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Completely rewriting it. XD Even Jake thinks it's so much better now. I don't own Roxas.

STORY: Prologue

I yawned loudly as I placed the book I was reading down beside me on the bed I was laying on. The Six of Crows stared at me as if to beg me for answers as to why I stopped reading it in favor of a short nap. My older sister, Maria, gave it to me to read in an attempt to fix the gap that had formed during the ten years she hated me, searching for common interests other than anime or manga. We needed more things to talk about, she had told me. It made me happy. When I was little I never understood why she didn't like me, but I always did my best to try and get her approval, and then she moved out some time during her High School years. Then, around the time I hit Middle School not long after my brother graduated, him and both my sisters past the age of eighteen now, she started to be nice to me. It was weird, especially since she was far more bubbly than she used to be, but I was relieved. Sometimes I'm still scared I'll do something to make her hate me again, but... things are good now.

Granted the rain makes things a little depressing, but... hey! I can deal.

The thunder clapped loudly outside and I groaned, turning onto my side before grunting in annoyance when I hurt my chest due to how I was laying. I hated being female. Because, unfortunately, just like my eldest sister and the women on my dad's side of my family, I was well-endowed and that made it difficult to get into comfortable laying positions. My back also hurt more often than not.

I then rolled onto my back, flinching as my head pounded painfully. It sounded like someone was screaming outside. I placed a hand against my forehead, sighing with closed eyes as I checked for a fever. I coughed, wheezing a little, and tilted my head back tiredly. It didn't feel like I was warm, so I don't think I was sick, but maybe I was. It honestly wouldn't surprise if it was so; I ended up sick multiple times earlier this week due to all the strenuous activity and sunlight I was not used to. What made it worse was that during Band Practice for the ISSMA contest the other day, we practiced our sets for about two hours in the rain just to get everything perfect. I ended up sick later after that and had to be sent home the day before contest. I felt better the next morning of course, but ended up sick later that week on Tuesday and missed a day of school on Wednesday.

I had just gotten to mother's house today, too, as it was now Thursday, and found the basement-my bedroom-completely rearranged and more... livable. We had just moved in a month ago, so there were still boxes everywhere (especially down here), so mother had unpacked most of the boxes that pertained to clothes. I don't really have which drawer holds what article of clothing memorized yet, and there were still a lot of boxes in the table in the side of that room that wasn't mine. The room could be described as being separated by the big green couch with leaf designs, as it was just a few feet ahead of the bottom of the staircase that led upstairs to the kitchen. Beside it was a small table, and beside that on the wall facing my giant bed (given to us, along with house, by my Aunt Natalie-my mom's foster sister) was a giant computer desk. It had a giant picture of Homer Simpson sitting on top (Uncle Brad's, Natalie's husband), with a couple of DVDs, pillows, and even more clothes. My purple notebook that had some of my drawings rested on the top.

On the poor couch, sadly, was my laptop case, a couple hangers, my phone, and the sunglasses my eldest sister, Penelope, got me. Also some dirty clothes, and some clothes that wouldn't fit in the drawers no matter how I folded them, and so they were mixed inside that mess so I couldn't really decipher what was and wasn't dirty. Now, onto the inn table-it held a basket of cords, my cup of half-finished tea, and some paper towels just in case I spilled anything. Underneath the computer desk was more boxes, and in front of it was a table with red cloth on it, some air spray and a giant remote on it for the TV (which was across from the couch and next to the giant aquarium with all my Aunt's fish in it). Then there was my dresser-vanity to be precise, that just had stuffed animals and some folded clothes on it, and in front of that was the bed I was currently laying on. On the other side of my bed was an old brown chifferobe, about eighty years old, and was accompanied by an old full body mirror that had a hanger and a pair of pants hanging off of it.

The other side of the basement was mom and Nana's sewing room, and on the wall opposite of the fish tank was a pair of patio doors that led outside to reveal a small deck with a bench and "roof", giving view to a huge pond in the big backyard. On the left to the room was the laundry room, which had a toilet and sink, and I was pretty sure there was an axe-murderer waiting to jump out at any time. The yellow curtains to the patio door was pulled to the side, so you could see the darkness outside every time the thunder crackled and lightning flashed, revealing the rain that was pounding hard against the glass doors.

The room itself was also pretty dark, too, as I had been too lazy to turn the lights on. Why was I even trying to read in the dark anyway? I already have glasses. Being near-sighted sucks.

It's so angry outside... I thought as I held back a groan, my migraine growing even worse. I had just finished eating dinner when I came down to read my book, stopping only due to the headache. It hurt to think, but I did it anyway as I had nothing better to do and it was nearly impossible for me to stop thinking. I couldn't be calm unless I was drawing or had music playing. I miss playing my games... I had just recently finished playing Dream Drop Distance and 358/2 Days, and I lacked a PS3 and/or a PSP in order to play Birth By Sleep. I knew the story perfectly well though. I just wish I had something to do. I didn't feel like pulling out my laptop and writing, and for once I didn't feel like drawing.

I sighed for about the tenth time that night when I rolled over once more, almost falling off the bed, and pushed myself up. "I'm so bored!" I whined, pushing my glasses back up my nose when they threatened to fall off. I scowled when I saw how dirty they were. I coughed again, lungs messing with me. "Okay, new plan; find something to do!" I was desperate at this point; I was wiling to do sit-ups and push-ups and anything of the exercise-like despite knowing the consequences. The most "exercise" I can do without dying on a daily basis is marching, and that's simply because I was a band kid.

I had moved to where I was sitting up, my legs dangling off the edge of the bed, when I paused to look outside, eyes having mostly adjusted to the darkness. It seems so sad today... weird. I blamed it on the fact that I had an over-active imagination, as I always seemed to personify things, but the way the rain was pouring made it almost seem like it was in pain. Maybe it was reflecting someone's ache? Was someone just so sad, and in so much pain, that the earth was acting upon it? Maybe it was all those people in the world who were hurting-crying in despair, pain, regret, sorrow, grief... All those wounds that won't heal. Who need someone to help them, but unable to get that help.

After it all, it's not the physical wounds you need to worry about; it's the ones you can't see.

I groaned and fell onto my back, giving up on my plan on ridding my boredom. Maybe I can just daydream myself to sleep?

BOOM

CRASH

BAM!

I jumped, letting out a tiny squeak as I nearly fell off the bed. I had not been expecting that one. Slowly, though scared, I got up and hesitantly made my way to the doors, staring outside. It was pouring so hard you could just barely see the water on the lake bounce up into the air every time a raindrop hit it. "Jeez..." What a mess. Wait, what's that? I squinted, leaning closer to the glass, and tried to make out the odd shape that was... running? in the distance. It looked clumsy, and it blended in so well I could barely keep sight of it, but when I blinked the figure was gone. I went still, suddenly very scared, and inched my fingers towards the yellow curtain. I peered out the glass doors as best as I could, not stupid enough to open them, as I tried to locate the figure. It was too dark. My breathing became slightly irregular.

