"Sometimes we get into a routine, something I now believe to be a very dangerous thing, because when we do we run the risk of losing it" -- a philosopher

Light worms itself into his eyelids, and forces him from his peaceful slumber into the rambunctious time called morning. Rubbing any leftover sleep from the sandman's visit, he looks around, and finds himself sitting up in a very comfortable bed, as it should be, he would know he picked it himself. Looking around his foreign environment, he tries to get himself familiarized with his very familiar room.

The boy has a shaved head and plain, but mystical eyes. He looks at the world around him with a depth of contemplation akin to that of a monk. The room seems different, from what he is not sure, but seeing the lack of personal items, and the unnatural cleanliness of the room something, something is odd here. Instead of continuing the quiet contemplation of his surroundings, he scooches over to the side of the bed and places his feet on the ground, his legs wobbling from even his light weight.

He crashes to the ground.

At the sound, a flurry of noise follows, and through the door comes, dressed in white clothing from top to bottom, a person their gender indistinguishable in the white suit. The visitor chides the boy,

"You should know not to get out of bed sir, it's not good for your health, especially after the um…" the intruder to his sanctum lowers their head bobbing it up and down "ah yes, surgery, you wouldn't want to injure yourself after your father put that much money into your recovery right."

'She's right. I couldn't allow myself to be a bother to my father, he's done so much for me, and it just wouldn't… be… right?'

'Wait.'

'What I have a father?'

'…'

"Sir, what's the matter, you look a bit pale," the garbed person says to the boy while reaching out to steady him.

"Um… excuse me," the person perks up at the boy's words, "but could you tell me my name?"