JACKSON POV

I was still kneeling beside the couch, frozen in place, my wrist still trapped in his firm grip. Those ice blue eyes still stared at me, cutting through all my thoughts.

The silence that just stretched between us as we gazed at each other felt like an eternity but was probably just a few seconds.

Then slowly, the man's grip loosened. His hand fell away, and he blinked, confusion replacing whatever intensity had been there before.

"Where...?" He spoke in a grudge voice, accented in a way I couldn't place.

"My apartment," I managed, trying to hide the tremble in my voice. "You were hit by a car. You were bleeding, but-"

My eyes moved to his temple, where the wound should have been but somehow wasn't anymore. "I brought you here because you were hurt."

His hand went to his head, his fingers moving through the spot I was staring at, his brows furrowing even deeper in confusion.

"I don't..." He closed his eyes, concentrating. "I can't remember."

"Remember what?" I asked, though part of me already knew the answer.

"Anything," his eyes snapped open and there was a quiet panic written on his face.

"You don't...you don't remember anything?" I blurt out, feeling the same level of panic now.

He shook his head slowly, then winced like the movement hurt. His hand went back to his temple, fingers searching more carefully this time.

"I don't know where I am, I don't...I don't remember my name." He mutters, his voice growing low and grim. "Nothing.

I rock back on my heels, my mind racing. Okay. Okay. Amnesia. That's a thing that happens with head trauma, right?

Nevermind that the head trauma healed minutes ago, nevermind the impossible strength in the dude's grip, never mind the way his eyes glowed.

This was all beyond not minding!

"We should get you to the hospital," I said, reaching out for my phone again.

"No." The words came out sharp and immediate. He stood up and I instinctively leaned back. "No hospitals."

"You were hit by a car," I argued, trying to sound reasonable even though nothing about this was reasonable. "You could have internal injuries, or even a concussion."

"I'm fine." He looked down at himself, at the blood on his strange clothes, and seemed to realize how that sounded. "I mean...I feel fine. I don't think I need a hospital."

Something about the way he said that made me feel uneasy, he either hated hospitals or it was something more suspicious.

I wanted to argue more, but realistically, even if we wanted to go...I glanced toward the window across the room. The snow was fuming more than ever, it was equivalent to a winterland out there.

We were getting nowhere tonight.

"Fine," I sighed, not sure if I was relieved or more worried. "Can you at least tell me if anything hurts? Your head, your ribs, your legs?"

He did a careful self-assessment, moving his limbs experimentally, pressing his hands against his side. "No. Nothing hurts."

He looked up at me, and there was something distressed in his expression. "It should, shouldn't it? I remember the car's impact. I should be in pain."

He should be dead.

This was all so weird. There were just too many questions to be asked about dark and hunky over here but I was trying my best to not think about it and solve the problem at hand.

I stood, needing some distance to think clearly. "Okay, okay," I waved my hands in the air. "No hospital, but you are covered in blood and your clothes are soaked. You need to get cleaned up and warmed, then we can figure out what to do next."

He nodded slowly, looking around my apartment like he was seeing one for the first time.

It was the living room, kitchen, bathroom and bedroom combo that I manage to afford with my job and help from my parents. It wasn't much, but I kept it neat and cozy.

Every available shelf was cluttered with books, a thick blanket draped the couch, my laptop on the coffee table surrounded by reading materials and highlighters.

Evidence of my quiet, normal life, everything it was supposed to be but now, there was a bleeding stranger-except he wasn't bleeding anymore-standing in the middle of it.

"The bathroom's through there," I said, pointing. "I'll find you some clean clothes. We're about the same height, so they should fit." I hesitated. "Can you walk?"

He stood in one smooth motion-no wobbling, no weakness. He was tall, maybe six-two to my five-eleven, and built in that lean, defined-muscle kind of way.

 "I can walk," he said simply.

I led him to the bathroom, aware of how cramped my apartment suddenly felt with him in it. How his presence seemed to fill the space between us and I wasn't talking about his size.

I grabbed a clean towel from the linen closet and set it on the counter. "Take your time. I'll leave the clothes outside the door."

He moved inside and touched the towel, then the sink, then the light switch, with this kind of careful curiosity. He looked almost like a child.

When he caught me watching, something flickered across his face-embarrassment maybe.

"Thank you,"he said quietly. "For helping me...you didn't have to."

Something in my chest tightened. "Not like I could have left you in the snow." I said, managing to smile.

I closed the bathroom door and leaned against it, heart still hammering. I looked down at my hands that were trembling uncontrollably, blood stuck under my nails.

I should be calling someone. Maya, except she was in Korea. My parents, except that would be an utter disaster. The police, except the cell towers were completely down.

I should be making more of an effort at least but...

When I closed my eyes, all I could see was his face when he'd said he didn't know his name. The obvious fear and confusion and desperate need to understand.

How could I not want to protect that kind of thing?

