Keith's head throbbed in time with Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture. At least, that's what he thought. There was a steady beep that took place of the cannon. He rubbed his eyes which only succeeded in making him see stars.

He opened his eyes, the sunlight making him snap them shut again. The quick glance he had taken was enough to tell Keith that he was in the hospital. He remembered last night – he had been a bit drunk with some of his dance friends. They had been out celebrating the final dress rehearsal for Giselle and that it had gone spectacularly well. In dance terms, that meant almost everything that could go wrong had.

Of course, they all joked it had gone too smoothly. No one had injured themselves and surely that meant something would go horribly wrong on opening night. Keith was mid-laugh when he fell off the bench he'd been walking on. He didn't remember hitting the ground, but going by the constant throbbing he must have hit it hard.

This time ready for the onslaught of cheery sunlight, he opened his eyes again. The throbbing went from a dull ache to a head-pounding roar. Clutching his head, Keith carefully stood up and used the bed until his legs stopped shaking. The short journey to the window was torment he had never experienced. The bed emitted an ear-piercing squeal and the world spun around him. Moving as if a sloth, he stumbled across the floor. Keith let out a sigh as his hand connected with the wall, which did not move and pulled the curtains shut.

The sudden darkness calmed his raging headache. His stomach stopped churning, a sensation he hadn't registered until it was gone. The world spun less.

"You shouldn't be moving."

Keith flinched at the sudden voice.

"Wait there. I'll help you walk back to the bed."

Now that he knew someone was there, the voice started to sound familiar. Had they spoken last night? Keith turned to face.

"For god sake's – stay still," the woman scolded him. "The last thing you need is another fall. I'm Dr. Stella Neumann by the way. I heard your bed alarm go off on my way by."

That explained the incessant whining noise. He felt a strong arm wrap around his waist.

"Ok, now balance on me; we're going back to the nice, safe bed. The one you're not supposed to leave."

"I'm sorry. No one told me I wasn't supposed to move," he shot out.

"You're in the hospital with a head injury. That should really go without saying."

He leaned against her as they shuffled across the floor. "So, how did I end up here?"

"One of your friends called an ambulance. ER doc stitched your head up – three by the way."

Keith sat down on the bed and the pounding eased.

"Right here." She ran her hand just below them, at the base of his skull. "Should heal up alright. Just keep the area bandaged and apply Neosporin as needed."

He looked up at her, frowning. Dr. Neumann's voice was familiar, but he couldn't place it. Her appearance, while it stirred that same sense of remembrance, did not tell him where from. Her strawberry blonde hair was held back in a low pony-tail and a pair of gold-rimmed glasses framed her green eyes. The fine bone structure and way she talked niggled at him, daring him to remember. Feeling close to the memory, his head let out a particularly nasty throb.

A low-pitched moan escaped, both piteous and torturous as he tried to remember her. "We've met before, somewhere, haven't we?"

"Must not have been all that memorable if we did," she commented as she pulled a penlight out of her pocket. "I'm going to run a few tests while I'm here. Yes, I'm your assigned doctor. You can stop looking at me funny. Now, try not to blink. I'm going to shine this light in your eyes."

The little penlight, even though she had it over with faster than he could blink, started his head roaring again. His throat caught fire as bile rose, vomit threatened to spew everywhere.

"And how are you feeling after that, Mr. Park?"

"Dandy, just dandy," he replied as he eased himself back onto the bed. Lying down calmed the symphony in his head. "I'm never drinking again." Keith opened his eyes, the ceiling spun into focus and steadied. "Is there a word for wanting to throw up stronger than nauseous?"

"Not that I know of. Any head pounding?"

"Symphony is a better description. Beethoven's 9th to be precise."

"Any ear ringing then?"

He frowned, trying to block out the cacophony that was his head. "No."

"Good. Now, I know you've gotten nice and comfy, but I need you to sit back up. We're going to do some reflex tests." Dr. Neumann took a small rubber hammer out of her pocket.

At a snail's pace, he sat up. Keith's head gave a particularly violent throb as he sat up fully.

Dr. Neumann gave him a minute to recover. "Now, while I do this part, why don't you tell me about yourself?"

His knee jerked as the hammer hit it. As Keith tried to think of something to say, his mind turned into a blank slate. His thoughts twirled just out of his grasp.

"Let's start with your name," Dr. Neumann cut in.

Her voice had a quality to it that made him think of wind-chimes. Distracted by that thought, Keith almost missed the actual statement. Realizing what she had said, he flushed. "Keith. Keith Lukyan Park."

She nodded and took his elbow. "Now, date of birth and what you do for a living."

"August 21st, 1992. I'm a professional dancer, illustrator, and ballet instructor." Keith frowned as he remembered the date. "Is today the 27th?"

