn’t actually know, remembering places he’s never been. There are no memories outside of the white room, no life to be remembered without the stale linens of his bed.

  There’s the jiggling of the doorknob as Joonmyun presses his back into the door, effectively pinning it shut as cries spill from his lips with a red stain at his feet that grows bigger with each drop of liquid from his forearm. He doesn’t mind the red, but he hates the doctors and the sting isn’t that bad so he endures it, pretends it isn’t there as he blinks away something painful in his vision. 

  It’s almost painful waking up from his daze when one of the stronger nurses forces the door open, and he’s crumbling to the floor, flinching at each pair of hands that pull him up. “Did I have parents?” He hears his voice asking.

  “You did.” The nurse is monotone.

  “Did they love me?”

  “Of course.” Still monotone.

  “Did-did they put me here?” He’s not sure why he’s asking. It’s his voice but it doesn’t feel like he’s asking these questions.

  There’s a pause as the nurse swallows before replying, “no.”

  “Then who did?” 

  “I think it’s time for you to sleep,” and then his questions are replaced with sounds of tinkling laughter that fill his ears and lull him to slumber.

  Two very familiar strangers pull his blankets back and help him into a baggy sweater and shorts, forcing him out of the blood stained shirt he’s been in for days. There are no blue skies or pink flowers, but there are the memories of laughter and eyes turning into crescents that have him focusing on the shorter of the two strangers. 

  “Do you know him?” the taller of the two strangers asks, finger pointing at the intruder that Joonmyun’s been staring at from under his eyelashes. “Do you want to know him?”

  Joonmyun turns his focus back to the wall, studying, memorizing. There are nurses throwing his soiled shirt away but he’s so enthralled by the shades of white forming into one shade to even notice, even as the man with unruly hair presses a picture into his hand.

  And there’s something sickeningly sweet about the way a younger Joonmyun and the person with full cheeks is curling into his side that has tears pricking his eyes that turn into rivers in seconds. On the back is scribbled ‘Minseok + Joonmyun, 20. Date.’ The Minseok in the picture matches with the tinkling laughter, and the connection leaves him gasping for air.

  “Do you know me?” Joonmyun flinches back from the words because, no, he doesn’t, but part of him does. “You do, don’t you? I’m Minseok.”

  No rolls off his tongue smoothly before he curls in on himself and sobs into his own arms.

  A blanket is thrown over him and there’s a muttered, “you should go,” then a louder, “You know me,” before blue skies fade completely and there are only the buzzing sound of the fluorescent light bulbs and a man trying to wrestle him out of the corner he’s found himself in.

  “When are you going to get your mind back?” the man asks after showing him his name -Chanyeol- and settling at a distance on the floor from him. “I’m talking to you, Joonmyun.”

  “I haven’t lost it,” Joonmyun whispers, picking apart invisible lint on the sweater.

  Chanyeol chuckles darkly, “Just about.”

  It sets Joonmyun off. His mind is fine only dreaming of pink flower buds and crunchy grass and blue skies. His mind is fine inside these four walls, inside this bleak room. His mind was fine until these strangers walked in claiming that he knew them when he clearly did not.

  But the photographs don’t lie.

  He looks back down at the picture in his hand and finds it crumpled in his fist that he doesn’t remember closing. “I haven’t lost it!” He shouts just before chucking the worthless piece of paper at the stranger.

  Chanyeol sighs, picking the picture back off the floor before standing. He stares at him a few moments more, and Joonmyun feels himself shrinking under his gaze. Finally, he sighs again, ruffles Joonmyun’s hair, and walks out. 

  “He’s getting worse again,” Joonmyun hears just before the door closes.

  You know me turn into please remember into you have to remember. The words become a mantra in his head, even following him into his dreams of yellowed grass and pink flower petals, birds calling out, “remember me, remember me.”

