Two and a Half Hours Later – Alex's Hospital Room
The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was the first thing Alex became aware of. His eyelids fluttered open slowly, heavy as if weighed down by months of sleep. A dull ache lingered behind his eyes, but the sharpness of his earlier headache had dulled to a manageable throb.
He blinked at the ceiling, then slowly pushed himself upright. The sterile white walls around him were familiar… yet strange. The room was empty, quiet, save for the machines beside his bed.
Alex moved his legs. It was awkward, clumsy — like trying to command limbs that didn't fully belong to him. Still, he managed to swing them over the edge of the bed. Cold rushed up through the soles of his bare feet as they touched the hospital floor, sending a shiver up his spine.
Gripping the IV pole for support, Alex stood. His legs trembled slightly, unfamiliar with the weight of his body. Still, step by step, he managed to walk across the room. When he reached the door, he twisted the handle open—only to be met with a mirror.
A bathroom.
Alex stepped inside, the fluorescent light flickering overhead. He stared into the mirror, a strange expression on his face. There was a boy staring back at him.
For a long moment, he didn't recognize the reflection. The small frame, the soft, rounded features, the tousled hair. And those eyes… hazel, nearly golden in the light. His mother had those eyes. So did his sister and older brother.
His own gaze flickered with a mixture of recognition and uncertainty. He knew this face… and yet, he didn't.
He looked like a child. But he didn't feel like one.
"I've lived… so many lifetimes…" he muttered, confused by the thought.
The sensation wasn't just physical — it was mental. His thoughts felt stacked, jumbled, like puzzle pieces belonging to different pictures. There were memories — some clear, some cloudy — but no sense of time. No anchor. Only a slow, dawning awareness that he was Alex, and that this was his body, even if it felt unfamiliar.
After relieving himself, Alex flushed the toilet and stepped back into the hospital room.
At that exact moment, the door creaked open.
Two boys peeked inside — Michael and Mark. Their faces were filled with confusion as they stared at the empty bed.
"Huh? Is this the right room?" Mark asked, scratching his head as he looked to his friend.
"I'm sure it is," Michael replied. "Maybe he was moved?"
Before they could speculate further, a third voice entered the mix.
"Why are you two just standing in front of the—?" David's voice stopped abruptly as he looked into the room. His eyes landed on the vacant bed, and a furrow formed on his brow.
Michael turned to him, concern in his voice. "Dad, where's Alex? This is his room, right? If he was moved, Uncle Oliver or Aunt Martha would've told us."
David nodded slowly. "Exactly. I called them before we came. And the nurse at the desk didn't say anything about him being moved." He stepped into the room, inspecting the wrinkled sheets.
Then, the sound of the flushing toilet drew all their attention.
A moment later, Alex stepped out, stopping mid-step when he saw the three familiar faces.
His expression was puzzled — not with fear, but with that same strange mix of familiarity and distance. His eyes lingered first on David. Then on Michael and Mark. He knew them. Not just their names, but the feeling of who they were.
David — his father's closest friend. Michael — David's son. Mark — Jack and Donna's youngest. Their families were so close, they were practically his own.
As the pieces in his mind clicked into place, something in Alex relaxed. His body eased. The fog in his mind began to clear, if only slightly.
David, noticing the shift, stepped forward slowly.
"Alex? You're up… you should've called a nurse if you needed help. You've been asleep for six months."
His voice was soft, careful — the way someone speaks to a child waking from a deep dream. He extended a hand, his stern face trying its best to look gentle. It wasn't easy; David's natural expression had always been cold, his features intense.
Michael and Mark flinched instinctively, used to seeing people shrink back from David's presence. But Alex surprised them all.
He reached out calmly and took David's hand.
"Thank you, Uncle David," he said softly.
David blinked in surprise. He had expected fear, or confusion — anything but this quiet composure. The boy who once struggled to finish sentences, who once panicked in unfamiliar situations, was standing on his own two feet, speaking clearly, and recognizing people again.
Michael and Mark were stunned. They had prepared themselves for a very different scene — for the friend they had known to be mentally distant, lost in a fog he could never break free from.
And yet here he was.
Still fragile. Still recovering. But… present.
David helped Alex back to the bed, noticing the expressions of disbelief on the boys' faces. He understood their shock — he felt it too — but now wasn't the time for questions.
Alex sat back on the bed, glancing at each of them. The puzzle pieces in his mind were still reshaping, the headache ebbing in and out like a tide. But the warmth in the room — the familiar presence of those who cared for him — brought a strange comfort.
His eyes drifted to the window.
So much had changed.
And somehow… so had he.