Existence Tingles

The world felt very still for one person in existence. His mind dribbled in and out of some unfamiliar black unconsciousness. In fact, everything was unfamiliar. The strange taste in his mouth, the overwhelming feeling at the back of his head, and the dampness he felt all around him. He didn't mind. Being unconscious was nice. He was free from all the troubles and worries of life like…erm. Like…well, I can't think of an example of a worry I'm escaping…The young man was startled by the fact that he actually couldn't think of anything about his life.

Okay, so, I'm a little disoriented, he slowly forced himself to gain control of his body. His vocal chords sprung to life with a pitiful moan. He suddenly became aware that he was in the most uncomfortable position that he had ever been in his entire life. His arms ached as they hung above his head and his legs sprawled at such weird angles that he could only feel the light tingle of their existence. He lifted his head from where it was smooched against an object…a sink?

It became disturbingly apparent to the young man that he didn't know where he was. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know why he was here. He didn't know anything.

"Uh. Hey? Is anyone...there?" His voice squeaked more than he would have liked it to. The only response was his own echo, which sounded odd to him. He didn't realize his voice sounded like that…

To relieve his throbbing limbs, he gathered his feet and managed a wobbling stand. His joints crackled to life along with an odd clanking noise. Huh. A chain. His dim mind took a few moments to process this. NO! Whoa! Why am I handcuffed?

He tested the device with a few yanks. Yes, it was locked.

So, I'm sure there is a logical explanation for why I'm here…he glanced around…in this bathroom, being handcuffed, and feeling like I was run over by a train. Maybe I'm having a hangover? Is this what they feel like? Wait…do I even drink? Am I even legal…?

"Hey, guys…Y-you people who handcuffed me…Yeah, it was really funny for awhile there, but it's kinda not anymore. Heh, but man, you got me." He laughed nervously, "But you can let me go now." He chewed on his lips waiting for the TV show host to burst in with a film crew and proclaim, "You've been Punk'd!"

Or maybe his friends would come to inform him that they had some crazy night last night and in their own drunken stupor, thought it was a good idea to handcuff their passed out friend. Man, teens are idiots.

But no. No one came.

"Jesus Christ, Zexion. Just take the damn mop and clean it up."

Zexion complied, but left his manager with a hateful glare. One day, I'm enjoying my leisure time in the bookstore café, the next, I'm cleaning up human fluids. Summer jobs were an evil that Zexion could not outsmart. He honestly wouldn't have minded working in his favorite bookstore, but the "mature books" they sold there required all employees to be eighteen. Zexion turned his back to the Gods as soon as he heard this.

He was then left with the only option for seventeen year olds. Food service. The most vile, disgraceful, vulgar, and shameful profession. A fry-cook at Burger Fling.

He felt like retching. Humans were disgusting and it seemed that fast-food joints attracted the most deranged.

When the soiled spot once again matched the dank grey of the surrounding floor, Zexion collected his cleaning materials and made his way to the supplies closet. The short teen grumbled as he put everything away, with his luck he'd be taking them out again in a half an hour. And with his luck, he heard muffled screams from the men's room. Not again…

He burst through the "employees only" door and confronted his manager and flatly informed him, "Hey, there's another crazy screaming person in the bathroom again."

"Just shoo them away." His manager busied himself with paperwork.

"Yes, I would do that, but as my manager you must create a safe and comfortable working environment for all your employees. I, quite frankly, do not feel comfortable with dealing with the mentally insane." Zexion pouted.

"Jesus Christ, Zexion. Just tell them to leave."

"I don't feel-"

"I don't care, Zexion! Go!"

Zexion glared through the navy hair that draped over his face. Without a word, he left to go take care of the crazy man, making sure his moody stomping could be heard by his manager the entire time. He swung the men's room door open and with a death glare, he raised his voice above the other's screaming.

"I'm sorry, Sir," he droned in the most sarcastic way, "But you're going to have to-"

He blinked. There was a pitiful man handcuffed to the sink. That wasn't normal. But then again, he had only been working here for a week.

"YOU!" The person gasped. "Please, please! Let me go!" The blonde looked as if he was on the verge of tears.

Zexion gaped.

"W-what do you want from me? Why did you do this?"