  Some days his stomach clenches at Minseok’s name, sometimes his heart throbs, and sometimes a face he’s titled ‘Minseok’ will smile, all teeth, at him behind hooded eyes. 

  There are blue orchids in a clear vase in clear water that grabs his attention. It seems every colour annoys him and he gets the urge to break them off their stems and watch them wither the way he is; so he does.

  Sighs echo in his ear and hands are pulling him away, assuring him he’s okay and bathing him in a mantra of be quiet, you’ll be fine. Except he’s not and he won’t be, because suddenly he craves the face locked in his vision and the name trapped in his throat.

  Minseok. 

  He’s not sure why he remembers, or how, but the drawer is being dumped out and he’s leafing through the photos, looking, searching. A worn, tattered one catches on his thumb, and he pulls in shallow gasps of air as he studies it. He’s in yellowed grass, a blue backdrop behind him, and pink flower buds adorning his lap. There’s a man he’s kissing, and it looks nice. It looks like Minseok. 

  The name is rolling off his tongue before he can stop it, and then Minseok is helping him off the floor and into a new sweater. They’re silent, the blue orchids mocking him as he thumbs the photo. “I-I think I know you.” Joonmyun mutters after the sweater is hanging around his sides.

  “You do,” Minseok’s voice is soft, familiar, the same old ringing in his ears. “Do you remember why? Do you want to remember?”

  “Can you tell me why you’re significant to me?” Joonmyun whispers, handing him the photo. “How do I know you?”

  There’s a sigh and words begin to match the images in his mind. “We’re lovers. You loved me once and, I-I think you still might. If you could, maybe, somehow, remember.” There’s a hopeful lift in Minseok’s voice that Joonmyun’s never heard before. Or maybe he has and, like everything else, he can’t remember. 

  Quieter, Joonmyun asks, “What’s wrong with me?”

  “Maybe you should-”

  “What have I done?” It’s suddenly like Minseok isn’t even there, like it’s just the walls and empty silence that surround him. The raised pink marks across his skin pull his attention. “What have I done? Why am I-why am I in here, Minseok? Please.” He scratches at the marks.

  Minseok mumbles, “I think you need some more rest.” He stands and keeps his back towards him. “I’ll come back tomo-”

  Joonmyun grabs onto him, desperate. It may be the only chance he gets to remember. To really remember life outside this room. “Why do I dream of blue skies? Why can I see your eyes crinkling and hear laughter? Why is it yours, Minseok? I-”

  “We’re lovers.”

  Joonmyun hates the colour blue.

  Pink flower buds fill his vision, fading against yellowed grass and maybe there’s laughter in the distance like there always is; but it’s quiet, light, barely there. There is no distinct image, just figures that are vaguely recognizable until they’re replaced with nurses wiping sweat off his brow and blood off his legs. They put tape around the tips of his fingers to keep from scratching. They tell him he goes in circles, beginning to get better and then turning back, away from sanity and into insanity. They tell him Minseok is coming to visit in a little bit, and he asks, “Who’s Minseok? Why is he coming over?” and one of the nurses face drops.

  “Oh, Joonmyun,” she says, and her voice is lost. “We thought you were getting better.” He wants to tell her that he is, but his head throbs and the flowers -orange marigolds- start to annoy him. 

  A nurse notices and scolds him, “Don’t you dare. We’re running out of vases.” Joonmyun wonders why they continue to give him flowers when all he does is destroy them.

  The door peeks open and a man steps in with light brown hair and round cheeks and very pretty eyes when they turn into crescents as he smiles. “Hi, Joonmyun,” the man greets, and Joonmyun watches the smile fall from his face as the nurse shakes her head at him before leaving. The stranger walks over to the side table and leafs through old photos, pulling one out and forcing it into Joonmyun’s hands.

  It’s of a slightly younger him that looks like it was taken only last year. He looks healthy, but that’s not what grabs his attention. What he does focus on is the man next to him, arm wrapped around his shoulders and a shy smile on his face. The back reads ‘Minseok + Joonmyun. Picnic.’ 