Did I imagine it? Was someone out there? It looked like they were heading this way... if it was a someone. It's... It's not a bear, right? Do bears even live in this area? I'm pretty sure they don't. It's not like we're in the wild. Snakes, yes, but bears? What if it's a murderer? Images of different ways I could die played out in my head and I started to panic, feeling like walls were closing in on me. No-No, I'm okay. I'm okay. Breathe. I'm safe. Mom is... Oh god, mom is out there in that storm. Is she okay? Nana's sleeping and so is Uncle Leo, but Mom is at work and if something happens... I'm scared. I'm really scared. I want a hug.

I choked back a sob and blinked my eyes, feeling them sting, and was just about to close the curtain over the doors when the lightning flashed again.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up when I saw the figure, a boy about my age standing in front of glass door with wild blue eyes, his dirty blonde hair a mess and sticking out in every direction. He was covered in blood and soaked in rain water.

Then the lightning flash ended just as quick as it came and the boy was gone, now just a dark silhouette that was pounding on the glass doors loudly.

I had shrieked when I saw him and I stumbled back when his fists started coming into contact with the glass, terrified for my life as I ran away from the doors. I ended up falling, tripping over my feet, and ran until I was hiding behind the wall separating the rooms. Maybe I could hide in the chifferobe if he comes in? But that's too obvious! A-And I can't fit underneath the bed! O-Oh god-

I snuck a peek, staring at the door and waiting fearfully for another flash of lightning, and when it came I got better look, just barely catching the sight of desperation on his face as he pulled at the door handle with one hand and pounded on the glass with his other. I... Stupid as it was, I wanted to let him in. He... He could just be wanting help, right? Maybe he isn't an... axe murderer or something.

Shakily breathing I forced myself to come to a decision, fearfully stepping out from my hiding place and walking to the glass doors. I froze up at another crash of thunder and almost went into hiding again, but I managed to force my feet to keep going. I placed my hand on the lock, arguing with myself for the longest time before looking fearfully at the dark silhouette again. He stopped pounding against the glass, instead having his hands pressed against it, and I could just barely make out the sight of his blue eyes. They looked pleading. Scared.

Lips curling back as I ground my teeth together, greatly hating myself for what I was about to do, I unlocked the door. Then I pulled it open, rain pelting inside like a wildfire. I was just about to jump five feet away from him when he stepped inside, letting out a grunt, and toppled over. His weight crashed onto me and I almost fell over onto my knees, the male nothing more than deadweight as he collapsed. "H-Hello!" I screeched, alarmed, and desperately tried to stay standing. "H-Hey-Dude, what's-G-Gah! No!"

Alarm bells were ringing in my head, fear racing down my spine the longer I struggled to hold him, and as I took notice of the water rushing inside the room I attempted to pull the male inside completely, dropping him on the ground a little less than gently, and quickly rushed forward to slam the glass doors shut. I locked it, letting out a deep breath, before turning to stare tearfully at the boy unconscious on the ground. He was wearing black-and-white, rings on multiple fingers on his right hand, and wore the baggiest pair of pants I've ever seen. He actually looked like... No.

Is my murderer a cosplayer? "You... O-Okay... Th-Think. Think, think, think-" I held my hands out to my sides, trembling as I tried to get my brain to work. "Towel! Need a towel!" Where's a towel? I'm not running upstairs. Laundry room maybe? I dashed in there, looking around, and found a dirty one in the basket that resided underneath the shoot. I made a disgusted face as I picked it up, wanting nothing more than to wash my hands now, and placed it on the wet floor in front of the patio doors. Then I turned my attention back to the intruder.

Wait, is he really an intruder if I let him in? What am I supposed to even do with him? I-I don't think he's a murderer... I mean, I'm not getting any bad vibes from him. Sure, he's covered in blood, but it looked like the wounds were inflicted upon him. He was limping earlier, too, I think, when I saw him outside running towards the house. Running from what though? Was someone after him? Did they beat him up?

He's all covered in mud and water and gross... Okay. Okay. Think. Breathe. Should I tell mom? Probably. But not right now. I'll... deal with it later. I don't want to scare her. I'm scared as is and if she finds out and I don't know whether this guy is good or not... it would just cause unnecessary panic. I don't feel like putting myself in that situation. I swallowed thickly and tip-toed over to the male, tentatively kneeling down and staring at him for a moment. He looked out-cold.

He had a black eye and his cheek was swollen due to a large cut on it. His forehead was a little scraped up, too. His clothes were torn and stained with crimson, blood and mud and grass stains coating him. Did he get mauled by a bear or something? There are no bears nearby, Irene-we spoke of this. Jeez. Whatever. I poked him in the arm. "H-Hey... Um, hello?" It was taking all I had not to cry from frustration or fear. My anxiety was bursting above its normal level. O-Okay... L-Lights. Lights would be good. Let's do lights. I got up, fumbled around the room blindly, accidentally stubbing my toe and hitting my thigh against something, and managed to find the switch near the staircase. I turned the lights on, blinking a few times as my eyes adjusted to the lighting.

More thunder crashed.

I headed back over, debating what to do, before grabbing his arms and flipping him over so he was on his back instead of his front. I got a better look at his face and was really surprised that I was right with my earlier deduction.

He looked a lot like a certain video game character. Is it one of those weird coincidences? He's even dressed like him-though the outfit is torn to hell and back. Weird. Cool cosplay though, I'll give him that.

I forced myself to calm with the distraction, temporarily taking my mind off the "murderer" thing, and stood up and closed the curtains. Then I tried to figure out what to do. I should put him on the bed... Probably fix up his wounds, too. I might have to google how to stitch, just in case I need to, but I know how to work with a needle and thread. He's all covered in stuff though... I don't want to ruin the sheets. And he'll probably get hypothermia or something if he remains in those clothes, or even an infection from all the mud and germs coming from it and the grass stains. Right. Okay. This is... for the greater good. He better be wearing boxers, because I swear to god if he's wearing briefs I'm going to rage.

I decided to start with the gigantor shoes. He was like bigfoot his feet were so big. I started with his right shoe, sliding that one off easily after I managed to unbuckle it, but when I got to the left one the male groaned in pain, causing me to freeze. I carefully pushed his pants leg up, his foot resting on my thigh, and pulled down his sock gingerly. His ankle was slightly purple. Ohh... Is it sprained? Okay. That makes things... a little more difficult, but it certainly explains the limp. I bit my lip and swallowed the lump in my throat, working on pulling the shoe off once more. I cringed a lot as I pulled it off, apologizing multiple times, and dropped the shoe like fire once I had pulled it off. Next was the socks.