JACKSON POV

The shower started and I forced myself to move. Clothes. Right. He needed clothes. I went to my bedroom and started digging through my drawers.

I stumbled upon some dark gray sweatpants, a black t–shirt and a Gary hoodie to match. I smiled in satisfaction as I looked back at my selection.

"These would suit him," I muttered as I folded them carefully, thinking about how he would look on my clothes.

I left the stack outside the bathroom door then retreated to the four corners of the kitchen. "Ah-"

I had completely forgotten that the grocery bags were still by the front door. When I peeked out the door, I sighed to see them surrounded by a puddle of molten snow.

"The milk's definitely warm now," I picked everything up and started putting them away in the kitchen almost on auto-pilot.

Putting the cans and bags of food away helped, it made everything feel almost normal again.

My phone was on the counter, still showing no signal. Sigh. I continued putting away things when something struck me.

I had a landline!

"How could I forget something so important?"

The building was an old one and the previous tenant had kept it, and I'd never bothered to disconnect it either. I scurried over to a section in the living room where it hid under piles of books.

I picked up the receiver and my heart jumped when I received a dial tone.This was perfect, I could finally call someone-but that sinking feeling in my stomach returned.

I let out a huff of air.

Give or take, even if I was calling with the intention of evacuating him into better hands, what was I supposed to tell them?

That I witnessed a hit-and-run but couldn't identify the car, and oh before I forget, the victim healed instantly and doesn't remember his own name? They'd think I was insane. Even I was starting to think that I was insane.

I heard the shower shut off and I almost jumped out of my own skin.

I practically flew back to the kitchen and kept myself busy by making tea-chamomile tea that was apparently supposed to be calming. I was pouring the second cup when the bathroom door opened.

The man emerged in my clothes, toweling his dark hair and I swore to God that I almost choked.

The sweatpants fitted perfectly, the hoodie was slightly tight across his shoulders, emphasizing just how wide they were and his hair, now clean and damp, fell into eyes. They were longer than I'd realized.

And without the blood and grime, he was even more striking-almost beautiful, in a way.

The thought hit me like a slap in the face, and I nearly dropped the teapot. Why the hell would I think that a guy was beautiful?

He glanced over at me while I was still staring and my heart almost leaped out of my chest. I turned away quickly, heat crawling up my neck.

I felt his feet shuffle as he started moving forward, I focused hard on the tea that I was pouring. My hands were shaking again.

'That didn't mean anything,'  I tried convincing myself. Our eyes just happened to meet. Right, that kind of thing happened all the time, it didn't mean anything.

He took a seat on the couch, the scent of shampoo filling the space between us.

"Better?" I asked, trying to sound normal and probably failing.

"Yes. Thank you." He said in that same controlled graceful tone, like every single syllable was deliberate. He looked uncomfortable in the clothes I gave him, tugging at the hoodie like it didn't quite fit right even though it did.

"I found these in my pocket," he said suddenly.

I looked up and he was holding out his hand. In it were three objects; a smooth black stone, polished to a shine, a strip of leather cord with strange symbols burned into them and a small shard of something crystalline that caught the light like ice.

I stared at them, not quite sure what I was looking at exactly. Just what the heck were those?

"Do you know what they are?"

"No," he responded, frustration etched in his voice, sharp and bitter. "I keep trying to remember, but it's like reaching through a fog. I know these mean something, but I can't-" He cut himself off, his jaw tightening.

His hand closed around the objects, his knuckles going paler than they already were. I positioned the teapot on the coffee table, just in case he needed more. I lifted a cup and gestured for him to take it.

After a moment's hesitation, he did, wrapping his fingers around the cup. Our skin brushed mildly and his were still cold to the touch.

I wanted to ask about that but I knew for a fact he wouldn't have the answer either. He stared down at the swirling tea in the cup and I took a seat on the arm chair, maintaining distance.

"Okay," I breathed, trying to organize my scattered thoughts into something coherent. "Let's start with something we do know, shall we?"

He nodded, taking a small sip. I couldn't tell whether he liked it or not.

"You were hit by a car around 9:45, if I'm not mistaken. Dark sedan, I didn't get the plate number unfortunately but what we do know is that he didn't stop." My voice came out more infuriated than I intended. "You were unconscious when I found you, bleeding from a head wound that-"

I stopped. How did you say it? How did you tell someone that their head injury...just healed itself?

"That healed," he finished quietly, setting the cup down. "I know, I can feel it. That something's...wrong. That I'm not-" He struggled for the word. "Normal."

The way he said it made my chest ache. Could it be that he was some sort of human experiment and managed to get away?

Sigh.

I watched too much Stranger Things.

"Do you remember anything before the accident?" I asked. "Even fragments? Feelings, images...anything?

He closed his eyes, and I watched his face tighten with concentration. His jaw clenched, his breathing slowed.

After a long moment of silence, his eyes shot open and there was something gleaming in them.

Then he spoke.

