The room was dark and still, save for the moonlight that streamed through the blinds, and the combined breathing of the two young men on the bottom bunk.

One was taller than the other, holding him close; it had to be Joe Hardy. Joe's hand roamed up and down the younger boy (who had to be Luka's) torso, as his pajama top had been unbuttoned. Luka had his eyes closed, but he knew what Joe was doing.

Luka opened his eyes, and saw that Joe was still gazing at him. He smiled. "You look amazing in this light," he whispered to him.

And then, Luka opened his eyes.

He was not in Joe's arms. Yes, there was moonlight streaming in the room. But this was not the orphanage room. Joe wasn't here.

Luka stared at the white ceiling above him as he realized that it was all just a dream.

"You loved him." Dr. Whitman's words echoed in his head as Luka sat up. It must have been past midnight. Outside, there were barely any lights on in the city. Only the moonlight illuminated the room in long, wide streaks, painting over the bed too big for him with its light.

Loving Joe could be the only reason that night was the only dream he could ever dream. When he tried to remember what he used to dream of before that night, he could not remember anything. It was always Joe. It was always his phantom touch, and his phantom lips.

Luka looked down at his body; his top was not unbuttoned. He touched his neck where Joe had kissed him. It was dry, and rough.

It just wasn't normal anymore. These dreams of Joe, and what he could have done that night, should mean something else, something deeper.

It couldn't be just a dream...right?

Just then, Luka glanced at his reflection on the television screen. The moonlight shone on him, making his light hair looking almost platinum. There were dark circles under his eyes; were they always there before? His hospital gown sagged on him, making it look like his body had shrunk when he first wore it. His arm was in a thick cast, and his injured leg looked like a swollen lump under the sheets.

What day is it? Luka found himself thinking. How long has it been since Joe died? Has it been months? What was happening in the orphanage? Were they still visiting Joe's grave?

And then, it hit him. These dreams had to have a message.

It all had to be from Joe. Luka couldn't understand the complete reasons that made him think it was messages from Joe, but it just had to be.

Joe wanted him back. Maybe to visit him, at least. Maybe to even kiss his gravestone.

Luka knew that he might not be thinking straight. Sleep, he thought to himself. I should sleep first.

But in the end, Luka stayed up, staring at the bare white ceiling, and thinking about Joe.

"Good morning, Luka" Chocolate greeted that morning, walking in with a tray of bread and a small cup of milk. Luka had been sitting up, staring blankly at the television screen that was just showing static. Outside, the sun was shining brightly.

Chocolate glanced at the television set and managed an amused grin. "No, Luka. TVs don't work like that. Look, you can change it to this channel," he said, taking the remote control and switching it to CNN. A middle-aged woman with short blonde hair and full bangs reported about news from the Middle East. Luka barely heard anything she said.

As Chocolate began to leave, Luka called after him. "How far is St. Peter's Cemetery from here?" he asked.

Chocolate turned to look at him, somewhat surprised by the question. "About two hours from here, if you take the bus," he said. "Why? Do you know someone buried there?"

"How much does a bus ticket cost?" Luka asked even more, ignoring Chocolate's question.

"It's...three dollars at most," Chocolate replied hesitantly. "You do know you can't leave the hospital, especially since your leg is broken."

"I didn't say anything like that," Luka replied coldly. Chocolate's usual cheerful attitude completely disappeared. For some reason, when Luka talked so coldly, it made him feel afraid. He immediately could not tell what Luka was thinking, nor feeling.

"A-alright," Chocolate replied meekly, backing away. Luka just stared at him with those cold, lifeless eyes. A part of him felt silly; he was afraid of a 12 year old boy! But this boy was completely different. After his interview with Dr. Whitman, he had noticed that the doctor was more quiet and reserved. And when he had asked about it, Dr. Whitman didn't even seem to hear it.

"You better eat up, since you'll be having a meeting with Dr. Cornwall at eleven o'clock," Chocolate quickly said. Dr. Cornwall was Luka's physical therapist for his broken leg and arm, but so far Luka had been unresponsive to the doctor's questions, often ignoring him, and if he wasn't, he was giving cryptic answers to even the simplest questions about how he felt.

