The man looked around his new-old room, sending a grateful smile to his father who stood in the doorway, his eyebrows knitted. There was no spark in Mathias' eyes at the sight of the room, or any of the furniture in it. On the way there he had paused in front of a photo frame with their whole family, melancholy playing on his features.

Lukas carried Emil up the stairs with Tino carrying his wheelchair after them, neither of the younger two able to take their eyes off the Dane inspecting the house. Lukas, on the other hand, couldn't meet his eyes for a second longer. The pain that struck him every time he saw him was unbearable.

Mathias sat down on the bed, the springs creaking under his weight. He stayed in silence for another few moments, looking around one last time, as though hoping he missed something that could trigger his memory but to no greater avail. He shook his head, running a hand down his face.

"Nothing," he stated with a shrug. Érik took a shaky breath, nodding.

"Alright," he replied, walking up to his son and putting a hand on his shoulder, causing him to look up. "Take your time." Mathias nodded, once more looking at the floor. The oldest man patted him on the back, then, turning away from his son with a pained expression, strode out, down the steps and out the front door with a slam. Lukas more than expected the sound of the car engine to start.

Mathias glanced at the remaining family members from the corner of his eye. Emil decided to wheel himself over to his room, and Tino, after a few false starts and indecisive glances in Mathias' direction, ran to his room too. Lukas couldn't blame them, and he knew Mathias couldn't either. It was all he could do from running away from what was right in front of him himself. Shuddering, he entered the room slowly, falling onto the bed next to Mathias.

"Lukas, right?" Lukas nodded, not being able to look at him. Mathias ran a hand through his messy hair which, Lukas noted, was slightly longer than the last time he saw him. "There's nothing familiar," he said with a shrug, "There's photos of me, us, and yet..." He smiled then, a white-toothed grin almost like those from long ago. Almost. It just didn't reach his eyes. "Don't worry, I'll get there."

After taking a shaky breath, Lukas managed a reply. "But what if you don't? What if you never remember? What then?"

Mathias pouted. "Are you always such a pessimist?" He leant with his back against the wall, azure eyes glued to the ceiling. "There's no knowing until I try, right? Even if it takes a lifetime, it won't stop me trying. I don't want my first memory to be of a hospital room filled with doctors chattering in Danish among themselves, every face one I don't recognise." He turned to Lukas then, with a lop-sided smile. "I want to feel like I've got a home."

Lukas rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and falling back against the wall with him. "At least you're as optimistic as ever."

"We seem like two opposite sides of a coin, you and I," Mathias stated, checking the younger's face, "You sure we were friends?" Lukas felt his heart speed up in his chest, and prayed that his face didn't go red as those words played over and over in his head; 'I love you Lukas.'

"Positive."

The Dane, satisfied with the answer, grinned again. "Hey, at least we get to meet each other all over again. You've stopped wearing that pin from the photos," he pointed out, to which Lukas reacted by reflexively touching the side of his head where there was a lack of the metal clip. He nodded, and Mathias smiled at him again. His smile, however, faltered, falling into a look of confusion and sorrow. Lukas followed his line of sight down to his own arms. His eyes widened as he pulled his sleeves down abruptly, his lips pursed tightly.

"Did you..." Lukas cut him off.

"It's none of your business Mathias." The Dane's face portrayed a look of pain like Lukas had just gravely wounded him with his sharp tongue. After a short silence, he asked,

"Was it... was it because of me?"

He hesitated, slumping down even lower against the wall, fingers gripping the hems of his sleeves tightly to keep them from rolling up. At last he whispered quietly the dreaded reply.

"Yes."

He watched the line of Mathias' shoulders fall, his eyes on his knitted hands, one of his thumbs running gently over the other. He swore quietly under his breath, hiding his face in his hands. The sight of him that way made Lukas' chest hurt, a dull, throbbing pain, as cold as ice.

"I'm sorry," Mathias choked out, his voice husky. Lukas frowned, sitting up to look at him better, unsurely laying a hand on his upper back, drawing circles.

"It wasn't your fault though. Not really." The older blond wiped his eyes with his forearm, the area under his eyes red. He looked at him with a sad smile, nodding lightly. "Plus, it's in the past now."

"Yeah, you're probably right," he laughed gently, almost to himself, "Guess we were close then, huh."

Yeah, Lukas thought, more than you'd ever guess.

A week had passed since Mathias came back from the dead. But it still wasn't their Mathias.

It was strange, Lukas thought, how he sounded and looked and acted just like him but felt like an impostor.

Berwald hadn't helped trigger anything in Mathias either. They had called him the next day to notify him, and the Swede seemed more than relieved until he heard of the problem. While his face masked everything he felt while the new Mathias spoke with him, everyone knew he was conflicted and disheartened. It showed in his eyes.

The week had given him an awful sense of deja vu. It was almost like Mathias had been reverted to his child self again in the way that he was spending time with all of them. In other ways he was much the same as he was over a year ago, such as drinking away his problems. He didn't get drunk but Lukas saw the 19 year old with a bottle of beer in his hand every single one of those nights. It helped him think, he said, just like he had back when he first started drinking the stuff. Lukas severely doubted that though.

Everyone was on edge, Lukas especially. He had mourned Mathias' death, and yet there he was, in the flesh. It was like a dream and a nightmare; he was revived but a part was missing.

He rubbed his arm, wincing lightly, remembering. It was a sick joke that life was playing on him. Emil gets hit by a car, he wakes up from a coma paralysed. Mathias is in a plane crash and tells him he loves him, and comes back not even knowing his name.

He lay back in his bed, with no motivation to get up as it was, and a lack of coffee wasn't helping. It would mean facing the day, facing Mathias, and he wasn't sure he had the strength to look at his face one more time without crying.

He curled up in a ball, burying his face in the soft pillow, laying awake with his eyes closed, trying to silence his ever racing thoughts about Mathias, and think about something else. He had exams starting in a few days, as did Emil and Tino. None of them needed this right now. Frowning, he opened one eye, checking the time.

He groaned, dragging himself up, rubbing his eyes. It was nearing noon, and if he didn't wake up himself someone else would do it for him. He got dressed in the first clothes he saw which lay in a folded pile at the foot of his bed, before brushing his messy hair, using his phone as a mirror.

He paused, staring into his reflection, which thoughtfully looked back at him. The hair at the side of his face covered his ear. It made him look different than when he had worn the barrette given to him by Mathias on the same day he discovered the violin...

It was like a light bulb moment. His eyes flashed to the wardrobe, his heart hammering in his chest. He took a few weary steps before opening the large doors. Inside, just as he remembered it, lay the instrument, with the mint box by its side. Slowly, he touched the wood, a surge of what he could only describe as a comforting warmth filled his chest. Quickly, he opened the box, the pin glinting in the late morning light. He clipped it into his hair, its weight familiar and welcome.

There was no hesitation anymore. Mathias had said himself he was trying, and he wasn't about to sit around twiddling his thumbs. He had an idea.

He just hoped it would work.

Shorter chapter is shorter. Not the shortest I've written though. We're almost at the end of the story. What would you guys say to a spin off if I have the motivation? :')