  “I’m Minseok,” the man tells him, and Joonmyun looks up to meet his eyes. “You knew who I was yesterday. Do you need to see some more pictures?” Joonmyun shakes his head. “Do you remember?”

  “I can’t even remember life outside these bleak walls,” Joonmyun admits, handing the picture back and folding his hands in his lap. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to know anything else.”

  “You are,” Minseok insists, sitting down on the edge of the bed, mattress dipping. “You’re in here to get better.”

  Joonmyun snorts, staring at the flowers. He hates the orange. It reminds him of stars and lost time. “If that’s the case, why did the nurse tell me I’m getting worse? Tell me why, Minseok, please.” 

  Minseok sighs and rubs his hands down his face. “You had an accident,” he begins, fixing him with a gaze that makes Joonmyun cave in on himself. “It was a bad one. You, uh, you were pretty hurt. Your head was pretty hurt.” He sighs again, but Joonmyun straightens up, nodding for him to continue. Maybe he’s heard this all before, but he doesn’t remember it. He doesn’t remember having an accident. “You blocked out a lot of memories, a lot of people. The doctors say it’s dissociative amnesia.”

  He sits silent, trying to remember anything past the walls and the flower vases and the thin scars covering his body. Did he always have them? Were they from the accident? If they were, why are some of them still fresh?

  “You blocked me out, Joonmyun,” Minseok goes on, his voice a little shaky. “I’m your fiance, and you blocked me out.” Joonmyun jerks in surprise, but Minseok goes on. “You remember some days, remember the basis of our relationship, but most days. You shut me out. I know it’s-it’s not your fault but,” Minseok has tears in his eyes when he looks at him, “I miss you so much.”

  Joonmyun stays quiet, but he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s trying to remember the accident or if he doesn’t know what to say. Minseok is crying, as if everything is still too fresh for him. Joonmyun doesn’t know what to do. 

  “There is something that you seem to always remember, though,” Minseok laughs a little, wiping his nose. His eyes are watery when he looks at Joonmyun, and for a second, Joonmyun feels a lump form in his heart for the man. “Do you remember what you see?”

  This Joonmyun knows. 

  “Pink flowers and blue skies,” Joonmyun answers automatically, ripping his gaze away. “The colour yellow, and I hate yellow, but I-I think it’s supposed to be grass sometimes.” He clenches his fists, tape covered fingers digging into his palms. There’s a daze settling over him, lulling him away from Minseok and into his own mind. “Why do I always see that, and hear laughter? I-I think I see y-your face sometimes. Why?” 

  There’s a smile now on Minseok’s face as he settles cross legged across from him. “It was our place,” he tells him, content. Joonmyun nods, mumbling the words under his breath, trying to write them into his brain. Our place. “We went there a lot: to cuddle, to sleep, get away from the world. Sometimes we screamed or cried, but it was mostly happy times. That’s probably why you remember the place.” He suddenly looks uncertain. “I-I can sign you out of here for a day. We can go see it. If you want,” he adds after a beat.

  The idea almost scares him. Our place. He had a place with Minseok, and, even if he can’t remember why he’s so important, Joonmyun nods. “A-are you really allowed to do that?”

  “Of course,” and Minseok makes his way to the door, mumbling, “I’m the one who put you in here.”

  Joonmyun knocks over the flower vase, watching it clang to the floor. No nurses come in, but he puts himself to sleep and dreams of our place. 

  It’s been forever since Joonmyun has been in a car and he finds himself in a daze as the scenery passes by. He doesn’t recognize anything, but the stranger that checked him out for the day -was it Minseok?- points out where he used to enjoy going. To him, they’re just places on a map in his brain he’ll forget by tomorrow. He doesn’t remember where they’re going or why, just that Minseok repeated our place into his ear as he helped him into civilian clothes and checked him out. Our place. 