Luka turned away, and Chocolate felt as if the hand that had been tightening over his heart had let go. Without looking back, Chocolate walked out of the room, walking as briskly as he could back to the nurse station.

"Come on, Luka. Hold on to the bars," Dr. Cornwall encouraged him as Luka stood at the center of the therapy room of the hospital, supported by a crutch.

The doctor had short blonde hair, and was almost fifty-six years old. She was said to be the "mother" of the hospital, due to the fact she always had a motherly nature to her patients.

In front of Luka were two parallel bars reaching up to his waist. It was what patients who had broken their legs used to practice walking again. This therapy had begun almost a week ago now, but there wasn't much progress, due to the fact that Luka would be unresponsive to Dr. Cornwall. And this seemed to be the case again, as Luka just stared at the bars, not moving.

Dr. Cornwall sighed. She had been told that Luka was a "difficult patient", and she knew about his congenital insensitivity. But she figured that she can get around with his behavior, and at this point, she was beginning to lose patience.

"Luka, dear?" she asked, almost through gritted teeth. "You've been ignoring me since our first meeting. Do you not know how to respect your elders? And I figured you'd be a smart young man," Dr. Cornwall said with a sigh.

Luka turned to her. His blank, grey eyes always struck her. They were like murky waters she just could not see through. "Well? Will you finally do your therapy?" Dr. Cornwall asked.

Luka just stared at her for what felt like minutes on end, and the silence was suffocating. And then, he looked away, and in Dr. Cornwall's surprise, let go of the crutch. As the crutch fell, Luka leaned forward and held on to the bar to his left. He then stepped forward with his good leg, his injured one a few centimeters above the ground.

Dr. Cornwall was surprised and lost for words, but then she found her voice again. "L-Luka! Don't go too fast!" she cried out. But before she could finish her sentence, Luka lost his balance, and fell to the ground.

Dr. Cornwall immediately rushed to his side as Luka sat up, his body weight against his broken leg. Dr. Cornwall gasped. "What are you doing?!" she exclaimed, as she gingerly moved Luka's body a bit to the side and helped take out his broken leg from underneath him.

"You're just injuring yourself even more! Don't rush into things like that, okay?" Dr. Cornwall said to him, squatting down next to him so they could be eye-level.

Luka continued to look down at his lap, and Dr. Cornwall tried to meet his eyes.

"I want to go," Luka muttered, almost to himself.

"Go? Where to?" Dr. Cornwall asked.

Luka looked up, and their eyes met. And suddenly, Luka's grey, unreadable eyes were suddenly filled with life. They seemed to be brighter...but this time, it was with anger.

"I'm so tired of all of this," Luka said, his voice steely. "I want to be with Joe."

"Joe? Who's Joe?" Dr. Cornwall couldn't help but keep asking. As much as Luka always pushed her to her limits, she wanted to know more about him.

Luka turned away from her, his hand turning to a tight fist. "I need to see him. I need to go home," he continued to say.

"Where's home?" Dr. Cornwall said.

"It's Joe. Joe is my home!" Luka said, his voice getting louder.

Dr. Cornwall was taken aback. This was the first time ever that Luka raised his voice at her, or at anyone for that matter. She stood up. "Today's session is over. I'm going to schedule a meeting with Dr. Whitman for you. I think you need a talk with him."

Luka stared down at his lap again, tears brimming in his eyes,  as Dr. Cornwall walked away, dialing Dr. Whitman's number in her phone.

"Dr. Whitman's still in a meeting, but he'll be back in his office in about fifteen minutes, so I'll just drop you off there. Is that okay?" Curly asked Luka as he wheeled the boy down the hall to Dr. Whitman's office.

Luka turned to face Curly. "Where are the clothes that I wore when I was first brought to this hospital?" he asked.

Curly titled his head to the side, thinking. "Hmm, I'm pretty sure it would just be in this crate inside the storage room of the seventh floor, which is the floor where your room is," he said.

Luka turned away, thinking. There were quite a lot of patients passing by in that hall, more often than not in wheelchairs. A tall, teenage boy with dark hair passed by them, and when Luka saw him from the corner of his eyes, he thought for a split second that it was Joe. His heartbeat seemed to slam hard against his chest as that boy was wheeled past him, and Luka tried to get a better look at him, but he was too far away.