They were a pain because they were so wet, and his messed up foot wasn't much help, but by then I was able to get to work on his jacket and... zipper shirt? Okay. I lifted him up with a grunt, resting his back against my chest, and struggled to pull the jacket off without hurting him. It was a pain. I began to develop a hatred for wet clothing. Once his jacket was off I got to unzipping his shirt, trying to ignore the embarrassed shame and humiliation coming with it, and the guilt for how he was probably going to react later when he woke up. If he woke up. I pulled it off of him, staring in alarm at the cuts and bruises on his back, and made a face when I got sticky wet and bloody hair in my face.

I carefully set him down, moved to his pants, and froze. I took a deep breath, mentally apologize at least thirty times, before closing my eyes and grabbing the hem of his pants, sticking my thumb in to make sure he was actually wearing underwear first. It brushed the hem of some form of cloth. "Oh thank god..." He was. My heart just about died from relief. I opened my eyes, relaxing just a little, and awkwardly started undoing his jeans. "Please don't freak out later, I'm so sorry-" Oh god, this is awful. And thank god he's wearing boxers and not briefs. No, no-thank god he's not going commando. I would have needed bleach if that happened. I carefully pulled the heavy, sopping wet jeans off of him, making sure not to disturb his bad foot too much, and made a strangled noise when I saw all the cuts on his legs. He even had marks and bruises on his chest-scrapes just everywhere. I felt like crying, simply because I wondered how much pain he must be in and how much he had been in when he received them. "Okay... now-to the bed!" I tried to pick him up, but he was unbelievably heavy.

Then again, maybe I was just weak. I had grabbed him by his arms next, attempting to drag him over to the bed, but I only managed to move him about two feet. I gave up, gasping and breathing heavily as I slouched forward, exhausted.

"O-Okay... plan three. C. Whatever." I coughed into my shoulder. I waited for a moment to catch my breath before trying to figure out a new way to carry him, thinking out different angles and plotting the outcome in my head, when I noticed a rather nasty gash on his forearm. Oh god... O-Okay. "N-Nevermind." Not putting him on the bed. W-Wound is... oh god, oh god, oh god, "D-Don't die on me!" I rushed to the stairs frantically, running up them without a care to my own health as all oxygen slowly started to go away. I rushed into the kitchen, wheezing and gasping, and was practically hyperventilating by the time I got to the bathroom. "A-Alcohol-Alcohol-" Where's the peroxide? Where's the thread!? Where does Mom keep her sewing stuff!? I found the peroxide in the medicine cabinet above the sink, and then grabbed the ace-wrap after some thought. I burst into mother's bedroom, rushing over to the nightstand to turn the lamp on as the lightswitch on the wall didn't work, and rummaged through drawers, through the closet-through anything to find some thread and needle. When I got to the giant dresser in front of her bed I found some plain black thread with a needle stuck in it. Her sewing scissors were in the livingroom.

I was like a fish out of water by the time I got back down to the basement.

I dropped the stuff on the ground and rushed into the bathroom, dizzy and swaying, and grabbed some toilet paper-a lot of toilet paper-and soaked half of it in water before ringing it out and getting to work on wiping up the dry blood, pressing some against the gash in a desperate attempt to try and get it stop bleeding. It didn't work, of course, but the gash was rather deep. "I-I can't-I can't believe I'm doing this; Oh my god, oh my god-" Breathe! I gasped, inhaling deeply, and tried to calm myself.

It failed obviously. All my nerves were on edge. But I was trying.

I wasn't sure what to do. I stuck the needle in the peroxide before dumping it on the wound, eliciting a cry from the male before me, and ground my teeth together tightly as I doubled the thread, tied it to the needle, and stabbed it through his arm, pulling it from the other side.

Oh my god-

I felt sick. I'm scared. I'm so scared. What if I kill him? What if in trying to help him I accidentally cut a vain or a nerve or something a-and- no. No. Don't think about it. Just do what Clementine did in the Walking Dead game. I am okay. He is okay. He will be okay. Freaking... Finish stitching the wound, Irene. It's worse on him than it is on you, and if you don't he could bleed out. So with that thought I forced myself to continue, focusing intently as I pushed the needle and thread through his arm, across the wound, and pulled the two sides together. Once I was done I shakily tripled-tied the knot, before adding another two more just to be on the safe side, and cut the needle away from the cloth.

I plastered a couple band-aids on his cuts, tried my best to clean up the dirt from his scraps, and gave him a big band-aid over his cheek. Then I started to wrap the ace-wrap around his ankle, tight as I dared to, and pinned it together. Finally I observed my handiwork, making sure I didn't miss anything, and heaved a big sigh of relief. I stood, shaking, and started to drag him over to the bed again, stopping once we were near it, and caught my breath. I then knelt down, arm around his back as I lifted him into a sitting position, and slid my other arm underneath his knees. With a grunt, legs wobbling, I hoisted him up and dropped him on the bed almost immediately, falling on top of him from the momentum. I pulled my arms out from under him and plopped down beside him, wheezing, and rolled onto my back.

I can't breathe... Jesus. That was intense. It's safe to say I'm not going to be a surgeon any time soon. I draped an arm over my eyes, worn out and stressed. I can't do this. I really can't. I'm not a good person; I'm a mess. I probably made a terrible mistake letting him in and "helping" him. He's probably going to sue us or something once he wakes up.

On the bright side it wasn't raining as hard anymore. It also wasn't thundering.

After a moment I turned my head, staring at the unconscious male beside me, and sat up, unzipping my black-and-white plaid jacket and pulling it and my green one off, draping them over him. They were only slightly damp because of when I was carrying him, so it should still do good to warm him up until I find him something to wear. He was slender, unlike me, so my clothes should fit him if just a little baggy. Props of being a girl, I guess. His waist was probably-what; twenty-eight? I was a thirty-two. He was definitely taller than me, but because of my being a girl my clothes should be huge on him.

I almost fell asleep, and I would have if I didn't force myself to get up. I headed over to the chifferobe, rummaging through everything, and made a face as I pulled out a few shirts and held it up in his direction, squinting and trying to decide if it would look good on him or not. Eh, Ivy Tech it is. I pulled out a large gray shirt with pink letters written on it that read IVY TECH. I wasn't even planning on going to college-we just got free shirts for visiting the college on a field trip in College and Careers class my freshman year. I closed the chifferobe and dropped the shirt on the bed, shuffling through the drawers of my vanity and trying to find a decent pair of pants that might fit him.

I decided to go with my black "boyfriend" jeans.

