Harlem had arrived from the gym. His long blonde hair was clipped half up half down, and his workout clothes were damp from exertion. His coat was slung over his shoulder. He wiped a sheen of sweat as he reveled in the cool homey air. Even more so as he was in Nancy's company. Finally, after days of constant work and worries, he got to ward off that pungent smell that stuck to him and live the lavender scent of love and comfort.

Harlem amorously kissed Nancy and played with her hair flowing out of the paper boat hat. He simpered, "Just hearing your voice on the telephone made me want to come here. I really missed you, to the moon and back."

Nancy, her eyes lost and grim, chuckled distantly and said, "That's cheesy, Harlem. It's not like you to say these things."

"Hey, let me be the Casanova I want to be to my fiancée, hm?" Harlem laughed heartily. He added wittingly, "Just out of luck I got to be the recipient of the "See Nancy and flirt with her" prize with a phone call. Just imagine! A phone call! Much less from a sweet lady. Very sweet, she was, that hearing her voice rotted my teeth."

Harlem let out another belly laugh. It soon subsided when he noticed Nancy's low spirits. Her eyes transparently showed that she was restive and had something gnawing at her conscience and mind. Concern tainted Harlem's suave features. He asked softly, "What happened this time?"

Nancy's brows bounced, "What makes you think something happened?"

"It is very telling to a detective." Harlem's eyes were alert as he suggested, with an undercurrent of anger, "Do you wanna talk about it?"

Nancy agreed, and as she milked the attention given to her by Harlem, she spoke with full candor about everything that happened. From the first swing of days when she incurred the hallucinations of the scalpel and Omniya, to just moments ago when she learnt that Nathan was with Omniya before she got sent to London by her family. Her heart went full throttle as she recounted how she used to bond with Omniya under the large tree. The large tree that they both inspected. Nancy could have sworn she saw a flash of regret pass by Harlem's sharp eyes. But she dismissed it as her eyes that were glazing over by the time she finished.

Harlem hummed as he took his final swig of juice. He cast a sidelong glance at the cat who was watching them from the window stool. He was ostensibly mulling over Nancy's words while in search of his own words. When they came to him he formulated them, "The whole situation is occult. You and Omniya were basically inseparable, but your memories of her were way before you got diagnosed with amnesia. Omniya's conservatorship led to her leaving the island for college rather than marrying your brother. And for your own indemnity, neither your family nor I divulged the fact that your closest friend left while you had amnesia. That is why you can't find any trace of written memory of her on any of your paper boat hats. It was all before that."

Nancy's fingers found their way to the pink paper boat hat on her head. Her brow twitched as she remembered what was written on it. She enquired, "Does me wanting to become a blood donor have to do with Omniya?"

Harlem scowled at Nancy's unbidden question. Upon this, Nancy handed the paper boat hat to him. He unfolded it and perused it, his scowl softening into a thin line. His eyes returned to hers, and with a swift move, he refolded the paper and flung it towards the stack of paper boat hats by the bed. Like a bowling ball, it perfectly swept the other paper boat hats off their brims.

Nancy was put off by this sudden action. Redrum instinctively sprang towards the paper boat hats to survey its tangible downfall. Palpable tension seeped into the room. Harlem leaned forward and ushered for Nancy to look down. When she did, Harlem's soaked coat hovering above the empty glass of juice, one ready to be tortured and the other to be brimmed, filled her field of vision. He wrung the coat, squeezing every ounce of sweat into the glass, ridding of every substance that posed a threat to the pre-dry coat. With grave keenness, he murmured, "The coat is you, the liquid is the conglomeration of your memories, and my hands are the artificial roses."

Nancy tentatively looked up at him. She thought,"The artificial roses, as in, who was that, Natalia? No, she's the bouquet he mentioned. And the roses are her arms-"

"The artificial roses are her words." Harlem raised his brows at Nancy, expecting her to understand without prying into her own mind further. "The words that are spoken to you."