"You know him, Luka?" Curly asked. Luka turned away, feeling his heartbeat slow down with disappointment. "I wish I did," he replied.

Indeed, Dr. Whitman's office was empty. Curly placed Luka's wheelchair in front of Dr. Whitman's table, then closed the door behind him.

The office was deathly quiet, save for the soft ticking of the wall clock. Luka eyed the objects on top of Dr. Whitman's table: there was a paper rack almost filled with what looked like hundred pages of documents; there was a small box that was opened, and inside it were calling cards; there was a jug of water by his left side, half empty; and then, there was a small, golden key, the sunlight reflecting off it.

Taking a deep breath, Luka held on to the table with his good hand and slowly stood up. Luka had not planned how he would go back to Joe, but he knew that he had little time left before Dr. Whitman came back. He took his time limping around the table's right side, keeping his eye on the golden key.

Eventually, he was close enough to reach it. The limping had begun to exhaust him, but he knew he couldn't stop to take a breather. He crashed down on Dr. Whitman's chair, and took the key. 

There were two drawers, and he tried the first one. He insert the key into the keyhole, turned it to the right, and heard a click. He put the key aside and opened the drawer. Inside were what looked like discarded papers and empty black ballpens. He frantically searched through them, until his hand touched something that felt like leather. He held on to that object and took it out.

It was Dr. Whitman's wallet.

For a second, Luka hesitated. Dr. Whitman had helped him, in some way or another. Was it right to steal for him?

But then he remembered Joe. He remembered his face, his touch, his lips.

If it was for Joe, he knew he'd do anything.

Placing the wallet on his lap, he opened it and took out two 2 dollar bills. And then, he took out an extra dollar bill for good measure. Holding them tight in his hand, he closed the wallet and stuffed it underneath the mess inside the top drawer. He closed it and locked it with the key. Luka made sure to put the key back right where it was before, and then held on to the table to stand up again, the dollar bills crinkling in his palm.

Luka had to discard the wheelchair and limped towards the door, holding on to anything that was in his way for balance, cursing all the while about his dislocated arm. By the time he reached the door, he was panting. He glanced at the wall clock. It had taken him ten minutes to do all that; in five minutes, Dr. Whitman would be back.

Luka turned the doorknob and checked the hallway. There were barely any people passing anymore, and there was no one waiting on the benches outside the offices of other doctors. The nurse station was relatively far from here, and out of sight.

Luka leaned against the walls as he limped out of the office, not bothering to close the door behind him anymore. "Seventh floor...seventh floor..." he muttered under his breath, repeating it over and over like a chant. He kept his eyes on the elevator doors, freezing in place whenever it opened. Eventually, he reached it, and clicked the down button.

There was no one inside the elevator when it opened, and Luka breathed a sigh of relief. Limping in, he leaned against the walls of the elevator and clicked the button for the seventh floor. He was up at the eleventh floor; the chances of the elevator stopping in a floor in between was great. But at that point, Luka didn't care so much anymore. As the elevator doors closed, he thought only of Joe.

Luka's heart pounded as the elevator went down, keeping his eyes glued to the buttons for the floors, as it illuminated each floor it passed. But by some miracle, it directly stopped at the seventh floor. Luka straightened up and limped out again from the elevator, reminding himself to take crutches from the supply room.

Luka wasn't sure what time it was anymore, but it must have been a time when all patients were in their rooms and all doctors and nurses were in meetings, because the hall of the seventh floor was devoid of people. The smell of alcohol and medicine tickled Luka's nose as he limped towards the supply door that was at the very end of the hall.

He reached the door without any obstruction, but when he tried turning the knob, it was locked. He cursed under his breath and looked around for the key. Just nearby was an empty nurse station. It felt like Luka was the only person in the whole hospital, and he knew he had to use it to his advantage.

Luka limped towards the nurse station and went inside, searching for a key. He looked underneath folders and papers, and pushed aside lunch boxes and water jugs.

Finally, he found it hanging on a yellow string on a hook. Grabbing it, he limped as fast as he could back to the door of the supply room. The ticking sound from the wall clock was echoing loud in his ears.

