MEMORY ? newtmas au

An old man and an asian one take him to a place they call home in a wheelchair. There is something familiar about them, but he cannot recognize who they are. All he is certain about is that they seem to care for him.

That is all he needs to know.

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Sometimes the old man reads to him. Sometimes the asian one reads to him.

Right now, it's the asian one. He's holding not a book, but a thick folder. "'Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand / Of life, of crown, of queen, at once dispatch'd...' Do you remember this play, Newt?"

He can barely make out his words. He shrugs.

"No? Stupid of me to continue thinking that old transcripts would help. Nevertheless, I thought you were amazing in that play. You were real shy back in highschool, so nobody ever really imagined you as a theater actor, but holy klunk did you prove us wrong. You were one of the best back in your days," he smirks, but Newt doesn't understand the meaning behind it.

He shrugs again. He seems to be doing a lot of this lately.

The asian man bites his lips. "I think you've spoiled me. You were yourself so soon after I came back Korea, and now I'm expecting it to happen frequently. But Thomas tells me that it's so rare for him to have... you know, you."

Thomas. He thinks that's the old man's name, though otherwise it is of no significance to him.

The asian man's still talking. "He told me that you've been getting worse since coming home from the hospital. He said you thought he was the younger Thomas, the one from college, not Tommy, the one you live with. Now you don't recognize him at all. Do you recognize me, Newt? No... maybe I shouldn't ask. I know the answer, anyway. Shit. Let me ask you this, then. Do you know who you are?"

"Who you are," Newt mumbles. The asian man's words come out too quickly for him to keep up with.

The man considers him carefully for a moment. "It doesn't matter, I suppose. I know who you are. You're Newt, theater actor and best friend of Minho Park. That's how I'll always think of you. You didn't have to ask."

He has no idea what he is talking about, but what he says makes Newt feel better all the same.

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There are several pictures on the wall of the bedroom, which he finds himself sleeping in most of the time. Every now and then he takes a moment to consider them. Several contain a man with blonde hair, honey brown eyes. Another man with brown hair and beautiful, beautiful chocolate eyes appears frequently as well, along with an asian man with perfect black hair and a younger blonde girl with simililar features to the other blonde. There are other faces as well. All of them are smiling at him.

He smiles at these strangers in return.

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"Newt!" the woman says brightly upon seeing him. She is not as old as the other two men with him, but she isn't very young either. And though her tone is happy, her eyes are rimmed with red. In the background, he can see the old man leaning against the doorframe, the other asian man standing behind him, their eyes also swollen and puffy. "So, after I got here... Thomas told me some things about you, and I think you'd really like to see some magic Harriet, Aris and I've been practicing!" An article of clothing appears in her hands. "Look at what I can pull out of this!"

A whole slew of tricks follow. He finds himself laughing and clapping like a child at her antics, spurred on by her encouraging grins, but there is something sad in her expression that he cannot quite make out.