  The mention of blue skies grabbed his attention enough for Minseok to maneuver him into the car like a rag doll.

  “We walk from here,” Minseok’s voice startles him, pulling him out of the brief haze he was just in. “Are you okay? Should I take you back?”

  “No! No,” Joonmyun exhales, breath shaky. “No, I-I, I want to know, Minseok.” The name slides out of his lips easy, familiar, but foreign at the same time, like the landscape around them, the trees and the bushes and the swirls of pink, blues, and yellows. It’s all something he recognizes, but doesn’t. He feels like the tall trees are censorious, judging his every breath, angry at him for forgetting and neglecting. Fear is what he feels, taking it all in.

  Almost on instinct, Joonmyun reaches and Minseok’s hand is held firmly in his. Minseok meets his eyes and something flashes in them that’s vaguely familiar and it has Joonmyun trying to pull his hand away, but Minseok keeps it. “It’s this way,” he tells him, walking, Joonmyun trailing behind.

  The scene in front of him matches the one in his dreams exactly, and when he voices this, Minseok smiles, eyes creasing. “I’m glad,” Minseok tells him, pulling him into a clearing. “This is our place,” he points to a tree. “We sit under here when it’s too sunny. Like today.” He’s already dragging him along, pulling him to the ground next to him. “Is this okay?”

  “I think so,” Joonmyun answers, hand still in Minseok’s and he finds it to be comforting as his eyes dart all along the clearing. He can’t believe this place exists outside of his dreams. “Did we do this a lot?” He asks after his gaze settles on their interlocked hands. “The hands…?”

  “Yeah,” Minseok hums, nodding his head. “We’re engaged. We did this a lot.”

  Joonmyun ignores the way Minseok looks sad all of the sudden and asks, “What else did we do?” Minseok looks sheepish now, looking away with a blush on his pretty cheeks. “Minseok, please, I-I want to remember.” Minseok gives him a look that makes him uncomfortable, but he needs this. “Minseok, please, can you-”

  Joonmyun’s silence when lips lightly brush over his, soft and unsure, but when he doesn’t pull away, Minseok pushes forwards, lips caressing Joonmyun’s in a way that makes him light headed. It feels almost natural for him to part his lips when he feels Minseok’s warm tongue pressing lightly. He doesn’t remember this feeling, but he does because it’s so right, so perfect. He thinks he likes kissing Minseok.

  Just as soon as the kiss started, it ends, Minseok’s breath fanning across his face, almost suffocating. “We did that a lot,” Minseok his lips, eyes flickering down to his own. “Also this,” he presses a soft kiss to his neck, and Joonmyun feels something wet. Minseok is crying when he leans back up, meeting his gaze. His laugh is breathy as he says, “God, I’ve missed you so much.”

  Joonmyun gets the urge to say it back, but he doesn’t know why he misses him when he can’t remember him. 

  All thoughts of our place are forgotten the next day. A tall man with an eye twitch enters with a much shorter man with soft brown hair, and they stand in his doorway. “Chanyeol again,” eye twitch greets, smiling as he pulls the shorter man in behind him. “I brought Baekhyun. You remember Baekhyun?”

  The shorter man launches himself at Joonmyun, wrapping thin arms around even thinner shoulders and rocking. “Oh, Joonmyun, you-” he cuts off, voice muffled.

  Joonmyun pushes him off, clutching his blanket to his chest and backing against the wall, eyes wide and scared. “W-who?” His voice is as shaky as his legs. “Does the nurse know you’re here? Please, who are you?” he rakes a hand through his hair, feeling anger replacing the fear. He pulls, feeling hair disconnecting with his head, painful, but he keeps pulling. Something shatters, bright -almost neon- yellow daffodils scattering across the floor in a mangle.