JACKSON POV

"Nothing." He said, glancing away, disappointment evident in his voice. "There's just nothing."

This was a little too sad, even for me.

"Do you think there's anyone we could call? Anyone who might be looking for you?"

"I don't know." The helplessness in this voice was almost painful to hear. "I don't know if I have a family, or friends, or a home. I don't know if anyone's looking for me."

He glanced at his hands, his face darkening. "I don't know anything."

We sat in silence for a long moment. Outside, the storm continued its rage, wind howling uncontrollably, threatening to split the window open if it wasn't locked so tight.

My apartment suddenly felt isolated, very far from the rest of the world and we were the only ones left in it. I glanced over at  his down-in-the-dumps expression, wishing there was more I could do.

But there wasn't, at least in this weather.

"You should get some rest," I finally said, breaking the silence. "Head trauma and amnesia are no joke. Even if you feel fine now, it doesn't change the fact your body went through something."

I stood and moved closer to him. "You can take the couch tonight, and tomorrow when the storm clears, we'll figure out our next step. Find someone who can help, or-"

"Jackson..."

I stopped. My name in his voice did something weird to me.

"I didn't tell you my name," I said slowly.

He blinked, then understanding crossed his face...then hesitation. "It was written in your mail. On the table by the door."

Of course, that made sense. My gaze narrowed, skeptically. That made...perfect sense.

"Thank you, Jackson," he continued and his random appreciation caught me off guard. "I wish I could give you a name to call me."

My heart instantly melted. I took a deep breath and shook my head, resisting the urge to give him a name but that proved useless.

"Fine," I muttered in defeat. I had to stop picking up strays. "We need to call you at least something. Until you remember your real name, of course."

He nodded excitedly and I almost laughed at that. Reaching out at the coffee table, I grabbed my glasses and plopped them on my nose, clearing my throat.

I studied him closely-the pale skin, the bewitching ice-blue eyes, his unusually low body temperature.

Then it struck me.

"Frost!" I beamed. "I'll call you Frost if that's okay."

The man-Frost-tested the name silently, rolling it around and something flickered in his expression.

"Frost," he repeated more loudly. "Yes. That feels...right somehow."

"Frost it is then," I confirmed with a smile, and the name settled between us.

I showed him where the extra blankets were and brought him a pillow from my room.

The couch definitely wasn't long enough for somebody Frost's height but it'd have to do.

Frost didn't complain, he just accepted the bedding with the same careful courtesy.

"Thank you," he said again and I never thought I'd get tired of hearing that. "I know this isn't...I know I'm an imposition."

"You were hurt, lost and it was a blizzard," I said with an arched brown. "It's not an imposition, it's basic humanity."

Something complicated crossed his face, like the concept of basic human decency was foreign to him. "Still. Thank you."

I nodded, suddenly feeling awkward.

"Uhm...bathroom's over there," I pointed. "If you need it. Kitchen's-well you can see the kitchen. Help yourself to whatever. I'll be in there."

I pointed lastly to my bedroom door.

"If you need me."

I smiled then turned around, I was halfway across the room when he spoke again.

"Jackson?"

I turned back.

Frost was standing in the middle of the living room, looking lost and uncertain and completely innocent as he pressed his hands together.

"Why did you choose to help me?" he asked. "You don't know me. I could have been dangerous."

I considered the question and it was pretty fair, plus he had a point. I hadn't even considered it, he could have been extremely dangerous.

"I guess..." I hummed in thought. "I guess, I just believe that everyone deserves saving." I said finally, nodding my head.

"And I couldn't just watch someone die right in front of me." I shrugged. "Bottom line, it felt like the right thing to do. Plus my conscience would have judged me so bad otherwise."

Frost just stared at me, his face completely blank for a long moment. Then he suddenly nodded.

"Thank you," he said again but softer this time.

I retreated to my bedroom and closed the door leaning against it. My heart raced and I could positively say that something was wrong with me.

It didn't pulse this much since that time I competed in a marathon and instantly regretted it. Just what was wrong with me?

Through the thin walls, I could hear Frost moving around, the couch creaking as he settled onto it.

I should be terrified, if I put everything that had just transpired. I should be weary and scared and I should be calling someone but, why wasn't I scared?

Why did I want to have this strange human being all to myself? To be the only one who helped?

Maybe it was because I knew-the fear and confusion and desperate, aching need to understand who he was.

I knew what it felt like to be lost. To not understand yourself. Maybe not to this extreme, but the feeling was familiar enough.

I stretched and moved to change into my pajamas. I slowly climbed the bed feeling the stress of today wash over my body.

Finally comfortable, I stared at the ceiling, knowing sleep wouldn't come anytime soon. Mostly because my mind raced with a thousand thoughts I had no answers to.

Who was Frost? Where did he come from? What happened to him? Why was he standing in the middle of a blizzard wearing such light clothing with those strange objects in his pocket?

And-just what was he?