He opened the room, and a cloud of dust hit him in the face. Coughing, Luka searched for a light switch. He turned on a single fluorescent lamp and the small supply room was filled with orange light. It was just a small room with five shelves filled to the ceiling with crates and boxes labeled with dates and names. Luka even saw a box at the very top labeled with the year 1987.

"It would just be in this crate," Curly's voice echoed in his mind. He was a recent patient, so his crate had to be at the bottom shelf. Luka searched every crate on the bottom shelf carefully, looking for his name.

Finally, he found a small yellow crate with his name on it written in marker. He fell to his knees and crawled towards it, taking it out. Inside was the navy blue polo and black pants he wore in Joe's funeral. It had large holes and it was caked with mud, dirt, and what looked like dried blood.

Luka ignored those details and searched for the flower he had plucked.

It was still inside his pocket, and though it was slightly crumpled up and it was almost fully dried, it was better than nothing. Luka brought the flower to his lips and kissed it, and it smelled of mud. He held on to it with the dollar bills and pushed the crate away. 

He clumsily got up and searched for crutches. Leaning against the wall to his left were an old, yellowing pair. Luka doubted if they could still support him, but he had little time left.

Luka glanced at his injured arm. It was still in a cast that had not been changed in two days. Luka clicked his tongue in annoyance and put away the fact that it was supposed to be dislocated from his mind. He used that hand to get the crutches, and promptly put one crutch under each arm. He didn't feel pain anyway; might as well use his deformity to his advantage.

The crutches made him faster, and he left the supply room quickly, the crutches making loud noises on the ground. He got a glimpse of the clock as he passed by; he had two minutes left. Already, he could hear the incoming noises of many feet nearing that hall. He quickly entered the elevator and clicked ground floor. The second before the elevator doors closed, he saw the nurses and doctors entering the hall in a great crowd.

The meeting was long, and the meeting room was overcrowded. It was the inauguration speech of the new director of the hospital, and he talked on and on about innovation and medicine's new technology so much to the point Curly was beginning to get sleepy. He, like the other nurses, did not expect that they would be required to hear the speech, but their supervisor dragged them to the room, telling them that anyone who didn't go to the meeting would have to work overtime.

When the meeting finally ended, Curly looked for Dr. Whitman and told him of how Luka was waiting for him in his office. "According to Dr. Cornwall, he had this incident during therapy today and he should talk to you," Curly said to him as they walked back to Dr. Whitman's office.

The doctor sighed and nodded, his hands behind his back. "Alright, thanks for telling me," he responded. Curly knew that he should go to the station he was assigned in at the seventh floor, but he joined Dr. Whitman anyway.

Curly immediately knew that something was wrong when he saw that Dr. Whitman's office door was open. He quickened his pace and reached the office before Dr. Whitman. When Dr. Whitman eventually reached the office, he found Curly with his mouth agape, his face filled with shock.

A wheelchair was in front of Dr. Whitman's table, but it was empty. The chairs closer to the door were in disarray, as if it was moved aside. Then, Dr. Whitman noticed the key to his drawer; it was moved slightly to the left.

"Luka," he whispered, as Curly began to run off back to elevator, saying something about the supply room in the seventh floor.

He knew that they were all staring at him. Who wouldn't? He was still in his hospital gown, his cast falling apart as he put more and more weight into that arm, and his left hand was a tight fist that held on to the dollar bills and the flower.

He waited in the sidewalk for the bus to arrive, and next to him was an elderly couple and a young man probably going to work. Luka wasn't even glancing at their direction, but he could tell they were looking. The old man covered his face with a newspaper, but Luka could hear his whispers to his wife. The young man stared down at his phone screen, but Luka could feel his stare.

There was a large solar-powered clock by the road. Luka checked the time; it was a quarter to 10. By now, Dr. Whitman would be back in his office, and would probably be searching for him already. The hospital was already blocks away from him, and it would take them a while to figure out where he was heading. Luka noticed his bare feet; there were scratches and purple bruises, but he never even felt them being inflicted on his skin.

Finally, the bus arrived. It was a red, double-decker bus, and it was something Luka had never seen before. He bottled his amazement and let the other commuters enter the bus first, watching how they dropped their money into a small, brown box near the driver, and how he gave them a ticket.