  “You should go,” Chanyeol pushes Baekhyun back, edging him towards the door. “Joonmyun, it’s me. I’m Chanyeol, remember?” He approaches him slowly, arms raised. Joonmyun tries to shrink into the wall. “You remember Minseok? You went to your place with him yesterday.” Over Chanyeol’s shoulder, Joonmyun see’s Baekhyun’s tear-stained cheeks, the look he’s giving him. “You-”

  “W-wait,” Joonmyun’s breathless, sliding down the wall. “Wait. Just, who? Baekhyun, right? Or Minseok? Tell me.”

  Chanyeol waves Baekhyun back over and they both kneel in front of him. Joonmyun feels lost looking at them, wanting to remember but not being able to. Shards of glass dig into his palms and he pushes them harder onto the floor, letting the jagged edges pierce his skin. “Baekhyun brought a picture,” Chanyeol elbows him and Baekhyun slides the photo into his hands. It has unfamiliar faces, but he recognizes his and one other. He swipes his thumb over the face, and Chanyeol murmurs, “He’s starting to remember Minseok on his own,” to Baekhyn who breaks into a small smile. “It’s better some days than others. Today seems good-”

  “You’re bleeding!”

  Joonmyun wakes up to a face by his, close and personal and he smiles because, “Minseok.”

  “You’re getting better,” Minseok pecks him on the lips. “Do you remember what you did yesterday?”

  Joonmyun tries to put the pieces together, he really does, but the passing days are too blurry for him to think past. “I-did I...hurt someone?”

  “Here,” Minseok shakes his head, pulling Joonmyun’s hand out from under the blankets to hold up to his face. There are bandages, and under them some blood that Joonmyun guesses is his own. “You hurt yourself.”

  “I don’t feel hurt,” he pokes at his palm, cringing at the dried blood but otherwise not feeling anything. “What are you here for?”

  “I was thinking of signing you out today for a bit,” Minseok produces a pair of clothes from his lap. Joonmyun stares at them for a moment. “Is that okay? We can pick up different clothes.”

  The name Minseok suddenly makes him feel strange, almost ill to the point of exhaustion as he falls back against his pillow. The fluorescent lights burn and he’s sick of the white walls, wants to see blue, but he turns away from Minseok to vomit on the ground. He’s barely aware of Minseok pulling him into a sitting position as the nurses pile in with towels and needles that poke and prod him but do little to calm his erratic thoughts of that fact that Minseok is someone who loves him, Minseok is the one that put him in here. 

  “I-I brought you a new sweater t-to wear,” Minseok has tears in his eyes, but Joonmyun doesn’t notice past the numb haze in his vision, mocking him without really being there. “You probably needed a new one, anyways. If you give me that one,” there’s a sudden jab on his side, “I’ll wash it a-and bring it back. I know it’s y-your favorite.”

  But it’s not, Joonmyun wants to tell him. He hates everything that he has in this four walled room, hates the way the nurses look at him with pity or how Minseok just looks sad, but most of all he hates how he can’t remember anything. 

  “I think you should go for now, Mr. Kim,” a nurse says after cleaning up the mess.

  “I-I don’t want to,” Minseok stutters, grip tightening around Joonmyun, but Joonmyun wants him to go.

  He wants all the strangers in the room to go.

  It gets worse. The stranger with the fluffy hair comes alone once a week, and eye-twitch visits every other day while the one from his dreams visits every day, but Joonmyun can’t remember anything about the previous encounters with them, just that the strangers remind him that they’ve already seen him this week.

  There are three strangers in his room, crowded on his single bed while he stares blankly at the yellow marigolds in a clear vase, green stems popping against the white backdrop of the wall. It’s silent until-

  “Who’s Sehun?”

  Fluffy hair gasps, eye twitch twitches, and full cheeks pales, colour draining from his face until his mouth opens and closes around words he doesn’t say.

  Joonmyun repeats it.

  “Do you remember him?” Eye twitch -right, Chanyeol- asks, inching closer to him. “What do you remember about him?”

