Fragmented dreams lingered for a long time.
Like watching a movie, as if living through many people's lives.
Someone performed Hamlet on a small stage, playing the villain Claudius; someone edited film in a dim room, using an old hand-cranked splicer; someone practiced piano in a bright music room, with an adoring girl sitting nearby; occasionally, a small figure huddled fearfully in a corner, eyes shut, ears covered, as if blocking out the whole world.
He even dreamed of his graduation ceremony years ago, the farewell dinner where someone strummed a guitar, and everyone sang along.
The beginning's beginning, we were singing songs.
The ending's ending, we were walking away.
The one I loved most, like a scene from a dream.
You said after waking, you'd go—I believe...
...
The song ended, and many were in tears.
Then.
Plunged into the mortal world.
Having so many people's memories probably made it like this. But there might not be a second reference point.
In the end, he even felt confused—was this dreaming, or remembering?
He didn't like remembering.
People who always dwelled on the past had often lost hope for the future. His road ahead was so wide, so far—doing that wasn't worth it.
So he woke up.
After a brief haze, last night's memories flooded back. Alertness surged, and he snapped his head toward the figure beside him.
Janet Johnston, with her tousled blonde hair, sat lazily by the bed. She held a white bowl half-hiding her face, her blue eyes wide and round. The faint scent of oatmeal porridge wafted in the air—she'd clearly been eating.
Now, she seemed startled by his gaze.
His body fully relaxed, with a touch of apology.
Noticing the purple-red ring on Janet's fair arm holding the bowl, he glanced over and cracked a joke instinctively: "So, is this the latest kink?"
Janet's eyes blinked rapidly a few times, finally snapping out of that heart-clenching cold glare from moments ago.
She deliberately set the porridge bowl on the nearby cabinet, then reached for the pillow under Simon's head. Simon, puzzled, lifted his head to help.
Then, she grabbed the pillow and smacked it hard over his face.
Thump—thump—thump—
"You little bastard, you and your kink, your kink, your kink."
Waking to the surroundings and the woman's weary look, Simon figured Janet had likely been up all night because of him. He was always grateful to those who treated him well.
Now, facing the woman's sudden outburst, Simon just turned his head, letting her harmlessly whack his head with the pillow a few times before 'begging': "Your Majesty, at least explain before you hit?"
Hearing that, Janet's raised pillow froze. She shoved it back at Simon, warning: "Don't call me Your Majesty—I hate that. Call me Jenny."
Simon nodded obligingly, adjusting the pillow himself.
But.
Something felt off—wasn't that backward?
Janet sat back down by the bed, then thrust her purple-red right wrist in front of Simon: "Look, kid—this is what you gripped last night. So, what are you gonna do about it?"
Simon examined it closely, noting it really looked like fingerprints, but he had no idea what happened last night.
He'd been about to crack another joke, but spotting Janet's sparkling expectant eyes and recalling her wild personality, Simon held back and answered seriously: "Really sorry, Jenny. I'll treat you to dinner sometime. Also, where's Catherine?"
"Almost killed me last night, and just dinner? Don't even think it," Janet shook her head dissatisfied, then explained: "Kate watched over you all night—I just sent her to rest at my studio, you know, over by Venice Beach. And I only got three hours myself. See how good we are to you?"
Simon said sincerely: "Thank you, Jenny—and Catherine."
Janet nodded, seeming pleased. She picked up her bowl again, sipping like a cat without a spoon, then added: "So, what the hell happened last night? Five legs—all the worst comminuted fractures. One guy's teeth got knocked out—seven of them. Brutal."
Simon felt the lingering aches all over, shook his head, and stared at the room's ceiling, saying flatly: "I want to know too."
Janet said casually: "Cops questioned those five last night, but they clammed up—want to talk to lawyers first. Oh, my lawyer's coming soon too—real sharp one. Even though those guys got wrecked, they were the attackers. Last night's cops are on our side, so we can still sue them."
Simon just nodded: "Mm."
Janet chattered on, finishing her oatmeal before seeming to remember Simon. "Hey, you hungry? I made this special before coming."
Simon shook his head, sensing his state under the sheet. He scanned the room—it had a bathroom—then said to Janet: "Jenny, mind stepping out?"
Janet blinked innocently: "Why?"
Simon eyed her obvious feigned innocence and pointed toward the bathroom.
"Oh, no way," Janet shook her head immediately, standing with feigned concern: "You're hurt bad—let me help you."
Simon had already subtly checked his body—aside from pains, no issues moving limbs. Now, facing her deadpan act, Simon finally wore the helpless expression Catherine often had.
Janet stood there, watching Simon stare without budging. She finally chuckled awkwardly. Grabbing a shopping bag from beside the bed, she set it by him: "Fine, stingy. Not even a peek. If I wasn't scared you'd grab me again, I'd have seen everything already. Your old clothes got trashed—these are new from me. But with your injuries, just shorts for the next couple days."
After babbling that, the woman left the room with a hint of reluctance.