When he wakes up, the first thing that washes over him is a peculiar feeling. Although he's straight out of a deep sleep, he feels uneasy, stressed. Like he's been through something he doesn't understand. Something that's even harder to remember. It's like he's struck by electric impulses every time he blinks, and every time his eyes close, he sees something. He can't hold on to the images inside his head, it's like they're governed by a strange magnetism. Whenever he thinks he can bring them out, they disappear. Taken by an invisible force. Making them impossible to remember.

He tries to keep his eyes closed, hoping it will coax an image out but he's left disappointed. It's black underneath his eyelids. Totally empty. He understands that something happens when he blinks, that muscle contraction acts as a catalyst for that brief part of a second. Not letting him in on anything, although he wants to.

He swings his legs over the side of his bed and bends over, reaching for his glasses on the floor. As he puts them on, he does remember something. It passes through him, as he blinks. He straightens up. What was that? Just now? He tries to keep it close, the memory. Tries to hold on to it. It was white. And warm.

He tries to bring it back, putting his head in his hands in a futile attempt to concentrate, but no fluttering eyelids can make him see. Make him feel. The moment is gone. Like it never happened.

He stands up and walks the two or so paces over to his desk. According to his phone, it's early in the afternoon. He sighs at the discovery. It's impossible for him to not feel uncomfortable realising that the rest of his family have been up for hours already, tending to the inn. Letting him sleep. The feeling of embarrassment creeps up on him, making him slightly reluctant to take the step and emerge from his room, but he does after some convincing. Jet lag. Horrible.

It's quiet as he walks through the door, down the hall and down the stairs.

"Hello? Excuse me?" He scoffs slightly as soon as his understands the impact of his words. He really feels like a stranger in his own home. That realisation stings a bit.

"Yuuri?" A voice travels down to where he stands, right by the stairs. He could recognise that voice anywhere.

"It's me, mom." He exhales, trying to make that tremble inside go away. "I'm home now."

Hurried steps resound from the kitchen. He knows the amount of steps, the number of seconds before he they'll be standing in front of each other. Face to face for the first time in five years. Sixteen steps, and roughly nine seconds, that's all it'll take. If she doesn't run. He starts to count.

She doesn't run. But when she emerges, he starts to. He doesn't get his speed up, they're too close being nothing more than five steps apart, but he wants to hurry. He needs to. He wants some of the emptiness he feels inside to go away. No, he wants it to be filled, he wants to press a lot into that void.

"Hi darling," she says, arms around him. Patting his back. "How was your trip?"

"It was fine. I'm sorry."

She pushes him away a little, keeps him at an arm's length away from herself. "Sorry? What for, Yuuri?"

"Oh, a lot of things." He shrugs her hands off, trying to be as gentle as he possibly can. After all, it's not her fault. None of this is.

"If it's about not coming home, don't be. We couldn't make it to your graduation either." She smiles and puts a hand to his cheek. "Go to the dining hall, I'll make you something to eat."

He feels her eyes on him when he does what she told him to. Feeling his bottom lip tremble with every step.

It's like time never bothers that place. His childhood home. Everything is where it always has been. The family photos, the little bell on the front desk, the picture of the bay outside Hasetsu on the far side of the dining hall. Even his room, it has always looked the same. The only thing acting as an evidence to the passing of time is his family. They have all aged, and so has he.

Strange how the paradox affects him. Filling him with prickles of comfort and loss at the same time. He doesn't know if it's all nostalgia, but it feels like it becomes important to look at them, to really look at them. His mom, his dad, his sister. Even though the inn won't change, they will. He wants to remember them before it becomes too late, before the memories aren't available to him anymore. He doesn't understand where that desperation comes from, it's new and unfamiliar. It feels strange when that sensation makes itself known.

"What's up with you?" His sister tries to get a cigarette out of the packet she fished out of the pocket of her apron. He reckons she's bothered by his unintentional stare.

"Nothing." He averts his eyes, feeling embarrassed with being caught. He didn't mean to, he just got… lost, somehow.

"Then, come help me. We have rooms to clean."

A small smile teases the corners of his mouth as she turns around. It's not only the inn that makes it feel like time has stood still. His sister is treating him like he's always been there, not saying anything about his five years being away and not coming home. Like he's the little brother. His parents are doing their best to make it appear like that too, like he's never been gone. He can't help but wonder why, and finally decides that they're probably thinking that it'll be easier for him. That it'll make the transition coming home a lot less dramatic. Not as full of expectations?

"So…" He begins hesitantly, walking behind her. Feeling like he should make some kind of conversation at least. "What's new?"

"Ah, you know," she exhales, the cigarette smoke enveloping her in a small cloud, "nothing really. How about you, little brother? What's new?"