  It’s completely blank, just a scratched out image labeled as ‘Sehun’ wearing baggy clothes. The name echoes in his mind, familiar in his mind but unrecognizable behind the blinding light and he just wants to know why the yellow of the flowers remind him of blondeblondeblonde hair. 

  He repeats, “Who’s Sehun?”

  Fluffy hair -Baekhyun- rubs his eyes as Chanyeol rubs his back. “I-I don’t know if you should know,” Chanyeol tells him while Cheeks looks distant, staring past him. Joonmyun stares back. “Maybe some other time.”

  Who’s Sehun? Who’s Sehun? Who’s Sehun? The mantra repeats in his head as he looks from face to face, begging with his eyes but pleading with his thoughts as the yellow marigolds get closer and closer in his mind and Chanyeol holds him back as he tries trashing the offending plant. 

  “Who’s Sehun?”

  “Just a person,” the voice is soothing but it has little effect. “Calm down and we’ll tell you next time. Just, calm down.” But Joonmyun can’t be calm because images are now flashing behind his eyes, scattered and spaced like an old black and white movie without the sound. Just images. Just pictures.

  He screams.

  Light orange lilies stare back at him as a lovely nurse strips his bed of red covered sheets and another holds him still. There’s something harsh in the way she’s holding him, fingernails digging into the skin on his shoulders.

  He’s supposed to be going out with Minseok today and this time he actually knows who Minseok is and it’s all too welcome when he’s pulled into soft arms, pressed against a warm chest as he’s being led to the car parked outside. The nurses dressed him in a yellow sweater and jeans, much different than the usual smelly, stained white baggy clothes he’s in. He doesn’t freak out when he’s watching the scenery, or when that was your favorite cafe or remember that park? echo softly in the car. Minseok is telling him stories of our place in a soft voice that lulls him into a nice daze, not the usual blank kind he’s in all day. 

  And suddenly there are blue skies and pink flower buds and yellowed grass and it’s Joonmyun leading Minseok down the path that leads to their destination. Minseok tangles their fingers together as they walk, tingles racing up his spine.

  “Here,” there’s a strawberry held up to his face, ripe and red and Joonmyun doesn’t hesitate to bite into it. “They’re your favorite, remember?” The sweet taste coats his tongue and he nods. He doesn’t remember, but they’re his favorite now, and when Minseok melds his lips over his own he can taste the fruit on his tongue as it circles around his.

  “Was that okay?” Minseok's voice is close to his ear, breath hot.

  Joonmyun thinks it is.

  It’s always one step forwards, two steps back. 

  Eye twitch has a photo pressed in his hands. There’s no Joonmyun in the picture, but a teenager with thick rimmed glasses and swoopy blondeblondeblonde hair and a small smile. The eyes spark recognition in Joonmyun, the words ‘Sehun, spring break’ written on the back. He repeats the name under his breath. 

  “You want to know, right?” and Joonmyun nods. Eye twitch continues, “I’m Chanyeol, by the way. And Sehun was your best friend. I guess you could say you two were joined at the hip. He was like a younger brother to you.” Joonmyun just blinks at him, so Chanyeol goes on. “You had this weird telepathy thing going on. It was strange. Like, you knew when he was upset and vice versa. I remember one night you were at my house and Sehun wasn’t and then you just got up and left to go find him. He was lost in the woods.”

  There’s no memory yet, but Jonmyun nods for him to keep going. “You guys were really close. I was a little jealous, actually. It was like you were soulmates, or soul-best friends. You two just...made sense.

  “The night of your accident,” Chanyeol is visibly having a hard time speaking, so Joonmyun looks back down at the photograph in his hands. The young face of his best friend stares up at him. “I don’t know if you remember, but you and him were out drinking. Sehun had a bad day and wanted his best friend so you met at a bar… does any of this sound familiar?” 