Nancy blinked. She glanced at the glass now bearing her fiancé's sweat. She snorted facetiously, "That's gross."

Before Harlem could respond, Redrum crested from the depths of the paper boat hats and lunged forward, his eyes systematically moving around the two. Retreating to his former unserious self, Harlem's cheeks expanded as he puffed. He rested a chin on his fist and said gesturally, "You're right. It's just gross. Just squeezing out my own sweat into this innocent, clear bottle that previously had juice. It's almost poetic, you know. The juice is just the sweet mixture of fruits and sugar, just like memories, and after guzzling them down, you are only left with emptiness. And to fill that void of emptiness, I did something reprehensible than reparable; I poured my own acrid concoction into here, like bitter lies."

Nancy's breath trapped in her throat. "This...this isn't about juice. But why be ambiguous? No one's here...I'll just play along."

Nancy nodded and said, her voice measured, "Yeah. Sometimes the juice can be in the cup, but it could be on the cusp of distortion."

Harlem shot a knowing smile at her. He said solemnly, "Yeah, and if you don't look at it closely enough, then you'll take it at face value.

"So Natalia wrote that down." Nancy concluded. She looked at Harlem intently as validation, in which he smiled back. Her shoulders sagged and every fiber of anxiousness slipped away. Even so, the underlying worry that there was something more to Harlem's discreet message never left her.

"Wanna watch a movie so you could forget about it?" Harlem said as he caressed Nancy's cheek. Her cheeks became flushed like the sun has been roasting them, and she smiled giddily. The fact that, amidst his double duty as a gymnast and detective, he's not willing to leave her out to the wolves made her heart flutter. However, there is still one thing that is not really sitting well with her. But Harlem was taking the right path in letting her forget about it. Not making her, letting her. Unlike some people, who even went to lengths whereby forging a false note was there to distract her from being a pianist.

How Natalia has been playing Nancy like a fiddle, she did not know! All she knew is that Natalia painted a modern picture black and white. Putting the reassuring sister front up, so blatantly! And behind the veneer of sisterly care, she was lying through her teeth about the tree, about the hallucination of Omniya, probably when Harlem came for the first time about sucking on "sugar" on her finger rather than a "paper cut", and...oh, probably more that Nancy could not remember!

Nancy's thought process soon became dormant right when Harlem switched the television on. They were both slumping on the chenille sofas of the cozy living room, seated intimately next to each other. Nancy's legs were flailing off the legs as she re her head on her fiancé's chest. 

Harlem said, "This movie is based on a book, by the way."

Nancy snorted, "No way I can read a whole book."

"Who would've thought the piano virtuoso hates reading?"

"Um, Nathan would! Doubts me all the time, that brat."

Harlem took off Nancy's green paper boat hat and ruffled her hair, laughing all the while. He quirked a brow at him as he looked at it, "Why're you wearing this? Any reminders you should remember?"

Nancy's eyes widened in realization. She took it from him and unfolded it. She read aloud, " "Feed Redrum his treats in our room." Yeah, that's because dad is allergic to the treat smell."

Nancy forcibly took Redrum to the room upstairs and fed him treats, in which he dubiously wolfed down- not hungrily or in gluttony, but rather warily.

After Nancy left the room for a moment, Harlem leaned over the couch and placed his dumbbell on the floor. He pressed a button, and it started producing a string of prerecorded messages very high pitched only Redrum could catch them with his ears.

When Nancy reappeared next to Harlem, she shot him a confused glance. The television was on mute the whole time as Harlem watched casually. She said, "Why're you watching it without sound?"

"So that I could imagine the dialogue instead...Try it. It's fun and good for your brain. Just look at their lips. As for the background music, just look at the scenes and grasp the gist of them. You are a pianist, I am sure you will do it."

Nancy's eyes were glued to the television screen as the pictures scintillated animatedly. Harlem, on the other hand, was preoccupied with both the cat and his own thoughts. They went a long way back.