I put the pants on him first. It was annoying-his feet were huge and kept getting in my way, and I didn't want to bend his bad foot if I didn't have to. After much struggle, of which I muttered various things, I managed to get them on him and I buttoned them, awkwardly zipping them. I then lifted him up, the male's head hitting my shoulder, and I put his head through the hole of the shirt, lifting one arm up at a time to stick it through the short sleeves. I pulled the shirt down, covering his lean stomach-which had the barest hints of abs interestingly enough-and stuck the sleeves of my jackets through his arms as he shivered. He was burning up, but was shivering like crazy. He needed all the warmth he could get to sweat that fever out.

Once they were both on him I laid him down on his back as carefully as I could and zipped up the plaid jacket, grabbing both sides of the green and wrapping them around him as the zipper didn't work.

Mom was going to kill me when she gets home.

The male continued to shiver, turning on his side and curling up into a ball, hugging himself. His face had twisted into an expression of pain. Briefly wondering once again just why the hell I was doing this I pulled the covers on the bed down and, though it was hard, I managed to move the injured sleeping male underneath them, tucking him in. I moved his hair out of his face, getting a better look at him, and wondered if he had fallen down a hill while running. It had been a mess outside-now it was just a light rain. I'm amazed he didn't get electrocuted-though with how spiky his hair is, I wouldn't be surprised if he had been.

I decided to go heat up some chicken noodle soup. Everyone else was sleeping and mom wasn't going to be home for another hour, and who knows when he might wake up? He'll probably be hungry. And nothing says "no" to a cold than chicken noodle soup!

I made my way back upstairs, heading down the hallway and opening the pantry at the end and pulling out a can, and then made my way back over to the kitchen and opened it, pouring it all in a bowl and adding some more water. I heated it up for a minute, stirring it at thirty seconds, and started to head back downstairs. I held the bowl with one hand carefully once I was downstairs and pushed some stuff out of the way so I could set it on the table. I was lucky I hadn't fallen down and spilled everything; I was ridiculously clumsy.

I then sat down on the couch for about ten, maybe fifteen minutes and just stared at the dirty blonde who was passed out on my bed. I know I had always made jokes about sneaking someone in through the glass doors, but... I never thought it would actually happen. I would never have done something like that. Until now, at least.

Maybe I can get away with it; it's been a long time, years actually, since I did something to get myself in trouble. Even then what I was blamed for was almost always not my fault.

But, then again, seeing as the person could be a murderer or a thief or just somebody completely untrustworthy-I really might be grounded. What does it even feel like to be grounded? I don't remember; it's been so long. Just what happened to him, anyway? With injuries like that... the panicked state he had been in... I'm seriously beginning to think he was more a "victim" than the "attacker". If anything he'll see me as an attacker when he wakes up because A) he doesn't know me and B) he's in an unfamiliar place. Probably think I kidnapped him or something.

If he's traumatized by whatever happened to him, I'm gonna rage. I haven't the slightest idea how to comfort people and if this guy just bursts into tears or starts having a panic attack we're both screwed. ...Oh god; he's gonna freak out if I tell him I was the one who changed his clothes. I groaned and turned my head, feeling an embarrassed flush grow on my face. This sucks. Now I know how all those people in the books feel when they wake up to different clothing. Speaking of clothes- "I should probably put his in the laundry room..." That'd be smart.

I sighed and stood, grudgingly pushing myself up off the couch, and maneuvered around the table and bed to get to the other side of the basement where his clothes lay near the table of boxes and a few feet in front of the patio doors. I knelt down, cringing at the sight of the sopping clothes, and promptly rolled the sleeves of my green chiffon button-up up to my elbows, buttoning them there, and promptly picked the saggiest and heaviest pair of pants I have ever seen in my life, slinging them over my arm. Chills ran down my spine and I tried not to shiver at how cold it was, a lump forming in my throat. Gross~! Bloody and wet and gross a-and-Ew!

Note to self: never have children. If this is what being a mom feels like (cleaning up after their children's muddy and rain-soaked clothes) I want no part in it. Even if kids are adorable. It's not like I'm responsible anyway, so, hey-if I need to I'll just adopt one when I'm forty.

"This is so gross..." Keeping the baggiest pair of pants on earth slung over my left arm I knelt down and picked up the jacket, slinging it on top of it, and then picked up the zipper shirt. I stood up, zipping it back up, and had moved my foot to turn when I suddenly heard groaning and the sound of footsteps.

Heavy, clumsy footsteps.

Slowly I turned my head, staring in alarm at the blonde who had a hand against the half-wall that only partially divided the room. He was standing with a limp, his blue eyes hard and staring at me in a mixture of emotions. He looked angry, hurt, confused-but also a little relieved. Mainly confused though. Not knowing what else to say I blurted, "You're up!" I then blinked and tensed, uncomfortable, and awkwardly stammered, "W-Welcome back, sleeping beauty."

"Who are you?" Whoa. My eyes widened and my eyebrows shot up. I heard that voice before-at least, I'm pretty sure I have. I would recognize it anywhere, but it wouldn't make sense unless he's that extremely tiny percent who is just coincidentally so much like a fictional character. Like that Peter Griffin guy. But he, uh, certainly knows how to get straight to the point. "Where am I? What's going on!? A-Wait, are those my clothes?" His eyes shot to the objects I was holding, causing me to look down at them as well.

"Oh. Well, would'ya look at that. I-I guess they are, huh? H-Hey, um, you hungry?" I looked back at him, trying to quell the twisting feeling in my stomach. I was scared. "I-If you give me a minute, I-I can put these in the dirty clothes and-and then I can go back upstairs to reheat the soup I made for you. I-I mean, I probably should have waited until you were actually up to make it, since it's cold now, b-but I-I dunno, I didn't know when you were going to wake up and figured it'd be better safe than sorry and-" I inhaled deeply, cutting myself when I realized I was not only ranting but out of air, and shook my head. "Point being! You hungry?"

The blonde just stared, silent and observing. He appeared untrusting of me, but seemed to have relaxed just a little. "...I..." He frowned, looking down for a moment, then at himself. His eyes focused on the bandage that I had placed on the back of his hand where he had been bleeding just below his knuckles before back at me. "I guess. A little."

"Great! Well, not really-being hungry isn't something one should be great about, but-" I began to ramble nervously, only to pause when I realized what I said was stupid and wasn't making any sense. "I-I'm gonna shut up now. And put the clothes away. And... get food-that's a thing I'm going to do. Right now. Okay." I clamped my mouth shut and quickly scurried through the doors to the laundry room, dumping the disgusting clothes in there and quickly washing my hands and arms off at the sink before drying them. I rolled my sleeves back down, allowing the green cloth to cover my hands, the tips of my fingers just barely poking out. I rushed back into the basement, ignoring the dirty blonde who was watching my every movement, and stumbled as I passed by him, having almost stubbed my toe into the couch again. I hopped on one foot as I avoided it, speaking to the male as I fumbled over to the table with the bowl, "Just-Just wait here? Okay? I-I'll be right back! Whoa-Phew..." I let out a relieved breath as I landed on both feet, before stiffly grabbing the bowl and heading upstairs.

