Steven and I have been talking for hours. I've learnt a lot about him in that time, most of it not from the words coming out of his mouth.
"I bet you get bored in here, don't you?" He asks unexpectedly.
"What makes you say that?" I reply, bemused. He knows me better than I know myself; any information about my character I immediately soak up.
"You hate hospitals," he says, matter-of-fact. He puts his feet up on my bed casually.
"Makes sense. I asked to leave earlier."
This gets his attention. He looks at me carefully, his expression turning serious.
"You did? Why?"
I shrug. "Something about the place. I can't relax."
He frowns at this. "What did they say?"
"That I can't leave until they do more tests, which they are, tomorrow."
"But after that?"
"No place to go. My sister doesn't have anywhere local to stay."
Steven nods knowingly. I wonder how much they've spoken since I've been in here.
"You two are pretty close, right?"
He blinks, surprised. "Cheryl and me?"
I nod.
"Yeah. She's been checking in on me since you've been… away." He twists his fingers awkwardly in his lap, chewing on his bottom lip.
"I'm sorry," I say automatically, even though I don't know what for.
Steven shakes his head. "It's fine."
"Is it?" I look at him, perhaps a little too intently. His gaze shifts away from mine to the floor.
"Let's not go there, okay?"
I sigh, but don't press him further. "You got anyone missing you at home?"
"What?" His gaze snaps back to mine, startled.
"You've been here a long time, that's all." I smile a little helplessly.
"Oh. No, there's no one." He shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
I can tell he's hiding something. I open my mouth to ask but he cuts me off by moving from the seat to my bed. It takes me by surprise, how familiar he is with me. It seems to have the same effect on him, but when he remembers our situation once more the light in his eyes dwindles.
"I brought you something," he says, as if only just remembering.
"You did?"
"You told me to, remember?" He smiles a little, reaching into the bag he left under my bed. "Here."
He takes out a cooler bag and inside there are two sandwiches. Jam sandwiches.
"I thought the hospital food might be a bit shit."
"You got experience with that, kid?"
His face flushes red. "Maybe."
"Why jam?" I ask, holding one of the sandwiches in my hand.
"Your favourite," he says softly, eyes fixed on my face for a reaction.
I take a bite, hoping that's he right. I don't want to disappoint him. Thankfully it tastes good. I feel a strange pleasure ripple through me.
"This is amazing. Are you a chef?" I ask, taking two more large bites.
"It's only a sandwich." He laughs. "But yeah, I am actually." He looks proud of himself as he says this.
"You stayed working at the club for a while though, why?"
I finish one of the sandwiches, licking my fingers clean.
He hands me another before he speaks. "Pretty obvious, isn't it?"
I stare at him blankly; it must be a pretty common expression for me these days.
He flushes again. "Forget it. It's getting pretty late, maybe you should get some sleep."
He stands up and I feel the bed move from the release of his weight. "You're leaving?" My voice comes out strained. I swallow against it.
"No," he says, surprised. "I'm just letting you rest. I'll sleep here." He bunches up his jacket against the back of his seat.
"You sure that's gonna be comfortable?"
"Don't matter." He shrugs. "Get some sleep, yeah?"
"You sure you'll be alright?"
"Stop fussing and sleep. Big day tomorrow."
"Right, yeah." I close my eyes but it takes a while for sleep to come. I hear him shuffle about in his seat, trying to get comfortable. I peek at him out of the corner of my eye, watching as he finally finds a position to sleep in. After that there is only stillness.
It's still dark when I open my eyes again. For a moment I wonder what woke me and then I hear it again: a faint, sniffling sound and a few, short gasps. I close my eyes again but squint into the darkness, finding Steven's outline in the chair. He isn't sleeping but sitting forwards with his head in his hands. He's crying, no doubt about it.
I debate with myself whether I should tell him I'm awake until he takes his hands away and looks at me. I make sure my eyes are fully shut now. I hear him approach the bed, still sniffling quietly into the darkness.