After a while, it was just him that was left on the sidewalk. The driver glanced at him. "Do you need any help?" he asked. Luka wanted to say no, but he hesitated. The steps of the bus were high, and he wasn't very good with using these crutches. Plus, he was taking everyone's time if he was going to struggle up the bus.

"Yes, please," Luka said. The driver got up from his chair; he was a rather fat man probably in his forties, with a thick black mustache that made Luka think of Santa Claus in his younger days. He assisted Luka up the stairs, nearly carrying him already. Finally, he was inside the bus, and the driver sat back down. He dropped the very much wrinkled bills into the box.

"Fare's just two dollars," the driver commented. "Are you heading past Greenfields?" he added, referring to the next city.

Luka nodded. "I'm heading for St. Peter's Cemetery," he said.

"I can't drop you off directly at the cemetery, but there's a bus stop nearby the cemetery gate," the driver said. "Is that close enough?"

"Hey mister! We're gonna be late here!" someone from the back called out to them.

"It's okay. Keep the change," Luka said. The driver handed him a small white ticket.

Luka nearly fell asleep as he rested his head against the bus window, but he kept his eyes up and watched as the city began to disappear past him, replaced with suburbs. He ignored other people's stares and glances as they passed by, and pretended to be deaf when he heard a young boy loudly ask his mother if Luka escaped from a mental hospital.

"Shh!" the mother had said, but Luka could tell that she was thinking the same thing as her son. He took a deep breath and thought of Joe again as the drive went on.

"He said something about St. Peter's Cemetery, I'm sure of it!" Chocolate replied as he joined Dr. Whitman and Curly to find for Luka. Word had gone around already that a patient ran from the hospital, but the details were fortunately not specified.

"Why did you two tell him about the bus fare and the supply room?!" Dr. Whitman couldn't help but raise his voice at them as he put on his seatbelt and turned on his car. Chocolate sat next to him and Curly sat at the back, next to a first-aid kit. "He could be lost or down in a ditch for all we know!"

Dr. Whitman took a deep breath and tried to close his eyes for a second. Reprimanding the young nurses would be a waste of time at this point. "We'll find him, sir," Curly piped up from the back.

Dr. Whitman sighed as they exited the parking lot, trying his hardest to resist going as fast as he could. "I really hope so," he replied back, his heart pounding fast in fear.

"You sure you can do it?" the bus driver said as Luka was dropped off at the bus stop. He could already see the gates of the cemetery, and it brought back memories of that day. For a second, he remembered seeing those gates for the first time as they followed Joe's casket, and how even the birds were silent as they passed. Everywhere around him were empty fields of rice and corn.

"It's okay, I can manage. Thanks, mister," Luka said, beginning to limp towards the gates. The driver nodded and the doors closed, and Luka paused for a while to watch the bus turn around and go back to the main highway.

The drive to the cemetery took an hour, and the sun was now at its peak. Luka could see the haze of heat from the asphalt as he limped towards the gate, the only sound being the chirping of birds from nearby trees and the tapping of his crutches against the ground.

There was a guard inside the first guardhouse, and Luka had to hide underneath a tree and see if he was looking his way. But on closer inspection, Luka saw that the guard was asleep. Anxiously, Luka whistled a high note to check if the guard would hear, but the guard was breathing deeply, his mouth open. Luka limped faster as he entered the cemetery, just in case.

The cemetery was a wide, sprawling field with barely any shade. In one side were the tombs and gravestones, weather beaten as they were; and farther off were the mausoleums, and Luka thought he recognized the mausoleum he jumped off from, as it stood just above the cliff.

The sun was beating down on him, and it looked like the world was ten times brighter in front of him. Luka wondered if being underneath this much sunlight would finally allow him to feel heat, but he still felt nothing, except for the fast beating of his heart that seemed to have forgotten how to slow down.

Luka tried to remember that day, trying to remember a landmark near Joe's grave. And then, it felt as if he was teleported back to that day. In front of him appeared Joe's hearse, and how that black, long car moved slowly. He heard the sound of shoes tapping against the asphalt in a rhythm, and how when he looked around, everyone had their heads down. Not many people had come to join them in the burial, but far away he heard the distant sound of someone crying.

He had looked up just then, and noticed a tall, white tower past the fields of tombstones. It began to clear up in his memory, and he realized now that it was a windmill from a nearby farm, lazily turning in the wind.

