Charles turned to Adrian then.
One part of him waited for the answer.
Another watched closely, worried about how Adrian might be taking this.
But Adrian remained calm.
He clenched his teeth once, then spoke, his voice gentle, a little awkward.
"It's… Adrian."
Juliana's gaze softened as her eyes lowered slightly.
"Adrian…" she repeated.
This wasn't the first time.
And it wouldn't be the last.
Adrian knew it well. His mother didn't truly care to remember his name. Even if she could,
this is pointless
Sensing the tension tightening the room, Charles stepped in.
"Mother," he said carefully, "you have three children. Do you remember?"
Juliana blinked.
"…So is he?"
"Yes," Charles answered.
"And the girl from earlier as well."
"…The girl earlier?"
Charles froze.
Had she already forgotten.
Within the same day.
Was her illness getting worse?
Was she forcing herself to forget?
Or was she pretending to not know?
Charles fell silent.
Juliana's gaze drifted back to Adrian.
"Come a little closer would you?"
she said softly.
Adrian obeyed without thinking.
He leaned forward.
Juliana lifted her hand, tracing his face, his hair, the curve of his cheek, slowly, carefully, trying to carve his existence into memory.
"I'll try to recognize you next time,"
she whispered.
Adrian knew she wouldn't.
Even if he shouted his name.
Even if he cried.
Even if he broke down before her.
She would wake up the next morning as if nothing had happened.
Strangely, every moment with Charles was always remembered.
Sometimes, Adrian wondered,
Was she pretending not to remember him?
Or was this the cruelest form of memory loss of all?
"I would love to talk with you longer," Juliana said softly,
"but it seems the sun has already begun to set."
As she spoke, her gaze shifted to Charles.
"You said you had matters to attend to, didn't you?"
Charles lifted his eyes toward the window, where the light was slowly dimming.
"…Yes," he answered.
"I do."
Juliana's hand lingered near Adrian's face for a moment longer.
"It also seems that Adrian isn't very comfortable,"
she added gently.
She knew.
She could feel it, the stiffness in his posture, the quiet tension beneath his stillness.
Charles stood up then.
Juliana finally withdrew her hand.
Adrian remained frozen where he stood, his expression unreadable, though his mood had clearly sunk lower than before.
"We have precious little time together," Juliana said.
"Would you come again tomorrow and remind me?"
Charles answered at once.
"Mother, I'm not going anywhere."
Juliana smiled.
Adrian stayed silent.
There were things he wanted to say.
Questions he wanted to ask.
Words pressed tight against his chest.
But he chose to bury them all.
He didn't say goodbye.
The two brothers turned and walked out together.
The door closed softly behind them.
Juliana's gaze followed their retreating figures, lingering on the space they had left behind
until the door shut completely,
and they were no longer in sight.
…
On the way back, Charles walked ahead.
Adrian followed a few steps behind, his pace slower, heavier.
"This is pointless," Adrian whispered.
Charles knew that tone well.
After every visit, it was always the same.
"Parting from family is… difficult."
Charles said gently
"You talk like you know how I feel."
Charles didn't answer.
Because he didn't.
Not from Adrian's perspective.
They continued walking in silence.
After a moment, Charles slowed slightly and glanced back, studying Adrian for a brief second before turning forward again.
"Even if it hurts," he said quietly,
"you felt warm for a moment, didn't you?"
"…."
"We all long for intimacy," Charles continued.
"Even when it feels pointless, that longing itself holds meaning.
There is beauty in it—between one person and another."
Adrian exhaled.
"…How did Ellie do?"
Charles was silent for a while.
Then he answered.
"She didn't say a word the whole time," he said.
"She left before I even stood up."
It seemed Eleanor felt the same way Adrian did.
Born into the same household, yet only Charles had been close to their mother. It made sense—he was her firstborn. The one she remembered.
But forgetting her other children, choosing instead to live apart from reality in the annex, Juliana had become someone distant, unreachable.
Sometimes, Adrian felt sorry for her.
He didn't truly resent his mother.
There were moments—quiet, unwanted moments—when he wondered what it would have been like to have a caring mother. One who held his hand. One who spoke with warmth meant just for him.
Charles was right.
The desire for intimacy was something everyone shared.
Adrian wanted to know what his mother had been like before he and Eleanor were born. Before everything broke. Only Charles knew what had caused her memory loss.
But Adrian had never asked.
It felt as though, even if he did, Charles wouldn't answer.
Maybe someday, he wish things would change.