Chapter Text
"Jonathan Kent," they call his name. Jon looks up and lets go of his scarf, meeting the woman's kind and warm gaze. "Go ahead, Jonathan," the therapist says, gesturing for him to come in. Jon stands up and, with slow steps, enters the room. The atmosphere is cozy as always: the plants on the windowsill perfectly cared for, the books neatly arranged on the shelves, and those light blue curtains through which the sun's rays softly filter in.
Jon takes a seat on the brown sofa, wrapping his arms around himself and keeping his fingers tangled in the scarf.
"How are you, Jon?" the woman asks after a few seconds, giving him his space, without pressuring him.
"Good, I think," Jon replies in a whisper. "The truth is, I’ve made a lot of progress. I've learned a lot in my remedial classes, I've started talking more with my classmates, and... well, the nightmares have decreased considerably."
"It’s good to hear that, Jon," the woman responds. "I'm glad you're feeling better. It's good to know you're opening up a bit more to the people around you and having more peaceful nights."
Jon nods, but keeps his gaze fixed on his sneakers. "Yeah... more peaceful nights, I guess. But the nightmares tend to come back stronger after a while of not showing up." Jonathan gently squeezes the scarf between his slightly trembling fingers.
The woman remains silent, giving him space.
"This scarf, I don't know why... I still don't know why it comforts me. Even when I think about that, feeling the scarf between my fingers calms me down a bit."
The woman nods and then carefully adds, "Have you had any memories about it? Anything that tells you why that is, Jon?"
Jon shakes his head. "Not yet, but a few days ago, my mom saw me wearing it. Apparently, she wanted to use it for an interview, but the moment she saw it, her expression changed. Her eyes welled up with tears, and Dad's voice trembled... Maybe it means something to them, too. They know, but they don't want to tell me. Maybe..."
Jon pauses for a moment, a memory flashing into his mind. The gray and blue scarf through his tear-blurred vision. His mother's sobs. The snow falling over them. Him instinctively stepping back from the shadow projected over him, and finally... letting himself be completely embraced, the three of them falling to the ground—his mother, his father, and him in the middle.
Jon felt a shiver run down his spine; he was beginning to remember. The night he came back. He was trembling, not from the cold—he was trembling out of fear, out of desperation, then give way to calm, from the calm that arrives when you finally know you are safe. When you know that the man holding you isn't the same one who, for seven years, made you cry, made you bleed, and made you wish you were dead. When you know that this man is the one who taught you how to fly, the one who was there to pick you up when you fell, the man who has loved you with all his heart from the moment he heard your very first heartbeat. He was home. He was finally home.
Jon snapped back to reality, his eyes damp and tears already tracking down his cheeks. He sniffled and finally looked up, gripping the scarf tightly once more.
"I think... I think I remembered," he whispered. "That scarf means I'm home. That I'm finally home."