I looked at both my feet and the steps as I made my way up, being as careful as I could so not to spill or fall, and heated the soup up in the microwave once more. Then I made my way back down where the male was looking around the room, flipping through all the stacks of drawings I had on the computer desk next to the couch. He looked both a little surprised, impressed, and solemn. Like he was remembering something unpleasant.

"I-I'm back." I spoke stiffly, clearing the silence. The male jumped and looked at me alarmed, hand shooting out to his side as if to hold something as he spread his legs apart, only to cringe and cry out as he nearly fell over. I shrieked and stumbled back, started by his sudden action, and hissed when a bit of the broth from the soup spilled on me. "Ah-man!" Well, it was only fifteen bucks... but it was such a nice shirt! I think it'll come out though... I'll pester Penelope about it later. I hurriedly set the bowl down on the Inn table and made my way to the blonde, tentatively reaching out to help him stand up.

He smacked my hand away when I reached out and I flinched and recoiled, stepping back, and watched him struggle to stand up by himself, a hand on the table. He leaned to the side, all of his weight on his good foot. "I can do it myself," He grumbled.

"O-Okay, s-sorry!" Don't help. Got it. Thumbs up. Okay. "Just-Just sit on the couch, o-okay?" My voice squeaked a little. He gave me a glare before his gaze softened and he sighed.

"I'm sorry... I shouldn't have snapped at you like that."

"It's fine! It's fine! I-It's-You just... shouldn't moving right now. I think. I'm pretty sure. So... sit down. Eat. Whatever. Um, yeah." The male limped over and plopped down on the couch with a cringe before shifting and leaning over, grabbing onto his left pantsleg and lifting it up slightly so he could get a better view of his foot and the ace-wrap around it. I wondered what I should do. Is this the part where I give him the bowl to eat or do I ask for his name first?

"Did you do this?"

"Wait, what?" Huh?

He looked at me, eyes curious. "Were you the one who did this? All the bandages." He plucked at the two jackets he was wearing, pinching it between his fingers. "And the clothes-are they yours? You were the one who changed me, right?"

"O-Oh, uh, yeah." I nodded, standing there still as a statue. "S-Sorry."

He looked surprised at that, blinking at me. "Why are you apologizing? You helped me."

"I-I know, but-but it's not really... nice to change someone's clothes, e-especially since they're unconscious, a-and I-I dunno, but it's-it's awkward a-and most people would usually freak over it. I know I would, but-"

"Did you see how bad it was out there?" He asked incredulously. "If I stayed in those clothes I would have froze to death."

Yeah... that's true. "S-Sorry..." I'm sort of glad that he could at least tell I wasn't the one who caused those injuries, so maybe he knew how he received them? I don't think he believes me to a be threat.

"Stop apologizing."

"Sor-" Hmm... Dang it. I silently nodded instead and forced my feet to move, taking the bowl off the Inn table and handing it to him. He took it, but looked at it in confusion. "H-Here."

He lifted it up to his face and... sniffed it. "What is this?" I stared.

"Chicken noodle soup. It's good for colds and stuff."

The boy made a contemplative face before lifting it up to his face and just drinking the broth, not bothering with the noodles or chicken. The poor spoon lay forgotten, blocked by his thumb as he held up the bowl. He took a few sips, before those sips turned into gulps, and after a few moments he had pulled the bowl away with a small gasp. "It's good!" Has he never had chicken noodle soup before? The face of wonder he made as he scooped up some of the actual food with the spoon was almost cute. "It's really salty." The tiniest of smiles made its way to his face. "Is this kind of food common in this world?"

...World. Right. Okay. Let's not go there, hun. "Yeah... sick people eat it all the time. Sore throats. Congestion. Stuff like that." Would it be too random to ask now? Or is that how it's supposed to go? I hate asking people for their name-especially if I had forgotten it. Not that I ever knew this guy before, so... "H-Hey, uh, what's your name?" Wait! Crap. "I'm Irene."

"I'm-" Guard down and relaxed he began to answer, but just before he said his name he froze, a conflicted look crossing his face as he looked down. His hands tightened on the bowl and spoon. "My name is... My name is Roxas."

Right, well, reality check, please? I think this guy hit the loony bin. Or am I dreaming? Heck if I know.

Description
Completely rewriting it. XD Even Jake thinks it's so much better now. I don't own Roxas.

STORY: Prologue

I yawned loudly as I placed the book I was reading down beside me on the bed I was laying on. The Six of Crows stared at me as if to beg me for answers as to why I stopped reading it in favor of a short nap. My older sister, Maria, gave it to me to read in an attempt to fix the gap that had formed during the ten years she hated me, searching for common interests other than anime or manga. We needed more things to talk about, she had told me. It made me happy. When I was little I never understood why she didn't like me, but I always did my best to try and get her approval, and then she moved out some time during her High School years. Then, around the time I hit Middle School not long after my brother graduated, him and both my sisters past the age of eighteen now, she started to be nice to me. It was weird, especially since she was far more bubbly than she used to be, but I was relieved. Sometimes I'm still scared I'll do something to make her hate me again, but... things are good now.

Granted the rain makes things a little depressing, but... hey! I can deal.

The thunder clapped loudly outside and I groaned, turning onto my side before grunting in annoyance when I hurt my chest due to how I was laying. I hated being female. Because, unfortunately, just like my eldest sister and the women on my dad's side of my family, I was well-endowed and that made it difficult to get into comfortable laying positions. My back also hurt more often than not.

I then rolled onto my back, flinching as my head pounded painfully. It sounded like someone was screaming outside. I placed a hand against my forehead, sighing with closed eyes as I checked for a fever. I coughed, wheezing a little, and tilted my head back tiredly. It didn't feel like I was warm, so I don't think I was sick, but maybe I was. It honestly wouldn't surprise if it was so; I ended up sick multiple times earlier this week due to all the strenuous activity and sunlight I was not used to. What made it worse was that during Band Practice for the ISSMA contest the other day, we practiced our sets for about two hours in the rain just to get everything perfect. I ended up sick later after that and had to be sent home the day before contest. I felt better the next morning of course, but ended up sick later that week on Tuesday and missed a day of school on Wednesday.