Zexion snapped at the accusation, "You are mistaken. I've never seen you before in my life. The only thing I want from you is for you to leave. Now if you would remove your handcuffs from my sink and-"

"I-I can't!" he almost whimpered, "They're locked…"

The shorter teen huffed irritably. He really didn't need this. "Alright, do you know where the key is?"

The blonde hung his head, "N-no."

Zexion frowned, this clearly frightened the blonde. "Okay, calm down," he made an effort to lighten his voice. "I'll try picking the lock. Let me get a paperclip or something."

The handcuffed man anxiously replied as Zexion left the bathroom, "O-okay. But please come back!" His eyes watered up as he lost his ability to stay collected. This was like nothing he had ever experienced before, he didn't know how to deal with the extreme emotions. He sniffled. He felt so helpless, his life was in that hands of an angry emo teen. What if he doesn't come back? Will I starve to death? What are the odds someone else will find me…?

Zexion pushed the door open again, wielding a paperclip. "I found one, hold on." He approached the strange man and couldn't help but notice the evidence of tears. Damn it. There is no way I can stay mad at him. "Don't worry," he coaxed, "It should just take me a minute." He began work on the lock.

The blonde watched with dampness in his eyes. He was very unsuccessful in stifling his sobs. Zexion felt like a jerk.

"Er. If you don't mind me asking, Sir. What were you doing here?"

The topic was apparently a sensitive one, the response increase the stranger's tears, "I-I don't know."

"Oh," was all Zexion could think to say. How would one handle a situation like this? "You should trust me, you know. I'll get you home soon."

"I do t-trust you, it's just I can't remember where I live-"

"What's your name?"

Oddly the question summoned up more tears and a weak wail. "I-I don't know."

Zexion raised an eyebrow, "So, no name, no address, and you can't tell me why you're here?"

"Well. Er, my head hurts." The stranger tried to keep a lucid mind.

"You are saying you have amnesia?"

"I have what?" The stranger looked to Zexion with alarmed eyes.

"There!" The lock popped, and Zexion turned to the stranger with an explanation, "It is when you suffer from severe head trauma and forget everything." He carefully removed the metal from his wrists.

The stranger massaged his freed skin and shamefully replied, "I think that's it. How long will I forget?"

"It depends, really." Zexion returned the paperclip to his pocket, "Some people never remember again. Some people get everything back."

The odd man chanced a glance at the murky mirror hanging above the sink. There was a strange person standing in the room with the emo kid. The mirror person had the clearest blue eyes that looked as surprised as he was. Astonished, he whirled around to locate the person he had missed. He should have been easy to find, he had outrageous, blonde spiked hair and a flamboyantly purple shirt. He should be standing right around here.

The stranger's heart sunk. He extended his hand to touch the mirrored surface. The blonde followed the action with the same sorrowful eyes.

"That's…me? Isn't it?" The stranger needed his rescuer to confirm it.

"Yes. You don't…recognize yourself?"

He continued to examine his features, "No."

"Maybe something can remind you about yourself." He gestured to the blonde's pockets, "See if you have your wallet, maybe you can figure out your name."

The stranger frantically checked his jean pockets. Front, back. He laid out his findings in his cupped palms, loose change and a torn wrapper. He looked down on the meaningless items with a face that looked as though all his dreams had been crushed. With a lifeless voice, he blurted, "W-well, who are you?"

"Zexion, and I'll take care of you. I promise." He fished out the wrapper from the stranger's hand and read the label. "Alright, I'll tell you what. I don't know what to call you, but you look like a good Noodle."

A sheepish giggle. "Noodle, that's a funny name."

"Apparently you liked eating them," Zexion offered a smile and returned the wrapper, "You honestly have no idea what's going on?"

"None." He wiped the moisture from his face.

"Damn it, okay. You're coming with me."

Noodle was slightly startled by this, "Oh, where are we going?"

"I'm going to go ask my co-workers if they know you."

"Co-workers? You work here?" Noodle was in complete awe.

"Yes, Noodle. You're in a restaurant."

Noodle simply looked dazed "No, Zexion," his eyebrows knitted together in honest confusion. "We're in a bathroom."

So, I'm trying something different. I figure this fic will be a bit sillier with Demy involved.

Er, we'll see how it goes. I actually have yet another fic I'm planning to do; however, I'm still working out some tough bits in the first chapter.

Thank you for reading and, as always, I'll try to keep constantly updating. :D