  Joonmyun shakes his head. Chanyeol sighs, running his hand down his face. “You called Jongdae and I to pick you two up. Minseok had to work early the next morning and we were already in the area…” At Joonmyun’s blank expression, Chanyeol makes a high pitched whine in the back of his throat. “We picked you up. You sat in the back with me because Sehun wanted to sit up front.”

  Chanyeol pauses for a moment and Joonmyun takes the time to close his eyes and tries to picture the night. He doesn’t remember going to a bar, hardly remembers Sehun at all, but it sounds like Chanyeol is telling the truth. 

  “We were driving back to yours and Minseok’s place, but it was storming and Jongdae couldn’t see the road very well and Sehun was being super loud,” Chanyeol resumes, Joonmyun opening his eyes to watch him. “It-it wasn’t anybody's fault, r-really. One moment we’re driving and the next-”

  “The next?”

  “Sehun was out the windshield,” Chanyeol exhales, tears falling down his cheeks. “We-we didn’t realize he wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, and he just...flew.”  

  Joonmyun processes this, the words, the images suddenly playing like an actual movie behind his eyelids and the sounds -wails, cries, screams- are in high definition. He has to clasp his hands over his ears, but even then the sounds echo and he recognizes the screams as his own as he starts sobbing. The casket was black, his clothes were dark blue, and Sehun looked plastic and the music was unfitting to the man’s personality. 

  Joonmyun was in a wheelchair, barely present through the ceremony. He was supposed to be a pallbearer, but he was too frail, too weak, a bandage still wrapped around his head. 

  Was it the accident that made him go crazy or was it from burying his best friend? 

  “W-what about -Jongdae?” Joonmyun finds his voice eventually, remembering the extra name Chanyeol had mentioned. 

  “He’s okay,” Chanyeol tells him, nodding his head as he wipes his own tears away. “He-he feels guilty, but he’s okay.”

  Arms wrap around Joonmyun from behind, pulling him against a warm chest that he melts into because it’s secure. “You shouldn’t have told him.” Is it Minseok speaking? The voice is near and sure, but shaky. “You shouldn’t have.”

  “But, look,” Chanyeol cries, “He’s remembering.”

  “Remembering bad things,” Minseok’s voice isn’t soft or sweet; it’s monotone, blank.

  “He should remember his best friend!”

  “Happy things, Chanyeol, happy things!” 

  Joonmyun cuts them off with a choked out, “I gave him them, did I? The glasses?”

  “For his birthday.”

  There are purple hydrangeas on the floor and shards of plastic scattered around him, and Joonmyun pays no mind to the nurses struggling to clean the mess, but on the picture of Sehun, his best friend -his dead best friend. 

  There’s not a thought on his mind as he pushes over the lavender, nurses opening the door a second too late as the plastic clunks loudly against the floor. Muffled curses fill his ear as the sounds of screams from his memory begin to fade.

  Sehun made things worse. He’s not getting better.

  The nurses tell him as much, inspecting every inch of his skin for scratches or scabs that hadn’t been there the night before.

  A man visits with a clear vase and pink flowers, not fully bloomed but little buds, and he doesn’t get the urge to push them over once they’re put down. The man turns to him, and he has bags under his eyes that make him look older. “Say my name,” the man tells him, and Joonmyun startles, unaware he knew the man at all. A sound teetering more towards heartbreaking than frustrated escapes his lips as he begs, “Say my name.”

  “S-Sehun?”

  Tears spill down the man's sunken cheeks and Joonmyun wants to tell him to stop, that he’s trying, he’ll remember past the disorientated haze he’s in, but the man doesn’t let him. 

  “Here,” a picture is all but thrown into his face and Joonmyun grabs it, studying it. The backdrop has the same pink flowers as the ones in the vase and there’s a clear blue sky, and a younger Joonmyun holds a strawberry to the man's lips in the picture, a sweet smile on his face. “That’s us. Two weeks ago. That is our place. I kissed you and we held each other.” Joonmyun opens his mouth to gape at him. “I’m Minseok. I’m your lover, your fiance, and you’re not mentally stable enough to remember me. I -- I can’t anymore.” He rakes a hand through shagged hair. 

