He's about to snap that he isn't but actually he should not snap at another person when he might be having a mental breakdown. He has no idea how to explain his mental breakdown, though, and he doesn't want to make Doyoon late, and the confluence of things in his brain culminates in, "Did we have sex last night?"

"Yeah! We did! It was great! We should do it again sometime."

Is that a normal thing for a person to say. Is he having a stroke. It feels like that was not a normal thing for a person to say but what does he know.

"Yeah. Uh. Sorry, I don't want to keep you."

"Okay! Bye!"

Off he goes.

Something is seriously wrong. Seriously, seriously wrong. Also you know what's even more wrong? He does, actually, remember having sex with Doyoon, now. Except apparently the thing they did was get under the covers and spend some unspecified amount of time doing some unspecified number of things that his brain assures him were pleasurable sexual activities followed by falling asleep next to each other.

...okay that's not more seriously wrong than having a life expectancy of twelve weeks but it sure feels really fucky that he doesn't even get to keep the memory of touching Doyoon's dick.

But he really does need to talk to a real person right now, because he's continually having thoughts that are making him question everything and if he doesn't place them somewhere outside his brain he feels like his brain might in fact implode from the pressure. But who could he talk to? It's not like he's super close to anyone at the frat, but—he doesn't seem to remember any friends? From before? Yesterday?

Or anything, actually? At all??

He doesn't have contacts on his phone, other than the ones he added yesterday. No one. Not a single person. Not his parents, whom he must've at some point had, nor his siblings, of whose existence he was pretty sure last night, nor anyone else.

He will go to his dorm room, dodge people asking him how he's doing, grab his laptop on his way upstairs, and open a text file to start typing up his findings, in an itemized list.

• I have the feeling that the concept of "age" ought to be associated with a number of years, and that the number of years associated with how old I feel is around twenty
• I have the feeling that a year should have hundreds of days in it, rather than 28
• When I walked from here to campus and back, I experienced a frame skip over the majority of my walked distance
• When I went into class, I experienced the feeling of having gone to class being directly injected into my brain without any specific experiences attached
• When I had sex with Doyoon, I experienced the feeling of having done sexual activities without any specific experiences attached
• I do not seem to have any contacts from before yesterday, nor social media 
• I can't remember my family. I seem to believe I should have parents and two younger siblings but I can't remember their names or faces
• I can't remember any friends from before yesterday 
• I can't remember any objective specific facts about my life from before yesterday
• I seem to have summarised memories of a life story without memories of any specific events attached
• I seem to have the concept of a language and the feeling that there should be multiple of those in the world
• I seem to think that joining a fraternity should've involved more time and effort than it actually did
• I can't find any electronic records that I exist

He looks over the list, trying to think if there's anything more to add to it, other than the one last thing that he really, really doesn't want to add. 

But he should.

• I had numerous very strange and awkward social interactions yesterday and today that made me feel a little bit like I'm insane, or like the other person is

Okay. He has his list.

What... what now? What does he do with this list?

Well, the most important thing is the thing where he's going to die in twelve weeks what the fuck.

—wait. No. Right. The reason he wanted to talk to a real person was to validate that he wasn't having a very strange hallucination or, or other mental event. Not that he'd know how to tell, exactly, since if he's having some kind of mental event that's making him perceive the internet as lying to him about whether he is going to die in twelve weeks that mental event might also lie about whether other people are telling him that. But. He needs to talk to someone.

Okay. He'll. Go find someone to talk to. After giving his list a final forlorn look then closing his laptop.

Here's one of his brothers, sitting on a pool chair and reading a book. "Oh, hey, Peter."

Peter... remembers his name, right. "Hey, Tatsuya. What're you reading?" Why are you making small talk.

"Oh, it's a book for class."

Okay. Sure. Uh.

...

"Hey, Tatsuya, uh. Weird question. How old are you?"

"Oh I'm a young adult."

"I... see. How many, uh... weeks... is that?"

"...I don't follow."

"Like—how many weeks ago were you born?"

"Oh! Uh... I don't... know? Seven, I think?"

...guh.

"I see. And, um, do you—what's—I'm sorry, I know this is a really weird question, but what's your best guess for your life expectancy?"

"...I don't know. Normal expectancy? That's a weird question."

"Does, uh, another twelve weeks sound about right? Ish? On average?"