Dr. Neumann looked up at him from her current task – something involving his middle finger and relaxing his hand and fingers. "Yes, why?"

Keith bit back the curses that wanted to fly out of his mouth. "It's opening night for Giselle. I'm the male lead."

"I'd say you no longer are. Not for the next week at the least, likely two."

Keith groaned and covered his eyes. His mother would have a fit when she found out. Not only would he not be dancing in her favorite ballet, but he was also injured on top of it! She would be unbearable for the next week, at least.

"Alright, stand up. A quick balance test, and so long as that checks out, we'll discuss discharge." Quick was not the word he would have chosen for the tests she put him through; torture was closer. The doctor finally stopped when he almost fell over on the third or fourth test. Keith thought he would have if Dr. Neumann had not caught him.

Opening his eyes Keith found his gaze locked with hers. Her green eyes, freckles, and light blush teased his memory again. He was confident he knew her from somewhere. It wasn't any dance school, he was confident of that. Maybe she enjoyed going to the ballet? Had he autographed a leaflet or spoken with her after a recital?

Keith leaned forward, only compelled to move closer to Dr. Neumann when she did not pull back. When he closed the distance – or had she – he realized how she fit against him. It almost felt like a puzzle piece, the way her chest felt against his and how soft she felt in his hands. And this kiss, it was like sunshine or an opening night that went off without a hitch. Keith wasn't sure if it was his concussion talking, but he felt Beethoven's Ode to Joy take place of the Choral from the 9th Symphony.

Then it was over. The Choral took over for Ode to Joy, reminding him how much his head hurt. The steady beep of various machines came back into focus and Keith found himself sitting on his bed again. In only his hospital gown, he realized how cold it was in this room.

"So, discharge options," Dr. Neumann started. "Do you have anyone who could keep an eye on you at home for the next 24 to 48 hours?"

If it weren't for the light blush that covered her cheeks, Keith would have thought his doctor had not been affected by the kiss they had shared a moment prior. "Ah, yes. Either of my parents." Keith hoped it would be just his dad; he was much more reasonable than his mother. Then again, he had the luck of having divorced parents who got along. It really was only a matter of time until his mother found out.

His doctor nodded in agreement. "I am going to leave you with some information on what to expect while you heal. In the meantime, if you have a seizure, pass out, get a fever, if any of your symptoms get worse, repeated vomiting, or if your speech starts to slur, come to the ER. Tell whoever picks you up that you're at UPenn Hospital, room 309A.

"During recovery, I would expect fatigue, and you will likely sleep a lot. Do not drive or drink alcohol. Avoid brightly lit areas as much as possible. No use of recreational drugs. And do not multi-task. If your head starts to hurt, get an ice pack. You can take 1,000 MG of Tylenol every 4-6 hours. I'll get your first dose sent up. I'll send the information on to your primary, who will likely want to follow up within the next few days. If you need anything before discharge, hit that call bell and someone will be along to assist you. And even though you seem to be alright, do not walk for long periods of time and try to have a wall or something nearby to grab onto if you feel faint or lightheaded."

Keith nodded his understanding.

"And your phone is in the nightstand next to your bed. If need be, I can make sure you have clothes to go home in." Dr. Neumann, her spiel done, turned to walk out of the room.

"So, are you really not going to tell me where we know each other from?" he asked.

Dr. Neumann stopped in her tracks. "As I said earlier, Mr. Park, it must not have been that memorable." With that, Dr. Neumann was gone.

Keith fell back onto his pillows and winced as his head reminded him that it hurt. He rolled over and took his phone out of the drawer the doctor said it would be in. For now, he ignored the texts from his friends checking to see if he was alright. Quickly, he sent a text to the production manager that he would have a very happy understudy after his stunt last night. Then he hovered over his dad's name. Taking a deep breath, Keith hit it and sent a quick text asking for his dad to come pick him up and telling him where he was.

He let out a heavy sigh as his phone started to ring seconds later. "Hi, dad."

"Kiddo, what's going on? You can't just expect me to act calmly when you say you need a ride home from the hospital." Dae Min may have sounded calm and collected, but Keith knew his dad was better at putting up a front over this sort of thing.

Keith let out the breath he hadn't realized he held. Dae Min had always been the calmer parent, the easier one for him to talk to about stressful situations. "I fell off a bench last night. Gave myself a concussion and three stitches. I need to stay somewhere the next few days. Don't tell mom?"

"Alright, I'm on my way over now. I'll bring the car. And you know she'll find out eventually. Especially if you're not in Giselle tonight."

Keith closed his eyes at the thought. Of course, this would have to happen before opening night! He couldn't even wait to tell his mother until he felt a little better.

"Thanks, dad. See you soon. And bring me clothes." Without waiting for a response, Keith hung up the phone.