"You awake, Bren?" He asks, barely a whisper. I remain still.
I feel the dip in the bed as he sits down, much closer than he has been so far.
Wordlessly, I feel his hand on my face, the barest of touches. His palm spreads across the stubble on my jaw, his fingers grazing my cheek. His skin is warm and when he draws his hand away, I can still feel where he touched me. He laughs a little to himself, but I can't work out why.
I wonder if that's the end of it, or if he's going to say something to me. I find myself burning with curiosity; it's one thing to sit with me and speak normally as he has been, but quite another to work out what he's really thinking and feeling.
I feel the bed move again and suddenly there's a warm body pressed against me. Steven slots into my arms with apparent ease, as though he's done this countless times without waking me. I have to fight the urge to pull him closer, to bury my nose in his hair and inhale. I don't know where the desire comes from; it can't simply be a bodily reaction to his warmth. There's something about him, not familiar, but as though he should be familiar. I know little of our past together and already I'm burning with the need to discover more.
He moves in my arms, just enough for me to feel his body more acutely against mine. Suddenly it's a different kind of desire shooting through me and I close my eyes tightly, praying that he doesn't feel me against him. Jesus, he feels good though. I can see why I was attracted to him, am attracted to him.
Thankfully, he doesn't stir again. I feel his body go slack in my arms, as though the weight has left him. His sniffles turn into quiet snores and I feel safe enough to look at him properly.
He looks younger as he sleeps; his skin smooth as glass, long eyelashes framing his pale, perfect face. I can see the tiny wisps of hair at the back of his neck, lighter than the hair on top. I feel the strangest urge to touch them with my fingertips, gently so as not to wake him.
It's strangely peaceful in the ward. The lights are off, the only source outside where the doctors and nurses bustle around quietly, half asleep off a twelve hour shift no doubt. I start to remember something, someone, who might have worked in a hospital. The memory is hazy at best, and I push the thought aside for now. Instead I watch Steven again, hoping that somehow his physicality beside me will invoke some memory of him. I'm desperate to learn something, anything, that might make him real to me again.
His mouth parts a little, tongue visible as it rests on his bottom lip. I find him fascinating in every way. There's a scar just above his lip and I wonder what caused it. I pray it wasn't me. I shiver a little at the thought and close my mind against any images which might surface; I don't want my first ones of Steven to be marred by violence.
His tongue darts out further to taste his bottom lip and I find myself licking my own, wondering how his mouth tastes on mine. I push the thought aside; it wouldn't be wise to entertain the idea, especially in Steven's vulnerable state. As if in answer to my thoughts, he mumbles a little in his sleep.
"Brendan." He accompanies this speech with a deep sigh of longing. My chest hurts with the weight of it.
I spend the next few hours watching him, studying every inch of his face. I commit it entirely to memory; there's no doubt in my mind that he's important, that he's key to me regaining my sense of self. More than that, I want to remember him.
When morning finally comes, I realise quickly that I must have dozed off, Steven no longer in my arms.
I push down my disappointment and focus on the day ahead. It's testing day and I'm anxious for the results they might bring. They tell me I'm to have a series of psychiatric examinations. It sounds a bit daunting to me, truth be told. I have no idea what memories might come to the surface, or if they'll tell me they never will.
Cheryl arrives before I'm set to leave. There's someone with her this time, a man.
"You alright, bro?" She places her hand on my arm, squeezing tightly.
"You got here just in time," I tell her, glancing warily at the man behind her, looking sheepishly in my direction. "Who's this?"
Cheryl flushes, looking behind. "This is Nate, my fiancée."
Nate steps forwards and offers me his hand to shake. I do so, trying not to laugh. He seems the prim and proper sort, unsure how to deal with a man he's already met but who doesn't remember him. I imagine Steven attempting the same greeting and fail to hide my smile.
