A tune comes to me and I touch a few of the keys on the instrument. I smile. It sounds nice in my ears. I can recognize the song that I'm playing. What's the name? I don't know but I like it. There are words that should go with it, but I don't remember them. I let my fingers move as they will, and they don't falter. The song is easy and playful. It slows down and speeds up at points. It is sweet to listen to. I don't know how I learned it but the chords and melodies are like an old friend to me.

The end is slow, and it finishes with a dissonance. I open my eyes again and wipe the tears from my face. I didn't realized I was crying again. I hear applause from behind me and turn to see where it's coming from. There is a man who looks to be in his late teens or early twenties sitting by the window clapping for me. I wave at him and he gestures for me to come see him. I maneuver my wheelchair around the furniture and park next to him, looking out the window.

He speaks first. "That was beautiful. Where did you learn?"

I shrug. "I don't know. I can't remember."

"Oh…. Amnesia?" I nod. "What type?" I think back to what the nurse told me.

"I think she said Traumatic." I nod. That sounds right.

He nods. "If you don't mind my asking, what caused it?"

"Well, obviously I don't remember it, but they told me I was in an accident. I was hit by a car."

"That's unfortunate. When did you get here?"

"Yesterday, I think. Maybe two days ago. I just woke up this morning. At least, I think it was morning. What time is it?"

He points to the clock on the wall. "Half past four in the afternoon. Two hours till dinner."

"Thanks." We sit quietly for a while before I ask, "What's your name?"

He pseudo-smiles. "Jean Kirstein. Yours?"

I frown. "I don't know." I look up at him. "But it's nice to meet you, Jean."

"Yeah. You too." We look out the window for a while. When I look back at him his face is twisted into a scowl and he seems deep in thought.

"Jean? You okay?" He looks up, startled.

"Oh. Yeah, I'm fine. I do that a lot. Sorry." He smiles, but something about it is off. His eyes still look sad.

"Are you sure?" He nods and looks back outside.

Out the window I can see a city. Lots of cars are passing on the street below but I can't hear them. There are lights everywhere. I can see people walking down the street, some of them alone and some accompanied. They're all walking so fast. I wish I could be down there walking with them. That would be nice. I sigh.

"Hey Jean?" He hums in response. "What's the name of this city?"

"New York City, New York."

"I think I've heard of it. Somewhere." He looks at me.

"It's one of the most famous cities in the world. It's a symbol of liberty and independence, or something like that."

"Oh. I didn't know that. Well, I probably did at one point." I huff.

Jean hums. "So… what can you remember? Wait- sorry. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want."

I put up my hands to show it's alright to ask. "No no, it's fine. I'm not sensitive about it. I remember what I look like. And of course how to play piano. But other than that… nothing."

"Nothing?" I shake my head. "So… your family?"

"I don't know. I might not have one, as far as I can tell."

"And your friends? Girlfriend? Boyfriend?" I shake my head.

"No idea. I don't know where I'm from so I can't contact them. I think I had friends. At least, I hope. I mean, I can't have been that much of a loser, right? There has to be someone out there looking for me. Right?" I realize I'm crying again. Have I always cried this much? I don't know. I wipe my eyes and sniffle. "I'm just confused." I put on another big smile, but I can feel it's fake.

Jean puts his hand on my shoulder. "Hey, I know what it's like to lose your friend." I look at him.

"You do?" He nods.

"It's kind of why I'm here." He pulls his hand back and looks out the window. He waits a minute before continuing. "My uh… my boyfriend. Marco. He died a while ago." He takes a deep breath. "It was… sudden and unexpected. I mean, I tried to cope. I thought I had let go of it. But…" He closes his eyes. Clearly it's not easy for him to talk about. I put my hand on his shoulder. He breaths again.

"Depression. My family thinks I'm a danger to myself. And to be fair I kind of am. They dealt with me for a while but… I guess it was just too much for them. Mom still visits sometimes. But Dad… well he didn't really want me to be with Marco. He thinks Marco just ruined my life all together, alive and dead. But he didn't. Marco couldn't ruin a life if he tried. He was too nice."

He sighs and stops speaking for a couple minutes. Then he continues. "I just… Marco was… he was the world to me. I didn't know who I was without him. We were like two halves that made up a whole. And then one half was gone, and I was lost." The heartache is apparent in his voice.