I had just gotten to mother's house today, too, as it was now Thursday, and found the basement-my bedroom-completely rearranged and more... livable. We had just moved in a month ago, so there were still boxes everywhere (especially down here), so mother had unpacked most of the boxes that pertained to clothes. I don't really have which drawer holds what article of clothing memorized yet, and there were still a lot of boxes in the table in the side of that room that wasn't mine. The room could be described as being separated by the big green couch with leaf designs, as it was just a few feet ahead of the bottom of the staircase that led upstairs to the kitchen. Beside it was a small table, and beside that on the wall facing my giant bed (given to us, along with house, by my Aunt Natalie-my mom's foster sister) was a giant computer desk. It had a giant picture of Homer Simpson sitting on top (Uncle Brad's, Natalie's husband), with a couple of DVDs, pillows, and even more clothes. My purple notebook that had some of my drawings rested on the top.

On the poor couch, sadly, was my laptop case, a couple hangers, my phone, and the sunglasses my eldest sister, Penelope, got me. Also some dirty clothes, and some clothes that wouldn't fit in the drawers no matter how I folded them, and so they were mixed inside that mess so I couldn't really decipher what was and wasn't dirty. Now, onto the inn table-it held a basket of cords, my cup of half-finished tea, and some paper towels just in case I spilled anything. Underneath the computer desk was more boxes, and in front of it was a table with red cloth on it, some air spray and a giant remote on it for the TV (which was across from the couch and next to the giant aquarium with all my Aunt's fish in it). Then there was my dresser-vanity to be precise, that just had stuffed animals and some folded clothes on it, and in front of that was the bed I was currently laying on. On the other side of my bed was an old brown chifferobe, about eighty years old, and was accompanied by an old full body mirror that had a hanger and a pair of pants hanging off of it.

The other side of the basement was mom and Nana's sewing room, and on the wall opposite of the fish tank was a pair of patio doors that led outside to reveal a small deck with a bench and "roof", giving view to a huge pond in the big backyard. On the left to the room was the laundry room, which had a toilet and sink, and I was pretty sure there was an axe-murderer waiting to jump out at any time. The yellow curtains to the patio door was pulled to the side, so you could see the darkness outside every time the thunder crackled and lightning flashed, revealing the rain that was pounding hard against the glass doors.

The room itself was also pretty dark, too, as I had been too lazy to turn the lights on. Why was I even trying to read in the dark anyway? I already have glasses. Being near-sighted sucks.

It's so angry outside... I thought as I held back a groan, my migraine growing even worse. I had just finished eating dinner when I came down to read my book, stopping only due to the headache. It hurt to think, but I did it anyway as I had nothing better to do and it was nearly impossible for me to stop thinking. I couldn't be calm unless I was drawing or had music playing. I miss playing my games... I had just recently finished playing Dream Drop Distance and 358/2 Days, and I lacked a PS3 and/or a PSP in order to play Birth By Sleep. I knew the story perfectly well though. I just wish I had something to do. I didn't feel like pulling out my laptop and writing, and for once I didn't feel like drawing.

I sighed for about the tenth time that night when I rolled over once more, almost falling off the bed, and pushed myself up. "I'm so bored!" I whined, pushing my glasses back up my nose when they threatened to fall off. I scowled when I saw how dirty they were. I coughed again, lungs messing with me. "Okay, new plan; find something to do!" I was desperate at this point; I was wiling to do sit-ups and push-ups and anything of the exercise-like despite knowing the consequences. The most "exercise" I can do without dying on a daily basis is marching, and that's simply because I was a band kid.

I had moved to where I was sitting up, my legs dangling off the edge of the bed, when I paused to look outside, eyes having mostly adjusted to the darkness. It seems so sad today... weird. I blamed it on the fact that I had an over-active imagination, as I always seemed to personify things, but the way the rain was pouring made it almost seem like it was in pain. Maybe it was reflecting someone's ache? Was someone just so sad, and in so much pain, that the earth was acting upon it? Maybe it was all those people in the world who were hurting-crying in despair, pain, regret, sorrow, grief... All those wounds that won't heal. Who need someone to help them, but unable to get that help.

After it all, it's not the physical wounds you need to worry about; it's the ones you can't see.

I groaned and fell onto my back, giving up on my plan on ridding my boredom. Maybe I can just daydream myself to sleep?

BOOM

CRASH

BAM!

I jumped, letting out a tiny squeak as I nearly fell off the bed. I had not been expecting that one. Slowly, though scared, I got up and hesitantly made my way to the doors, staring outside. It was pouring so hard you could just barely see the water on the lake bounce up into the air every time a raindrop hit it. "Jeez..." What a mess. Wait, what's that? I squinted, leaning closer to the glass, and tried to make out the odd shape that was... running? in the distance. It looked clumsy, and it blended in so well I could barely keep sight of it, but when I blinked the figure was gone. I went still, suddenly very scared, and inched my fingers towards the yellow curtain. I peered out the glass doors as best as I could, not stupid enough to open them, as I tried to locate the figure. It was too dark. My breathing became slightly irregular.

Did I imagine it? Was someone out there? It looked like they were heading this way... if it was a someone. It's... It's not a bear, right? Do bears even live in this area? I'm pretty sure they don't. It's not like we're in the wild. Snakes, yes, but bears? What if it's a murderer? Images of different ways I could die played out in my head and I started to panic, feeling like walls were closing in on me. No-No, I'm okay. I'm okay. Breathe. I'm safe. Mom is... Oh god, mom is out there in that storm. Is she okay? Nana's sleeping and so is Uncle Leo, but Mom is at work and if something happens... I'm scared. I'm really scared. I want a hug.

I choked back a sob and blinked my eyes, feeling them sting, and was just about to close the curtain over the doors when the lightning flashed again.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up when I saw the figure, a boy about my age standing in front of glass door with wild blue eyes, his dirty blonde hair a mess and sticking out in every direction. He was covered in blood and soaked in rain water.

Then the lightning flash ended just as quick as it came and the boy was gone, now just a dark silhouette that was pounding on the glass doors loudly.

I had shrieked when I saw him and I stumbled back when his fists started coming into contact with the glass, terrified for my life as I ran away from the doors. I ended up falling, tripping over my feet, and ran until I was hiding behind the wall separating the rooms. Maybe I could hide in the chifferobe if he comes in? But that's too obvious! A-And I can't fit underneath the bed! O-Oh god-

I snuck a peek, staring at the door and waiting fearfully for another flash of lightning, and when it came I got better look, just barely catching the sight of desperation on his face as he pulled at the door handle with one hand and pounded on the glass with his other. I... Stupid as it was, I wanted to let him in. He... He could just be wanting help, right? Maybe he isn't an... axe murderer or something.

Shakily breathing I forced myself to come to a decision, fearfully stepping out from my hiding place and walking to the glass doors. I froze up at another crash of thunder and almost went into hiding again, but I managed to force my feet to keep going. I placed my hand on the lock, arguing with myself for the longest time before looking fearfully at the dark silhouette again. He stopped pounding against the glass, instead having his hands pressed against it, and I could just barely make out the sight of his blue eyes. They looked pleading. Scared.

