when we started we had high hopes

It had been ten days since he had arrived in this odd room. He couldn't remember being brought here or the first few days he was trapped here, but at least he had gotten used to the stench of medicine and blood and week-old sandwiches.

He didn't even know where he was. He heard people talking about a psychiatric unit, and how he was a John Doe and how he may never be identified due to the fact no one ever came to visit him. Despite the fact that he had been away for several months, his intelligence was still there. He knew that with DNA and other methods of biometric identification he could still come home.

If only he knew where home was.

He was alive.

His brother was alive.

He'd spent months thinking that Corin was long dead. He'd made himself regret every unkind thought and word he'd ever directed at his older brother. For all his faults (and there were many of them), Corin was still his brother.

But he hadn't allowed himself to grieve. The last time he'd grieved, he'd turned into a babbling wreck. He wasn't going to let himself go back to that. He'd be lying if he said that he hadn't felt the urge to throw up every time he found himself in a stressful situation, but he was determined to never do it again.

He'd promised, after all.

Knocking gently on the slightly ajar door, the blond stuck his head inside, his blue eyes lighting up as they fell on his brother. "Corin," he murmured, watching him for a moment before entering fully, awkwardly standing behind the chair at the foot of the bed. "How are you?"

He saw someone come into his room. They looked alike, he supposed: they had the same blond hair and the same eyes, and perhaps they were both [i]equally[/] handsome. They looked so similar: was this Fate? Did Fate send him someone important - like a relative - to try and reintegrate him into society?

The former castaway liked the change of scenery, either way. He didn't like the nurses because they were always so condescending, and they treated him like a five-year-old who had received a boo boo on his knee. Whatever made them think he was one, he must rid himself of it. Immediately.

However, when the boy had uttered this odd thing - Corin - the blond immediately felt puzzlement overcoming him like a tidal wave. Immediately his haert sank: this boy knew him. He should be sad, but if only he knew why. Wait - he was sad! Wh-what... what on earth...

"Qui es-tu?" asked the blond, tilting his head.

Julian frowned, his expression clouding over. For a moment, he just stared at Corin, wondering if maybe he just didn't want to see him. He wouldn't be surprised, not with their history. Shuffling from foot to foot as the silence wore on, he dropped his gaze.

At his brother's words, he lifted his head, staring blankly at him. He forgot how to breath, his heart hammering in his chest. H - How did he not know him? This was some sort of sick joke wasn't it? But he just looked into those blue eyes, the ones that were too much like his to take, and all he saw was sincerity.

Taking a small step back, he shook his head, speaking so quickly that his words began to overlap each other. "Who am I? I'm your brother, Corin. You - You have to remember me. I'm Julian, remember? You can hardly stand me, but in the end we're still family, no matter what." Swallowing the tears he was suddenly holding back, he stared at the blond, continuing to shake his head. "Please tell me you know who I am."

"Ju-li-an," the blond uttered, forming the syllables in his mouth, "Juuuuu... liii... aaaaaaaaaaan..." He shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know you... you know me? How you know me... my name is Corin?" An amused laugh crossed his lips, "What's a Corin?" He began to snicker, "I'm Corin! What is a Corin? What am I?" A guttural laugh began to spread across the room like wildfire: haunting, terrifying, and just as destructive.

The mentally disturbed boy furrowed his brows, "Whazzat, boy?" He blinked. "You're my family? We're... we're related?" He opened and closed his jaws, "But you don't look like me... I think." He reached out to grab the other blond's face, "How can you let your hair grow that long? Have you been living under a rock?"

As if he had made a giant discovery, the former castaway shrieked, "Did you take Bridget?" He sat up on his hospital bed, "You took Bridget away from me, didn't you? Why did you take her? I... I love her." Tears began to stream down his face, and he made no attempt to stop them coming. This boy took Bridget from him, and he was going to pay.

He blinked up at the sound of his own name, his expression flooded with hope. Maybe he did remember him. Maybe Corin had just been a little confused, but it was all coming back now. But the expression quickly faded away, replaced with an oddly blank one. Underneath it, his mind was a whirwind of thoughts and emotions, but one stood out. A resounding word of no.

"You - You're you. You're Corin Gorlois Rousseau. You're eighteen, your birthday's October 24th, you grew up in Paris...That's you." He smiled sadly, hands clasped together, his eyes glued to the ground. "That's you."

"I'm your brother," he muttured. "Your little brother by - a year? I think so. A little over a year." Julian jumped slightly at the sudden movement, stepping out of his brother's reach. Frowning, he ran a hand through his hair. "I like it like this, thank you very much."

He flinched away from the yell, rubbing at his ears. "Bridget? Your girlfriend? I haven't seen her in months, don't look at me. I'm in school most of the -" He paused, leaving his words hanging in the air. Frowning, he tilting his head. "You remember your girlfriend but not who you are? That's just sad." And shouldn't his own brother be more important than some girl?