♮♮♮♮♮♮♮♮♮▬ι═ﺤ ♮♮♮♮♮♮♮♮♮

Nancy and Harlem went a long way back. Harlem was orbiting around his duty, going to the mental asylum; a labyrinth of terror as the shadows clung to corners where the light refused to meet. The building itself looked like it needed an asylum of its own; a great fortress made of cold stone and guarded by rust iron gates. When Harlem stepped in, he could hear the eerie humming of the air that was often pierced by random scrapes and his own footsteps against the sterile floor. The place inside reeked of antiseptic and medicine, reminding Harlem of a hospital. He would never forget that one hospital case.

As Harlem walked through the hallway, he took note of the patients and staff. The patients' were discolored like the walls and were blurred together, their eyes wide and paranoid flickering like embers in the dark. Some were even in prostration as they cried. The patients looked disjointed compared to the staff, their faces masks of indifference and their eyes flashlights as if they had long grown accustomed to the dark. They would bustle from room to room and give hollow smiles to Harlem as he passed by them. 

Harlem stopped in front of a barred door. He took a sip from the stale air and opened it.

Inside the dull room as the windows let little to no light in, the warmth of the sun outside uninvited, a forlorn faced Nancy sat limply on the couch in a hook sitting position, watching television.

It mercilessly bucketed down, the cracking of thunder preceding it. With his hard eyes trained on the disheveled girl, Harlem circled around Nancy, setting the dumbbell he was carrying on a nearby table. Once he found his own voice, he said, "What brought you here?"

"Mm..." Nancy was pathetic. Just a slithering worm withering in a lock without a keyhole. That was all she was from Harlem's angles as he walked circles. A shadow of who she used to be, no remnant of innocence and sweetness left behind. Cheeks sunken, hair tousled, eyes hollow.

Harlem sighed and stopped in front of her. He kneeled down, his green eyes darting around her dying visage. He asked quietly, "Do you remember why you're here?"

"No."

Amid the heavy clamor and the blood-curdling sound of thunder, Harlem stayed mature and even benign as he mindfully sat next to her. He raised a slim brow as his eyes shifted towards the television screen, observing the imagery as it progressed. 

"The movie," Harlem began as he nodded towards the screen, "is a pleasant film, if you ask me." He clasped his hands on his lap and turned to her, "You have not seen it before?"

Nancy blinked before glancing out the window. The rain was still relentlessly hammering the window and the clouds were shedding a great deal of raindrops to the point where it would be a matter of time before the premise becomes deluged. She pursed her lips as she admitted shamefacedly, "Never."

Harlem's brown knitted together, his eyes teeming with contemplation traveling to her. He could see through Nancy like glass. She was trying to act unencumbered, yet her fidgeting with her shirt gave herself away. He asked, "Why didn't you mention the movie's name so far?"

"I forgot."

"You forgot to mention the movie's name or you forgot it?"

"The latter."

"..." Harlem was silent for a bit. He was curious about the girl's condition, to say the least, but he refrained from prying at the topic. The rain outside was still going strong. It would take awhile before it would stop, it seemed.

Nancy pressed with a steely tone, "I am remembering things in general with a good load of difficulty."

Harlem's eyes flickered with a cadence of surprise. He suddenly asked, "Do you remember your name?"

Nancy bit her bottom lip in an antsy manner. It was as if this one obvious question alone sent her to an internal frenzy. She said, "Yeah. It's Nancy."

Harlem's eyes narrowed as he studied Nancy, observing her uneasiness. He seemed to be processing the information he had so far about the girl with a slight frown marring his expression. He continued his questioning, "Do you remember how you got these memory problems?"

A frown of her own anchored Nancy's mouth upon. He already figured it out. She swallowed thickly, "No."

Harlem gestured towards the whole area of the room, "Do you remember where you are?"

Nancy's eyes escaped the television screen and followed the man's hands instead, her misty eyes darting around the room. The raindrops continue ricocheting off the window pane as if there was no tomorrow. Nancy's legs flailed in a wobbly and uncoordinated manner as she gazed back at Harlem. A string of questions start gushing out of her mouth in between breaths as she ruffled her hair, "Where even am I? I know I am in a room, and you are my roommate, but...is this a school dormitory? What- how did I even get here?"