There's so much he would like to tell her. If he dared. If he felt like they had that connection, that relationship. She has always been the big sister, in all aspects and he still feels small, sometimes even inferior in comparison. He answers in the only way he knows how. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

"Hmm…" She puffs out another cloud of smoke. And another. "Wat'cha gonna do?"

"Eh?" The question surprises him. It makes him wonder if she is actually trying to have a conversation with him as an adult. He's not sure, and answers accordingly. "Cl… clean the rooms with you?"

She scoffs before she puts out the cigarette against the sole of her slipper, shoving the sad little excuse of delight back in the packet. "Not now. Later. In the future. You have plans, don't you?" She sounds awfully blasé to him.

"I… I kind ofㅡ"

"Yuuko's married with three kids, you know. Honestly, Yuuri. What are you going to do with your life?"

The words cuts him deep. Why did his sister feel the need to compare him to a childhood friend? The one that stayed. In Hasetsu. His thoughts take off, fills his head like a swarm. She has never felt the need of searching. Everything she ever wanted was here. For her to find.

He realises that he's not sure who he is referring to in his mind. His sister or his childhood friend. Also, he regrets everything negative he's ever thought about their big sister-little brother relationship up until now. He really wants to be that little brother no one has grown-up conversations with, all of a sudden. It was easier being that person. The one being small, too small to understand things about life.

"Don't get me wrong," his sister continues as she pulls apart the sliding doors to the room they both stopped in front of. "It's good that you're here and all, mom's happy and dad is too, but they gave you a chance. You realise that, don't you? So," she walks into the room and starts stripping the futon mattresses on the floor of their bedclothes, "do something."

"Mari, I, um... kind of…" The silence is awkward, a good description of how he's feeling.

She walks towards him with the bedclothes pouring over her arms. She hands them to him with a little sigh. "I hear you. Don't take forever figuring it out. Okay?" She slides past him without even stopping.

It's strangely comforting. The monotony, the seemingly endless days repeating themselves. He falls into the routines without even questioning them. To him, it feels like a saving grace. It gives him a little more time. Time he probably should spend on other things than pushing things away, being alone. Not making any decisions.

His procrastination is sustained by the well-meant, but ineffective, silence from his family. They don't want to push him, he realises. They are just happy that he's home. Although the feeling of them having their eyes on him, silently judging him and his inexplicably bad skills when it comes to making decisions, picking paths, is something he just cannot shrug off. He feels like it's an elephant in the room. Him coming home after years abroad, not taking charge of his life. Just bobbing along, waiting for greater things to happen.

It's when he has days like that, he's happy to have someone he feels like he can talk to. Although it's been more than a month already since they parted ways, connecting with Phichit has always been easy. It's like they can pick up where they left off, it's not strange at all. They just fall into each other's descriptions of everyday life, without no effort.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Yuuri," Phichit says over a video chat using Skype. "It feels the same, still?"

"It does. You know, I have never felt so lost, so out of place." He frowns a little. "I thought that coming home would make something happen. Like, open up something. Make me reconnect with… well, myself really, but it's the opposite. Argh, I just don't know what to do!"

"Do you feel pressured? I mean, do they say anything about you not knowing what to do?"

"Well, Mari kind of has. Mom and dad keeps a low profile. I just can't stop imagining what they think. What they really think of me."

"Stop it, can't you hear yourself? There's nothing wrong with not knowing what to do. You know what? Is it okay if I make you to think of something else?"

"Please!" He laughs by the seriousness of Phichit's voice.

"You know… Hah, I'm a bit embarrassed to tell you this but I kind of want you to know. On Facebook, there's this groupㅡ"

"Don't tell me you did? Phichit!"

"Hey, don't judge me! Keep an open mind until I'm done telling you about it, okay? Anyway, yes I did. I sent a message to the admin of that group. He's posted my story and contact info so… who knows, Yuuri? There might be someone else out there."

"I really hope that you didn't use your real name or anything because… well, I know that he totally rubbed you the wrong way, but Victor had a point when he had his lecture. About people looking for cues? You know, people that might actually not be so, uh… well?"

"Do you think I'm an idiot? Of course I didn't post my real name! I gave out another e-mail address too, so don't worry. I mean, if there are people out there with the same experiences, they will get it by that brief description, I'm sure."

"Phichit, forgive me for sounding harsh but… what good will it do? I mean, suppose that there are people out there with the same experiences as you, the same dreams… what then? What do you think you'll end up with?"

Phichit becomes quiet for a while, before he answers. "Honestly? I'm not sure but there's something that tells me that they are important. The dreams, I mean. Like there's something I just don't understand about them, you know? And if I, no, when I find out, it'll make perfect sense."

Yuuri thinks to himself that he still doesn't understand how it could be that important to his friend, but decides against saying anything else. After all, he secretly wished that he could find something he would get invested in, himself. Something that would make him feel at ease. Certain about… well, anything. But that was wishful thinking as far as he was concerned.