Lips curling back as I ground my teeth together, greatly hating myself for what I was about to do, I unlocked the door. Then I pulled it open, rain pelting inside like a wildfire. I was just about to jump five feet away from him when he stepped inside, letting out a grunt, and toppled over. His weight crashed onto me and I almost fell over onto my knees, the male nothing more than deadweight as he collapsed. "H-Hello!" I screeched, alarmed, and desperately tried to stay standing. "H-Hey-Dude, what's-G-Gah! No!"

Alarm bells were ringing in my head, fear racing down my spine the longer I struggled to hold him, and as I took notice of the water rushing inside the room I attempted to pull the male inside completely, dropping him on the ground a little less than gently, and quickly rushed forward to slam the glass doors shut. I locked it, letting out a deep breath, before turning to stare tearfully at the boy unconscious on the ground. He was wearing black-and-white, rings on multiple fingers on his right hand, and wore the baggiest pair of pants I've ever seen. He actually looked like... No.

Is my murderer a cosplayer? "You... O-Okay... Th-Think. Think, think, think-" I held my hands out to my sides, trembling as I tried to get my brain to work. "Towel! Need a towel!" Where's a towel? I'm not running upstairs. Laundry room maybe? I dashed in there, looking around, and found a dirty one in the basket that resided underneath the shoot. I made a disgusted face as I picked it up, wanting nothing more than to wash my hands now, and placed it on the wet floor in front of the patio doors. Then I turned my attention back to the intruder.

Wait, is he really an intruder if I let him in? What am I supposed to even do with him? I-I don't think he's a murderer... I mean, I'm not getting any bad vibes from him. Sure, he's covered in blood, but it looked like the wounds were inflicted upon him. He was limping earlier, too, I think, when I saw him outside running towards the house. Running from what though? Was someone after him? Did they beat him up?

He's all covered in mud and water and gross... Okay. Okay. Think. Breathe. Should I tell mom? Probably. But not right now. I'll... deal with it later. I don't want to scare her. I'm scared as is and if she finds out and I don't know whether this guy is good or not... it would just cause unnecessary panic. I don't feel like putting myself in that situation. I swallowed thickly and tip-toed over to the male, tentatively kneeling down and staring at him for a moment. He looked out-cold.

He had a black eye and his cheek was swollen due to a large cut on it. His forehead was a little scraped up, too. His clothes were torn and stained with crimson, blood and mud and grass stains coating him. Did he get mauled by a bear or something? There are no bears nearby, Irene-we spoke of this. Jeez. Whatever. I poked him in the arm. "H-Hey... Um, hello?" It was taking all I had not to cry from frustration or fear. My anxiety was bursting above its normal level. O-Okay... L-Lights. Lights would be good. Let's do lights. I got up, fumbled around the room blindly, accidentally stubbing my toe and hitting my thigh against something, and managed to find the switch near the staircase. I turned the lights on, blinking a few times as my eyes adjusted to the lighting.

More thunder crashed.

I headed back over, debating what to do, before grabbing his arms and flipping him over so he was on his back instead of his front. I got a better look at his face and was really surprised that I was right with my earlier deduction.

He looked a lot like a certain video game character. Is it one of those weird coincidences? He's even dressed like him-though the outfit is torn to hell and back. Weird. Cool cosplay though, I'll give him that.

I forced myself to calm with the distraction, temporarily taking my mind off the "murderer" thing, and stood up and closed the curtains. Then I tried to figure out what to do. I should put him on the bed... Probably fix up his wounds, too. I might have to google how to stitch, just in case I need to, but I know how to work with a needle and thread. He's all covered in stuff though... I don't want to ruin the sheets. And he'll probably get hypothermia or something if he remains in those clothes, or even an infection from all the mud and germs coming from it and the grass stains. Right. Okay. This is... for the greater good. He better be wearing boxers, because I swear to god if he's wearing briefs I'm going to rage.

I decided to start with the gigantor shoes. He was like bigfoot his feet were so big. I started with his right shoe, sliding that one off easily after I managed to unbuckle it, but when I got to the left one the male groaned in pain, causing me to freeze. I carefully pushed his pants leg up, his foot resting on my thigh, and pulled down his sock gingerly. His ankle was slightly purple. Ohh... Is it sprained? Okay. That makes things... a little more difficult, but it certainly explains the limp. I bit my lip and swallowed the lump in my throat, working on pulling the shoe off once more. I cringed a lot as I pulled it off, apologizing multiple times, and dropped the shoe like fire once I had pulled it off. Next was the socks.

They were a pain because they were so wet, and his messed up foot wasn't much help, but by then I was able to get to work on his jacket and... zipper shirt? Okay. I lifted him up with a grunt, resting his back against my chest, and struggled to pull the jacket off without hurting him. It was a pain. I began to develop a hatred for wet clothing. Once his jacket was off I got to unzipping his shirt, trying to ignore the embarrassed shame and humiliation coming with it, and the guilt for how he was probably going to react later when he woke up. If he woke up. I pulled it off of him, staring in alarm at the cuts and bruises on his back, and made a face when I got sticky wet and bloody hair in my face.

I carefully set him down, moved to his pants, and froze. I took a deep breath, mentally apologize at least thirty times, before closing my eyes and grabbing the hem of his pants, sticking my thumb in to make sure he was actually wearing underwear first. It brushed the hem of some form of cloth. "Oh thank god..." He was. My heart just about died from relief. I opened my eyes, relaxing just a little, and awkwardly started undoing his jeans. "Please don't freak out later, I'm so sorry-" Oh god, this is awful. And thank god he's wearing boxers and not briefs. No, no-thank god he's not going commando. I would have needed bleach if that happened. I carefully pulled the heavy, sopping wet jeans off of him, making sure not to disturb his bad foot too much, and made a strangled noise when I saw all the cuts on his legs. He even had marks and bruises on his chest-scrapes just everywhere. I felt like crying, simply because I wondered how much pain he must be in and how much he had been in when he received them. "Okay... now-to the bed!" I tried to pick him up, but he was unbelievably heavy.

Then again, maybe I was just weak. I had grabbed him by his arms next, attempting to drag him over to the bed, but I only managed to move him about two feet. I gave up, gasping and breathing heavily as I slouched forward, exhausted.

"O-Okay... plan three. C. Whatever." I coughed into my shoulder. I waited for a moment to catch my breath before trying to figure out a new way to carry him, thinking out different angles and plotting the outcome in my head, when I noticed a rather nasty gash on his forearm. Oh god... O-Okay. "N-Nevermind." Not putting him on the bed. W-Wound is... oh god, oh god, oh god, "D-Don't die on me!" I rushed to the stairs frantically, running up them without a care to my own health as all oxygen slowly started to go away. I rushed into the kitchen, wheezing and gasping, and was practically hyperventilating by the time I got to the bathroom. "A-Alcohol-Alcohol-" Where's the peroxide? Where's the thread!? Where does Mom keep her sewing stuff!? I found the peroxide in the medicine cabinet above the sink, and then grabbed the ace-wrap after some thought. I burst into mother's bedroom, rushing over to the nightstand to turn the lamp on as the lightswitch on the wall didn't work, and rummaged through drawers, through the closet-through anything to find some thread and needle. When I got to the giant dresser in front of her bed I found some plain black thread with a needle stuck in it. Her sewing scissors were in the livingroom.