"I'm sorry." He doesn't respond. "Marco. What was he like?" Jean smiles as if he can see Marco right in front of him.

"His hair was brown and really soft. His eyes… they were beautiful. This brown that was in between chocolate and caramel. And they lit up when he smiled. His smile, it could melt anyone's heart in an instant. And he had freckles, lots of them. They were adorable." He pauses. "And… he always saw the best in people. He didn't hate anyone, and he was impossible to dislike.

"He deserved the best. And I always tried to give it to him. He was just so… so pure. He… I don't know what kind of miracle it was that he liked me. I didn't deserve someone as great as he was." He stops, gulping down a giant breath and covering his mouth. After a few seconds he puts his hand down, bites his lip, and keeps going.

"We were going to get married, when he finished school. I… when he… when he died. I… I couldn't… he was my everything. His smile was what I looked forward to every day. I just… I'm never going to see that smile again. And how do I just give him up? I can't pretend he didn't exist. It would be like… giving up everything that I am. He defined me."

He's crying, but he looks so angry. I don't what I can say that will make him feel better. I don't remember comforting people. I take his hand and squeeze it.

"I can't pretend to know how you feel. When I heal- if I heal –I can just go back home to where I came from. It will be normal again. But losing someone like that… you're right. You can't pretend he didn't exist. What you two had must've been incredible, and I don't know if I've ever felt something like that. Or if I ever will. And… even though he's not here he's still… here. I mean, if everyone loved him then they won't forget him. And as long as he's remembered, he's… alive, so to speak. Like… if an artist dies, their art stays the same. And people can look at it and still feel the way they would if the artist were alive. If that makes any sense." That doesn't even make sense to me.

Jean tries to smile. "You're really something? You know that?"

I smile. "Thanks… I think." We sit quietly for a while until Jean is more calmed down.

"Can I ask a favor?" I nod. "Can you play that song again? I liked it."

I smile. "Yes, of course."

Jean stands and wheels me over to the piano. "Thanks," I say. I put my hands onto the piano and close my eyes. The first few chords play, and then the melody starts. Playing it feels like… home. I can hear the vocal part in my head, and I hum it along with the piano. The words are still a mystery, but the tune is easy to remember. I didn't know I could sing. I wonder where I learned.

Who did I play for before this? Did I have a sibling? Best friend? Significant other? Did I only ever play for myself? Maybe. I don't think I could've learned by teaching myself. I must've had a teacher. Were they male or female? Were we related? How long have I played piano? So many questions. I just want answers.

Something's missing from the music, I realize. The pedals. I'm supposed to use them. But I can't move my legs. What if I never can? What if the music is always missing something?

It takes me a while to realize I've stopped playing. I open my eyes. Jean is staring at my hands on the keys.

"That song. Do you know what it's called?" I shake my head. "Maybe we could find out what it is. That might help you remember something."

I surprised. "You'd help me get my memories back?" He nods.

"It's not like I have any other plans. Can you try to remember another song?" I frown. Maybe if I…

I place my hands on the piano, this time in a different position. I keep my eyes open and stare at the keys. My fingers start moving hesitantly. This time it's a lullaby. It's pretty. I can almost remember the words, but they slip out of my grasp. I continue. I like it almost as much as I like the other song. It has depth. It makes me think of… a hug. One specific hug. I can feel it, and it's comforting and warm. But I don't know who it's from. I can't tell who it is that's reaching out to me. I finish the song.

Jean claps for me again. "That was really good."

"Thank you. It gave me a memory." My lips tug into a smile.

"Really? What was the memory?" He sounds excited.

"A hug. I don't know who it was from, but I could feel it. It was… nice."

"That's great! That means there's someone out there that might come and find you."

"Yeah, let's hope." My smile fades a little. We sit in silence for a while.

"Hey, I have an idea. It could help you get your memory back."

A/N: I meant to upload yesterday but totally forgot. Sorry! Anyway, that's Jean and his back story! I'M SORRY I MADE A HALF JOKE I COULDN'T HELP IT! I honestly didn't want to kill of Marco but it was just so vital to the story. More details on that are coming up. I can't wait to post the next chapter. Armin makes some progress with his memories!

As always, enjoy, follow, favorite, review, and the like! And go ahead and read some of my other stories!