"My hunch is correct..." Harlem asked slowly, "Do you have a recollection of when you got here?"

"I-" Nancy looked at Harlem almost expectantly as if awaiting him to enlighten her, her hand dropping dead out of exhaustion.

Harlem looked at Nancy steadily as she seemed to expect him to provide her a bit more of a backstory regarding her situation. Her behavior was rather curious. However, she had a certain charm. A charm that was evident through her childlike persona, her lack of social grace...her naivety, as a whole. She even took him to be her school roommate. Should he just be creative with the truth or break it to her outright? He will play along.

Harlem shifted his weight and continued, "Have you tried consulting a doctor for your memory issues?"

"Aren't my parents in charge of taking me there...or are they dead?" Nancy blinked. She clambered to her feet and lifted the seat, revealing a hidden box. She fished it and pulled out a white paper boat hat.  

Harlem watched with astonishment as the girl unfurled it and mumbled while reading the contents. He kept quiet as she folded it back and replaced it before sitting down again. She sighed, "They are alive."

"She writes down her memories on paper boat hats..? Nancy initially assumed that her parents were dead, but was relieved afterwards and revealed a bit of a more positive mindset...or it could be that her parents really are dead but they forced her to write this for appeasement. I haven't found anything about this Nancy Culzu's background in any documents, and there was nothing in the affidavits about the loss of her parents." Harlem thought with a lump in his throat. He forcibly pushed it down and steepled his fingers together, "Why did you assume that they were dead?"

Nancy shrugged, "It just felt right for them to be dead in my head- an incontrovertible one at that."

Harlem hummed and fumbled with his ascot cap. "Do you have any siblings?"

Nancy's lips curved upwards. The agitation disembarked from her face. She looked at Harlem wistfully and replied, "Yes, two of them. Both of them are younger than me. Both of them are dear to me."

"And you are the eldest?

Nancy scoffed, "I just said that they are both younger than me, silly. Now you are the one acting like an amnesiac, not me."

"Silly?" Harlem chuckled under his breath. He tilted his head to the side, "How old are they?"

"One is 17 and the other is 20."

"And how old are you?"

"Twenty...two?" Nancy answered confusedly, her state of dither slowly creeping in. She waved her hand dismissively and looked back at the movie, "My early twenties is all I can tell you."

Harlem nodded at that answer, though the frown from before was on his face. It was a bit peculiar as to why she could not recall with exact precision how old she was, but in her siblings' age she found no difficulty. Something told him that it was not because she was intentionally avoiding answering the question. He the hummed and stroked his imaginary beard, looking at her intently, "Have you ever had any form of romantic partner?" 

Nancy huffed and puffed until she replied while squirming, "No, and it's obvious why. I mean, who would want to date an amnesiac?"

Harlem's brows arch, though he keeps his face neutral in the face of Nancy's attitude towards her love life. Her insensitive answer made sense in more ways than one. The potential partners that she may have may have seen her condition as a deal breaker. Harlem continued with a follow-up question, "Do you seek a romantic partner?"

Nancy glanced at him and rested her chin on her palm, "If it weren't for my condition, I would pursue being in a relationship with someone. But alas."

Harlem's gaze remained straight at Nancy as she seemed to be letting out a sigh filled with...awe and longing? It was peculiar to see such a girl in such a place yearning affection. He threw in the next question more softly, "What would your ideal partner be like?"

Nancy leaned onto the touch of her palm of her arm that was acting like a pillar as she said, "Someone loyal, smart, and knows how to put up with me and my mental condition. After all, it is not my fault I have it. I just have it, and many people overlook that. I did not choose it to make others' lives worse. It is not my fault. I am not forcing my own memories to commit suicide. They just are."

