But hope can also drive you insane.

It had been over a year, and Lukas was closer to being 18 than he was to 17, and not a sign of the man in all that time. They searched, all of them did for a single sign, any detail that could prove he was okay; that he was alive.

Spring had come late that year. It was early May, and the flowers were only now beginning to fully bloom. Clovers largely populated the lawn, at which Lukas laughed humorlessly. The words the florist had spoken those years ago invaded his mind, impossible to repress - "the heather and the clover complement each other at the end of the day". The memory made him sour, but not as much as the other's confusion at the time. The Dane had not understood the hints but Lukas didn't miss them, couldn't have missed them. A sharp stabbing pain like he had been impaled run through his chest, earning no response. He was used to it.

Sometime in late autumn all his optimism he had mustered up fell like a stone to the bottom of a deep lake, falling painfully slowly. Believing that he was alive was tough from the beginning, doubt always creeping in the crude shadows, whispering unnerving things in his ear.

They hadn't been able to dismantle his room. That would be too final. Lukas hadn't thought himself as sentimental, and yet he wasn't so sure any longer; the barrette had been hidden in an old mint box he had found, placed deeply in the wardrobe along with the violin. Out of reach, and furthermore out of sight. It took months for him to gather the courage to open the door to his room, the light filtering in onto the wooden floorboards. The room was surprisingly clean, he had thought, noting Érik probably cleaned the room til it shone.

The saddest part was it didn't feel like his room anymore. All his clothes were gone rather than sprawled out in piles on the floor, and the bed sheets were done up neatly rather than lazily and in an unkempt way. All the little trinkets were gone from the shelves and desk, creating an empty, desolate feeling. Slowly, he went to sit on the bed, falling back into the pillow, curling up. It still smells like him, he thought, clenching onto the pillow case like his life depended on it. He knew Emil slept in there sometimes, comforted by the room and the smell of the blonde who had left them. If Lukas closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that he was just in another room, not wherever he was now. A lonely tear rolled down his face, dripping from his chin onto the covers.

With a sigh, he dragged himself up. He found no comfort in the room, only an overwhelming sadness that he couldn't control or take. His fingers traveled subconsciously to his forearm, rubbing it gently over the skin as he looked around the room a final time, closing the door with a gentle click.

In the room next door, he could hear through the slightly ajar door a few voices and the familiar buzz of a laptop; Tino had saved up enough over the time to buy a second-hand one for himself. As a rule of thumb he facecamd with Berwald every few days, if not everyday. Ever since the accident, the Finn had become increasingly anxious about his boyfriend over in Sweden, freaking out non-stop whenever he flew home or back to Stockholm, as could be expected. Through the gap in the door the Norwegian could see Berwald's face on the screen, joined by a ginger boy with a paint smudge on his cheek. Berwald looked mildly unamused with the boy's antics but Tino chuckled happily in the dimness of his room.

He walked outside into the front garden. His younger brother sat lazily in his wheelchair, his phone practically glued to his hands. He was gaining more and more friends these days, Lukas noted. There was a girl related to Francis in some way called Michelle he spent time with, as well as the sister to a particularly irritable Swiss boy he had shared a few classes with called Lilli. And obviously there was Leon, who always took care of him to the Icelander's embarrassment. Lukas ruffled his hair on his way past, Emil's hand instinctively raising to protect himself, a pout and a frown painted on his features. Lukas just smiled lightly at him, rolling his sleeves down subconsciously after noting they had been rolled up. He grabbed the empty laundry basket lying at the foot of the house, before making his way though the gate to the backyard, oblivious to Emil's concerned look as he left.

He decided to take his mind off everything, and just do his chores and concentrate on anything but the lack of warmth and joy in the house. He pulled the washing now dry from the long day in the mild sun into the basket, taking his time to do things. There was no rush after all.

He could hear the newest letter from their mother crinkling in his pocket as he moved. She was getting better, and her words sounded just like he remembered her before their father's death. She heard voices, which worried him, but she said she was learning to cope with them. She had asked them to visit her, and he was unsure how to reply. The child in him hadn't completely forgiven her, even though he now knew it was more than met his at the time completely innocent eye.

