A/N: Just a quickie update. Thank you so much for all the feedback and advice from my reviewers! I've been moving, so this might be the last update for a while!

Forgotten
Chapter Three: Who Am I?

Shuichi did not know that he was Shuichi.

His head felt crowded, thoughts swimming lethargically past his brain, past his consciousness. It was warm where he was. It was quiet and peaceful.

But there were blips in his peace. There were tiny shocking moments of pain, small words being whispered around him, names he didn't know, and concepts he didn't understand. Moments of awareness where he was alone in a small room that smelled of sanitation and organized chaos. Moments of darkness with dreams of a man he didn't recognize.

And then there was pain in his arm and he woke up for the last time, coming fully out of his stupor with shocking abruptness. A young woman was taking wires and tape from his arm, extracting the fluid that was being pumped into him.

Everything was a blur. He couldn't remember why he was here or what had happened. He couldn't remember names or faces. There was a man in the doorway; he had very long reddish brown hair and dark eyes that seemed relieved to see him, happy in some way he didn't understand.

There were words, buzzing through the air, passing from the man to the woman, laughter from her, a smile from him.

He began to cry. Unable to understand. Why was he here in this small, brightly lit room, machines around him, oxygen being pumped through his nose? The woman at his side bent to face him, a small understanding smile on her face. Her voice was reaching him but he couldn't grasp words she said.

Then the man, taking his hand and looking at him with those dark eyes, full of worry and confusion.

The tears burned. The world seemed large and full of disorganized thoughts.

The haze was lifting. He caught small snippets of words, small concepts that his brain processed slowly. He cried harder.

The faces of the man and women pulled away. Whispers not meant for him were dancing on the outer range of his consciousness. He tried to take in small things. He was sitting. A bed. A machine. Person, male, female. He understood and recognized these things. His body, his hair, feeling, smell, taste, sight. But where was he? Why couldn't he understand words? Why couldn't he hear them clearly, like they were being played on fast forward through his mind?

He held his hands over his ears. Too much. Too much.

The man was back, right next to him, in his range of vision, in his range of hearing. He seemed to speak slower, making sure he caught all the words.

"Shuichi, what's wrong?"

Simple question. What's wrong? But what was a Shuichi?

He looked around, whimpering, bewildered, overcome.

He tried to speak. To voice the things he needed to say to understand what was happening to him. The syllables came out garbled, mashed together by his unpracticed tongue, his untrained ear. It took a few moments, a lot of stuttering to get his point across.

Dawning comprehension and then abrupt sadness came into the man's eyes as he spoke.

"Who… Am… I?"

Shuichi did not know that he was Shuichi.

End-4