  The door opens. “Minseok, don’t.” A tall man threatens as he walks in, closing the door behind him quietly. “He’ll get better. His mind will -he’ll remember. Just give him a little more-”

  “Time?” Minseok laughs dryly, sullenly, turning to the other man. “Chanyeol, he’s had a year. He’s been in here a year! Don’t talk to me about giving him time when you have no idea what it’s like to have a fiance in a ing mental hispital who can’t remember anything!” He throws his arms in the air, and Joonmyun is brought out of his daze to listen. “You can’t understand what it’s like to hope everyday that maybe he remembers you. You will never know what it’s like to watch the one you’re in love with break himself apart and push you away. You will never-

  “, I can’t do it, Chanyeol, not anymore!” Minseok rounds on Joonmyun, marching towards him with purpose. He grabs his chin, forces him to look at him. “Tell me, who am I to you?” But Joonmyun can only stare into round eyes that he thinks should be crinkled around the edges. “See! You don’t even know me.” Minseok pushes away, leaving Joonmyun on the bed to gawk at him. “I’m done. I’m not doing this anymore. I -- I’m sorry. But I can’t.”

  “What are you doing!?” Chanyeol’s voice is shrill as he blocks his way from the door. “You can’t just do this!”

  “I have a flight to Hollywood in two hours that I can’t miss,” Minseok’s voice is cold, emotionless. He turns back to look at Joonmyun, eyes desperate, waiting, but Joonmyun’s mind is blank. “Don’t ruin the flowers. They’re from our place.”

  Our place?

  The door clicks shut with his thoughts and Joonmyun watches as Chanyeol kicks at the floor, looking frustrated. Joonmyun gets the sudden feeling that maybe something isn’t right, like that was his last chance at something seemingly important, something that he should have hung onto a little longer. 

  “Did I love him?” and his cheeks are suddenly wet with salty tears that feel like they burn his skin.

  Joonmyun watches white walls as the seconds tick, time passing into minutes until hours pass and he’s still staring at the exact same spot as he was before. His bed sheets are being changed because a nurse spilled cranberry juice on them again, though it smells more like rust. Joonmyun stares at the pink buds in a clear vase. There’s a sharp sting from a nurse pouring something onto his shoulder, red liquid -cranberry juice, he reminds himself- is washed off his arm. Once the linens are changed he settles back, sitting cross-legged and focusing on the pink flower buds poking out from the vase.

  Blue skies turn into white lights, pink petals into white walls, yellowed grass into marble tile as he wakes up.

  A tall man enters the room and smiles at him, and Joonmyun zeroes in on the way his eye twitches when he does, wishing it to stop. The man watches him carefully, and it’s not censorious, not at all. It’s questioning. “You know me.”

  “I don’t.” Joonmyun doesn’t.

  “You do.”

  “I don’t!” Joonmyun doesn’t, and it annoys him that this person -this stranger- is lying to him. “I don’t,” he repeats a little quieter.

  “You do.”

  “No.” A push and the man falls away from him, out of his bubble. “I don’t.”

  The man shakes his head, pushing himself back to his feet. The look he gives him is hurt, upset, but Joonmyun doesn’t notice. A blanket is thrown over him, his fingers clutching it closer to his body. “When will you get your mind back?”

  The question bumps around in his brain. “I haven’t lost it.” And the man gives him a look. “Have I?”

  “Just about.”

  “No.” then, “I loved someone.” The man nods in encouragement, but that’s all Joonmyun has. He looks back to the pink flowers, eerily familiar and it eases the dull throb in his head. “I’m broken.”

  He glances around him, but all he sees are blue skies.