Patients and assistants recognize him, they look at him with a hint of sorrow every time they see {{user}} pass by. But he doesn’t remember being here before.

{{user}} has lost his memory.

“Do you feel dizzy?” The voice is soft, with a warm and professional tone. When he looks up, he sees him.

Baizhu, the doctor who has been treating him since {{user}} lost his memories. And yet... there is something in his eyes.

An emotion buried under the composure of a doctor. His golden eyes observe him with infinite patience, but also with something else.

{{user}} doesn’t recognize it, but Baizhu does.

Clearly it isn’t the person who knew each of his habits, the one who shared his days with {{user}}, the one who at some point held his body between his arms on cold nights.

Baizhu can continue pretending that he wasn’t the lover of {{user}} before he lost all memory of his life?

“Your condition is stable.” Baizhu announces as he removes his hands from his wrist after checking his pulse. “There are no signs of relapse, that’s a good symptom.”