Patrick sits in the middle of his bed after his visit with Clio, a journal in his hands. A memory came back to him in the shower, and now he is clad only in his green boxers since his haste to record his memory has meant he did not bother to dress. The unsightly bruise on his side is showcased to the room, but he has more important matters to attend to.

The memories that come are fleeting and in some ways seemingly unimportant. To Patrick, however, they are glimpses of his past and he sees them as small treasures to be hoarded. He writes each one of them down in detail, including the setting and the atmosphere to see if he can encourage more of that memory to come back to him, yet it never does. At least not yet.

But he writes anyway. Just in case.

Just been visited by inspiration, which is wonderful. I keep remembering small things from my past. Like sitting in the middle of some woods and chucking a mushroom at George's head, though I have no idea what he said to cause this fungal incident. I remember praying with Andrew in some snowy and windswept place. I remember eating Dewi's food and then jumping up and kissing his cheek, though I remember nothing else about when or where that happened, just that it was a long time ago.

It isn't the big things. But it makes me feel peaceful in a way. The first things I am remembering are my brothers. I like that.

Look, guys, no alcohol.