He heard a car pull up in the drive way. He figured it was Érik, from the sound of his voice as he spoke to Emil, although he spoke softly and Lukas couldn't make out a word of it. He shrugged half-halfheartedly to himself, deciding to use the back door to enter with the washing since it made no difference and he didn't feel like talking to Érik right now; he reminded him too much of Mathias. He sighed entering the house, stopping in his tracks as he heard a startled shout outside. The voice was Emil's.

He rushed out through the door, the basket uncomfortably positioned under his arm, eyes on Emil. His brother's face was deathly pale, his violet eyes staring into the distance in disbelief.

"Emil what's..." He was cut off by his brother tugging at his sleeve, a long, slim finger pointing in front of him soundlessly. He looked in the direction of the finger.

The basket fell onto the ground with a loud bang, clothes falling out from the sides. His hands trembled, his heart beat accelerating. Tears welled up in his eyes and he forgot how to breathe. Because in front of him stood a man he knew better than himself.

The man talking to Érik was Mathias Køhler.

He watched Érik and Mathias speak to each other in Danish, too shell shocked to say anything or do anything other than stare at the other. When he dropped the washing, Mathias' eyes flickered to him for only a second, seeming startled. They were his eyes but they felt.. different. Emptier almost. Not in a lack of emotion sort of way but in a way he couldn't explain.

But what hurt the most was his lack of a response upon seeing him. Lukas' chest was fit to burst, and he couldn't move, his face red and eyes watering. And with Mathias there was... well, nothing.

"Lukas," Emil whispered, not moving his eyes away from the man, his own cheeks stained by tears that had silently traversed across his smooth cheeks. "Something feels wrong." Lukas could only nod. Something did feel wrong to the point he felt like retching. He caught Mathias' eyes flick to him once more, a light smile on the Dane's lips in his direction, but it wasn't the same as the smile he treasured, the one he knew. He couldn't force his face to reciprocate the expression, leaving it an emotionless blank.

Érik turned around then, motioning for Mathias to follow him which he did. "Mathias," he said as they got to the front door, "Meet Lukas and Emil."

Lukas had never been impaled slowly and painfully with a javelin but he imagined it felt a bit like how he felt. He felt his heart plummet, shattering almost like it did when he had first lost him. He and Emil looked at Érik in desperation and confusion. He just smiled sadly as an answer. Mathias put out a hand for Lukas to shake with a polite smile.

"It's nice to meet you," he said. Lukas hesitated before reaching out and shaking it, not saying a word. His hand felt just like it had all that time ago. He looked and felt and even smelt like Mathias but it just wasn't him.

Mathias let go and bent down slightly to attempt to shake Emil's hand, the teenager shaking his head and not complying, hence why Mathias straightened up and dropped his arm again.

"I... suppose we were close once," Mathias whispered. Lukas laughed quietly, making the other turn in his direction.

"Yeah, you could say that."

It took all his willpower to say that without crying cry. Even more to not throw himself into Mathias' arms. To not embrace him tightly and sob into his shoulder, into that sweater that would smell like him, under which his chest would rise and fall gently and he would be able to hear his heart beating gently. Érik patted Mathias' shoulder and went inside with a monotonous expression on, probably to find Tino.

Mathias furrowed his brows. "From what Éri- eh, dad said we were like brothers?"

Lukas took a shaky breath, nodding slowly. Mathias shook his head, running a hand through his hair.

"I'm sorry," he breathed. He smiled at him, but his eyes expressed deep melancholy. It didn't suit him.

At that moment, Tino peeked through the door, freezing up, tears cascading down his round almost child-like face in a split second. He ran up to Mathias, who stiffened, wrapping his arms around his torso, the taller patting him gently on the back, unsure what to do. Looking away, Lukas pulled the younger boy away, unable to look at his confused gaze which he directed first at him, then at Mathias.

"Amnesia," Mathias whispered, "I have amnesia."

W EL P. Okay this took far longer than expected to get to writing I'm so sorry. But hey Mathias is back ahha love me. Please.