"I hope someone will step forward, Phichit. I really do.

"Thanks. I hope so too. I'm not hanging up my life around it, though it would be fantastic if there was someone out there who… ah, nevermind. Oh, Yuuri, I have to go. Talk to you later, okay?"

"Sure. I was thinking about going to bed anyway so… See you later, Phichit."

"You too. Take care. Oh, and Yuuri?"

"Mhm?"

"Don't be so hard on yourself, okay? Good night."

"Night."

He closes his laptop with a sigh. He was alone. Again. Wondering if the bothersome feeling would ever subside.

Phichit started to have peculiar dreams by the age of fourteen. When his parents divorced and his father took him to their new home in Bangkok, that's when they started. With him being alone in his new room, in a new home, in a new city. Without the access to both of his parents. Feeling lost beyond compare.

He still remembered the first dream he had, like it was yesterday. It was strange to him, like he'd been somewhere else. He thought of it to be a laboratory, or maybe even a hospital at first. The clinical whiteness of it all made it easy for him to draw such conclusions. He could hear voices around him, feel presences too, but it was impossible to see them. To really see them. He was always blinded by a whiteness that didn't come from the surroundings. More like it had an ethereal source.

It took a while for him to, what he always thought of describing the phenomenon anyway, ease into them. The dreams. They weren't frequent for the first couple of years, which made it difficult to get comfortable with them. They never scared him, they just left a strange feeling when he woke up. Thinking that he'd been through something important. Although he could almost remember that he'd had them, experienced them rather, it wasn't until later when they started impacting him. When he actually remembered them, when they left behind emotions and a strange state of mind.

It happened when the whiteness went away for the very first time.

-xoxo-

"Good morning." The voice was still the only thing standing out, in all the blinding white. It wasn't his, though. This belonged to someone else, someone he'd been speaking to several times by now. He'd just started to remember the sound of the voice. Slightly authoritarian, decisive. A natural born leader, it seemed.

"Good morning. Did you sleep well?" This is his voice, at least in this context. It's nothing like his own, it's deeper, more mature. He stopped fighting it a long time ago, stopped trying to make his own resound through the body he still hadn't seen.

"Very much so. Are there others coming today?"

"Yes, three more. Then, we'll be a full crew."

"Fair enough."

"You sound sad, almost. Why?"

"Oh, I was getting used to it being the three of us here, that's all."

"They'll be qualified, nothing to worry about." He feels his body turn. His eyes are probably trying to look at something he cannot see. "Oh, where isㅡ" Again, that static. As always when someone is about to get mentioned by name. The dull noise that drowns out everything. He still knows nothing about them, the other two keeping him company. Except the sound of their voices.

"Still sleeping, I take it."

"Do I need to go?"

"No, it's fine. They won't be here for some time. Don't worry."

He feels himself walk off. Walk for some time, in a seemingly endless, white corridor. Strange, how details start to emerge whenever he walks away from the other people, that is what he labels them inside of himself anyway, when the complete whiteness slowly fades away. Only to be substituted with more white, although not enveloping. Something that feels real.

He has something to do. It's with purposeful strides he walks down the hall, before he suddenly turns to his right. He's done this numerous times by now, this walk. This turn. This opening of the second door to the left. Where he will remain for hours on end, monitoring screens, writing down numbers on different sheets of paper, comparing them to other sheets of paper. He still doesn't understand what it is he's doing, but he understands that he's taking his time. Doing it right. It must be important, or else he wouldn't be this diligent. Making sure that nothing gets overlooked.

It feels like a minute or so have passed, but considering the amount of data written down in neat rows on pieces of paper, graphs showing up on screens in front of him, how tired he's starting to feel… It must have been hours. It's strange how time feels here, how it flows, how it's perceived. He stretches out, making a little noise as his muscles are filled with blood before he relaxes.

He gets startled when a buzzing sound is heard, making him stand up and walk over to a device. Whilst pressing it he speaks. "Yes?"

"They're here. Come over."

"Observatory?"

"Sure, we'll take them there."

He feels a bit excited. He has been looking forward to meeting the rest of the people he will be spending an undisclosed amount of time with. He walks briskly through the hallway again, hearing his pulse resound in his ears. He starts to jog a little, thinking that he's probably the last one to arrive. He feels a bit bothered by the fact, but at least he's done what is expected of him.

He opens the door, and that whiteness takes over.

"Hello, I'm so sorry for letting you wait!" He extends his hand, feels it being squeezed not once, not twice but three times. Different sensations with every handshake, although the hands and their owners remain invisible to him. One hand feels larger than the others, one feels kind of soft. The last one feels like it's trying too much. His hand stings a bit. He understands that they present themselves, hearing that dull noise again. "You've said hello already?" He understands that he nods towards the other two that have been keeping him company.