"Someone's in a good mood," Cheryl notes. She looks incredibly pleased about this.
I shrug. "These tests might mean I can get out of here soon."
"Nothing else?" She raises her eyebrows pointedly.
I look away hastily, horrified that I'm actually blushing. Jesus.
"We found a place for us," Nate offers helpfully. He looks a little uncomfortable.
"Oh yeah?" I turn to Cheryl.
"Nate's been relentless. It's lucky he still has some contacts in the area; they were able to rush the contract through for us."
"When?" I ask quickly.
"Couple of days, tops."
I breathe a sigh of relief, flopping weightlessly against the pillows.
The nurse enters then to tell me they're ready for me. I wrap the dressing gown that Cheryl brought for me around my shoulders, fastening it at the waist. I pause when I get a whiff of it, looking at Cheryl quizzically.
"What?" She asks warily.
"Steven been wearing this?"
She starts, astonished. "How do you know that?"
"Smells like him," I murmur, shuffling past her to the door. I can feel her eyes on me until I'm out of the ward.
The nurse leads me into a small office. I take a seat opposite the desk and wait. It isn't long before the doctor enters, female this time. I stand as she closes the door behind her, giving her a small nod.
"Brendan," she greets me, pulling another chair from across the room to join me.
"This seems a bit… informal," I tell her, unable to meet her piercing gaze. She seems a bit young to be a doctor; maybe she's newly qualified, a specialist in the field. I must fascinate her.
"This is only the beginning of what will hopefully be a series of examinations," she says, her voice brisk and to the point.
"What do you wanna know?" I ask, leaning back in my seat.
"I have a series of questions to ask you, nothing too personal."
"What are you trying to find?"
She smiles at this. "The more we know about your current state of mind, the better. I'm not going to lie to you, Brendan. Cases such as yours are… troubling. There's no guarantee you'll successfully regain all of your long term memories."
I nod at this, it isn't news to me.
"Are you ready to begin?"
What follows is over an hour of questioning. My answers are vague and I can't imagine they mean much to her. Even so, she notes them down on a clipboard, retaining her poker face. Towards the end my head begins to ache.
"Thank you, Brendan. That will be all for today."
Silently relieved, I exit the small office.
I make my way back to my room but get confused on the way there. The hospital is practically a maze. Frustrated, I find the nearest available seat which happens to be in the waiting room. I don't know how long I sit there for, staring ahead.
A hand touches my shoulder and I look up slowly.
"Nate?" I say questioningly.
"That's me," he replies, sitting beside me. "Everything okay?" He winces then at the question, as though he's said something stupid.
"Mmm," I murmur, non-committal. "Where's Cheryl?"
"Getting us some coffee. How did it go?"
"What? Oh. Fine." I stare ahead again, my mind blank.
"Is anything…" he trails off awkwardly.
"No. Maybe." I sigh, rubbing my forehead. "It's incredible you know."
"What is?" Nate asks, voice low.
"Not remembering that you love someone."
Nate purses his lips. "I can't even imagine."
"I wonder if that's why he left," I muse out loud, and I realise how much it's been bothering me.
"Ste?"
I look at him in surprise.
Nate sighs, clasping his hands together. "He'll come back."
"You reckon? I'm not even half the man he fell in love with." I swallow thickly.
"He'll come back," Nate repeats, entirely certain.
"How do you know?"
"Because he loves you. Sometimes we love even the broken parts of each other, we find a way through it."
"You sound as though you're speaking from experience."
He smiles a little sadly at this. "She took it hard, losing you."
I bow my head. "Thank you for looking after her for me."
Nate looks up in some surprise. "Of course," he says softly.
We sit in comfortable silence for a while longer. Cheryl was right, I do like him.
She reappears with coffees, her eyes full of questions but her mouth firmly shut. She sits next to me, hands me a coffee and stares into the same space Nate and I have been looking into for some time.