Harlem offered a small nod at Nancy's answer. Surprisingly, Nancy was self-aware. Harlem soon cleared his throat and then spoke, "Are you confident that there is someone out there for you?"

Nancy chuckled meekly and dipped her head, her body language filled with diffidence and low self-esteem. She said, "Not at all. Why would there be to begin with?"

Though it was uncalled for, Harlem smiled fondly. Nancy's approach in all of this was fascinating and made Harlem want to dig a bit deeper to find out why she was like this. It was his job anyway as a detective to interrogate recently taken patients and- well, not sympathize with them. Understand them. 

"Do you believe that you deserve love?"

Nancy said matter-of-factly with a glimmer of hope in her eyes, "Every decent human being deserves affection one way or another, but to receive affection, you need the right one who can relate to you to tug at your heartstrings. Unfortunately, no one can cope with being with an amnesiac girl- hell, no one would even dare to befriend one."

Nancy let out a nervous laugh and looked at Harlem directly, "I can't imagine how hard it is for you to have a roommate with dissociative amnesia."

Harlem listened attentively. She did have a good point, albeit a harsh one. It was harsh towards herself. The way she described how no one would dare to even befriend someone like her, let alone love her- the way she said it, it was as if she believed it to be absolute. 

Harlem cleared his throat, "How about a hypothetical question this time?"

Nancy's face brightened up ever so slightly. She spoke jovially, "Ooh, sure. I love hypothetical questions. Shoot." One of the main reasons why she did was because hypothetical questions do not require recollection or intellect.

"What if there was a person who liked you just the way you are? All of you? The mental condition, your temperament- and everything. They would want to hold a relationship with you despite knowing all of that. How would you feel about that?" 

Before Nancy could spout a letter, Harlem raised his palm to silence her politely. He grinned and explained, "Do not answer. How about we flesh the question out through a game, hm? A game where you could answer my questions while I simultaneously answer your questions. A game I call "Pouf Pour-trait". We draw each other and rate each other's portraits- but with a twist. You'll have to draw a speech bubble next to the drawing of myself and write down some answers to your own questions you have for me in a fill-in-the-blank form. For instance, if you're curious about where I'm from, you can write down "I am from" and then an ellipsis. After I rate your drawing of me, I'll answer your questions and you answer mine and vice versa."

Nancy was practically charged with excitement just by hearing the prospect of the game. After she agreed, they got the ball rolling and started sketching each others' faces. When Harlem kept on looking up at her with an amused gleam in his eyes, he could not bring himself not to admire her ingenue beauty.

After Harlem managed to plant a seed of fun within the initially gloomy atmosphere, it blossomed even more when they showed each other the portraits, laughing as they critiqued each others' drawing skills. 

Time passed by, and the two- in the very room in the labyrinth of terror- decided to watch a movie. At one point, Nancy looked anxious and retrieved a piece of paper, writing down something on it before folding it to a paper boat hat and trotting towards the cathartic-purpose piano in the room. Harlem was not sure of what she had written in that note, but he was not bothered by it. It was normal for this girl. 

Nancy re appeared with a tablature sheet in her hand instead of the paper boat hat. She smiled at Harlem as she watched him watch the muted television intently. She tilted her head at him while standing next to him and said, "Why are you watching with no sound?"

Harlem's head slowly swiveled towards Nancy and, for a moment, he simply stared at her, a small smile dancing on his lips. He finally answered in a hushed tone, "I'm watching it without the volume on so that I could imagine the dialogue instead. It's fun. You should try it. Simply look at the movement of their lips and the scenes to imagine the background music." He jerked a thumb towards the piano, "You are a pianist, I am sure you will do it."

Nancy participated in yet another absurd game of Harlem's, but just like the one before she immensely enjoyed it. In her scatterbrained mind, the dialogue, the inflections in the characters' voices, the emotions, and the soundtracks were there. And she could never forget how the background music for "Chocolat" was like. She's watched it several times, in the end. She was a hopeless romantic, after all. And so was Harlem, it struck to her.