"Yes, we have. And you? You're not going to tell them your name?"

He laughs, feeling a bit silly that he'd forgotten the point of introducing oneself. "I'm sorry," he says with the embarrassment colouring his voice. "I'm Ogma."

He only has a couple of seconds to register what is happening. It's not white anymore. Five people are standing before him, but he can't really focus. It feels like he's being pulled away, his vision gets blurry and he silently hopes, silently prays that he will remember them now that he's been given the opportunity to see.

-xoxo-

He wakes up with a jolt. It's still dark, but there he is. Wide awake. It feels different now, he realises. It's like he has woken up with a new understanding. He doesn't quite get of what, exactly, but inside him, there's a calm.

He feels a happiness inside, too. They're not fleeting anymore. The dreams. He remembers the one he just had perfectly, although he wanted to know more. Know more about the people he'd been orbiting around, off and on for years, only distinguished by the sound of their voices. He was just about to see them, really see them, before he was whisked away. Ending up in his own bed, not feeling tired at all.

He walks over to his desk and rips out a page from his notebook. He writes down the one thing he remembers clearly. It was his name. Not his name, but the other him, the him he becomes every now and then when he sleeps. The knowledge of finding out who he is, who he really is, feels like a monumental gain. Even though it's only his name. Somehow, knowing his name feels like a key to something else.

He folds the paper up and puts it inside the drawer of his nightstand.

I will make you known to me. You just wait. He laughs, surprised by his thought full of purpose. I'll find out all about you.

He feels his phone buzzing in his pocket when he's almost drifting off to sleep in his bed. He decides to look, he might just as well since it's late and he's still fully clothed. He needs to take care of that and go to bed properly.

"Phichit, huh?" He squints, having a hard time to see without his glasses. 'Get online NOW!' He writes him back, asking him if he know what time it is and that he was going to sleep. Another message lights up his phone. 'You don't want to miss this!'

He sighs, and does what he's told. As his laptop is booting up, he walks out of his room and over to the bathroom to start brushing his teeth. He can't help himself, he feels a little curious. A silly thought passes through his mind. Maybe Phichit has found something, maybe a new paper or some other kind of publication from… He scoffs. What, Victor Nikiforov?

He feels a little sting inside. Like scoffing and thinking of him whilst doing it creates some kind of discord. He doesn't want it to. To sting, anyway.

He returns to his room, still whisking around his toothbrush in his mouth. He starts Skype, and Phichit pops up within seconds.

"Hey are you… What are you doing?"

"Bwusshin muh teef," he responds, froth taking over his mouth.

"Oh, I can see that. Anyway, you don't have to talk, you can just listen. Remember the group I got something posted in?"

Yuuri holds up a finger in front of the computer screen, gesturing Phichit to wait as he returns to the bathroom. He spits out the excess toothpaste and froth in his mouth before walking back to his room, slightly annoyed that he was woken up by something so trivial. He'd forgotten about it at least, Phichit looking for answers and resorting to Facebook, being a few weeks since they last spoke.

"I'm back," he declares as he sits down in front of the laptop. "Now, I do remember. What about it?"

It seems like Phichit is holding his breath, like he's going to burst any second if he can't tell him what is on his mind right this second. "I got an answer!"

Yuuri looks at him. He understands that he must convey an air of indifference, seeing how Phichit's excited expression turns into something more sour.

"I got an answer, Yuuri! I think… I think it's for real!"

"Wait, what? The dreams, you mean?"

"No, not the dreams, silly! The people! There are other people having them! I told you, I knew it!"

"I… uh… Congratulations?"

"Wow, aren't you excited?"

"I guess? I… yes, okay. I'm happy for you. This is something you've been thinking about for a long time so… But wait, Phichit?"

"Yes?"

"How do you know that they're not random crazies? How do you know?"

"I asked them questions, of course."

Yuuri sighs. He loves his best friend, he really does but sometimes… Everything is too simple, too unproblematic to him that he can't help but worry. They're opposites in that regard, Phichit being easy going and taking everything that comes his way with a smile while he, on the other hand is… more guarded, afraid of letting people in.

On the inside, he scoffs but he manages to keep his voice from sounding too judgmental. "You asked them questions?"

"Of course," Phichit retorts. "Stuff that only people having these dreams could ever know about. They… they just knew, Yuuri. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"I… I think I do. There are other people supposedly sharing your dreams?"

"Well, of course, that's what I just told you! No Yuuri, it's like…" Phichit pauses, like he's trying to find the right words, the right expression to use without it becoming strange. He looks away as he's thinking, before he looks straight into the camera on his computer. "Yuuri, it means that there… there are others like me."