Luka blinked hard, and when he opened his eyes, he was all alone again in the road. He looked to his right and saw the white windmill, brighter now with the sunlight shining on it. Luka immediately headed into the fields, passing through other gravestones, frantically searching for Joe's name, feeling like his breath was caught in his throat.

Luka had lost track of how long he had searched for Joe's name amongst many others. He couldn't remember there being this many gravestones before, but it was either he just wasn't paying attention before, or many deaths have happened in the past days.

He saw small graves, he saw long ones. He saw a gravestone of a six month old baby, he saw a gravestone of a ninety-six year old woman. He saw a brown teddy bear against a pearly white tombstone of a child, then he saw a nearly black tombstone with a faded name. But no Joe Hardy.

Luka stopped where he was. The sun was directly above him, and the sky was cloudless, the blue almost as bright as his surroundings. Everything was too bright; even the gravestones shone in the light. But he could not find Joe. Luka felt like his chest was suddenly getting tighter, like someone was holding on to it very tightly.

His heart raced inside, and for a second the thought that this might be how pain felt like flashed through his mind. A small, ironic smile graced Luka's face, before he found the grass rushing towards him.

When Luka opened his eyes, he was lying on his stomach, just like how he lay on the ground of his room in the orphanage whenever he jumped. The smell of drying grass and earth filled his nose, and Luka decided not to move for a while. The sun had not budged from its high spot in the sky, and the air around him was deathly still.

His vision began to clear, and Luka took notice of the gravestone next to him. he saw the gilded letters on the tombstone. Through the haze, he saw those letters and united them in his head to a name.

Joe Hardy.

Luka thought that his strength would come rushing back to him, but he found that he still felt anchored to where he was. Am I sick? He asked himself. But it did not matter now.

He reached out to touch the gravestone. His hand shook with exhaustion, but he reached out anyway. Finally, he felt the roughness of the gravestone, and the small pebbles and dried leaves that littered it. He brushed it away with his hand, then placed the small, dried flower in the center.

Luka sighed and rested his face against the earth again, keeping his hand on top of Luka's gravestone. Nothing mattered to him anywhere.

He found Joe.

He was home.

At first, he could not hear the voices he heard next, and it felt like he was floating head down in murky water. But then, a strong hand pulled him out.

"Luka! Luka, can you hear me!"

Luka groggily opened his eyes. Had he fallen asleep? Someone was looking down on him. The sun had slightly moved.

"It's a heatstroke, sir," someone else said. Suddenly, two people were now looking down on him. Luka could only make out their sillhouettes. His mouth felt immensely dry, like he had been eating sand. "He has absorbed too much heat. And sir...his arm might need amputation. It's completely dislocated and has discoloration."

His vision began to clear again, and Dr. Whitman's aged face began to get clearer. The doctor was panting slightly, and beads of water was on the sides of his face. "Hurry, bring the car near," he ordered the other silhouette.

"Doctor..." Luka croaked out. Dr. Whitman turned to look behind him. "Bring water as well!" he ordered. Suddenly, Luka felt the ground disappear from beneath him. Dr. Whitman was carrying him just like Joe did whenever Luka fell.

Joe.

Luka used whatever strength he had left to look back at Joe's gravestone as he was carried away. "Joe! I can't leave Joe!" he frantically cried out, reaching out a hand to the gravestone.

"Joe's going to be alright!" Dr. Whitman said to him. "I'll take care of you, Luka. I'll adopt you."

"B-but Joe!" Luka repeated stubbornly.

Luka's body was pulled closer to Dr. Whitman. "He's going to be alright," he said, his voice softer and more gentle now, like he was telling him a secret.

Luka never took his eyes away from Joe's gravestone as Dr. Whitman carried him to the car. A few gravestones to the north, a tall boy with dark hair wearing a white polo and white pants watched, his hands in his pockets. He waved towards Luka. His skin was a creamy white, completely undefiled. His blue eyes were undeniable. 

Luka rested his face against Dr. Whitman's shoulder, and waved back. The tall boy smiled at him, then turned away, walking towards the windmill, as the sun continued to shine brightly on the crumpled, dried flower on Joe Hardy's grave.