I was like a fish out of water by the time I got back down to the basement.

I dropped the stuff on the ground and rushed into the bathroom, dizzy and swaying, and grabbed some toilet paper-a lot of toilet paper-and soaked half of it in water before ringing it out and getting to work on wiping up the dry blood, pressing some against the gash in a desperate attempt to try and get it stop bleeding. It didn't work, of course, but the gash was rather deep. "I-I can't-I can't believe I'm doing this; Oh my god, oh my god-" Breathe! I gasped, inhaling deeply, and tried to calm myself.

It failed obviously. All my nerves were on edge. But I was trying.

I wasn't sure what to do. I stuck the needle in the peroxide before dumping it on the wound, eliciting a cry from the male before me, and ground my teeth together tightly as I doubled the thread, tied it to the needle, and stabbed it through his arm, pulling it from the other side.

Oh my god-

I felt sick. I'm scared. I'm so scared. What if I kill him? What if in trying to help him I accidentally cut a vain or a nerve or something a-and- no. No. Don't think about it. Just do what Clementine did in the Walking Dead game. I am okay. He is okay. He will be okay. Freaking... Finish stitching the wound, Irene. It's worse on him than it is on you, and if you don't he could bleed out. So with that thought I forced myself to continue, focusing intently as I pushed the needle and thread through his arm, across the wound, and pulled the two sides together. Once I was done I shakily tripled-tied the knot, before adding another two more just to be on the safe side, and cut the needle away from the cloth.

I plastered a couple band-aids on his cuts, tried my best to clean up the dirt from his scraps, and gave him a big band-aid over his cheek. Then I started to wrap the ace-wrap around his ankle, tight as I dared to, and pinned it together. Finally I observed my handiwork, making sure I didn't miss anything, and heaved a big sigh of relief. I stood, shaking, and started to drag him over to the bed again, stopping once we were near it, and caught my breath. I then knelt down, arm around his back as I lifted him into a sitting position, and slid my other arm underneath his knees. With a grunt, legs wobbling, I hoisted him up and dropped him on the bed almost immediately, falling on top of him from the momentum. I pulled my arms out from under him and plopped down beside him, wheezing, and rolled onto my back.

I can't breathe... Jesus. That was intense. It's safe to say I'm not going to be a surgeon any time soon. I draped an arm over my eyes, worn out and stressed. I can't do this. I really can't. I'm not a good person; I'm a mess. I probably made a terrible mistake letting him in and "helping" him. He's probably going to sue us or something once he wakes up.

On the bright side it wasn't raining as hard anymore. It also wasn't thundering.

After a moment I turned my head, staring at the unconscious male beside me, and sat up, unzipping my black-and-white plaid jacket and pulling it and my green one off, draping them over him. They were only slightly damp because of when I was carrying him, so it should still do good to warm him up until I find him something to wear. He was slender, unlike me, so my clothes should fit him if just a little baggy. Props of being a girl, I guess. His waist was probably-what; twenty-eight? I was a thirty-two. He was definitely taller than me, but because of my being a girl my clothes should be huge on him.

I almost fell asleep, and I would have if I didn't force myself to get up. I headed over to the chifferobe, rummaging through everything, and made a face as I pulled out a few shirts and held it up in his direction, squinting and trying to decide if it would look good on him or not. Eh, Ivy Tech it is. I pulled out a large gray shirt with pink letters written on it that read IVY TECH. I wasn't even planning on going to college-we just got free shirts for visiting the college on a field trip in College and Careers class my freshman year. I closed the chifferobe and dropped the shirt on the bed, shuffling through the drawers of my vanity and trying to find a decent pair of pants that might fit him.

I decided to go with my black "boyfriend" jeans.

I put the pants on him first. It was annoying-his feet were huge and kept getting in my way, and I didn't want to bend his bad foot if I didn't have to. After much struggle, of which I muttered various things, I managed to get them on him and I buttoned them, awkwardly zipping them. I then lifted him up, the male's head hitting my shoulder, and I put his head through the hole of the shirt, lifting one arm up at a time to stick it through the short sleeves. I pulled the shirt down, covering his lean stomach-which had the barest hints of abs interestingly enough-and stuck the sleeves of my jackets through his arms as he shivered. He was burning up, but was shivering like crazy. He needed all the warmth he could get to sweat that fever out.

Once they were both on him I laid him down on his back as carefully as I could and zipped up the plaid jacket, grabbing both sides of the green and wrapping them around him as the zipper didn't work.

Mom was going to kill me when she gets home.

The male continued to shiver, turning on his side and curling up into a ball, hugging himself. His face had twisted into an expression of pain. Briefly wondering once again just why the hell I was doing this I pulled the covers on the bed down and, though it was hard, I managed to move the injured sleeping male underneath them, tucking him in. I moved his hair out of his face, getting a better look at him, and wondered if he had fallen down a hill while running. It had been a mess outside-now it was just a light rain. I'm amazed he didn't get electrocuted-though with how spiky his hair is, I wouldn't be surprised if he had been.

I decided to go heat up some chicken noodle soup. Everyone else was sleeping and mom wasn't going to be home for another hour, and who knows when he might wake up? He'll probably be hungry. And nothing says "no" to a cold than chicken noodle soup!

I made my way back upstairs, heading down the hallway and opening the pantry at the end and pulling out a can, and then made my way back over to the kitchen and opened it, pouring it all in a bowl and adding some more water. I heated it up for a minute, stirring it at thirty seconds, and started to head back downstairs. I held the bowl with one hand carefully once I was downstairs and pushed some stuff out of the way so I could set it on the table. I was lucky I hadn't fallen down and spilled everything; I was ridiculously clumsy.

I then sat down on the couch for about ten, maybe fifteen minutes and just stared at the dirty blonde who was passed out on my bed. I know I had always made jokes about sneaking someone in through the glass doors, but... I never thought it would actually happen. I would never have done something like that. Until now, at least.

Maybe I can get away with it; it's been a long time, years actually, since I did something to get myself in trouble. Even then what I was blamed for was almost always not my fault.

But, then again, seeing as the person could be a murderer or a thief or just somebody completely untrustworthy-I really might be grounded. What does it even feel like to be grounded? I don't remember; it's been so long. Just what happened to him, anyway? With injuries like that... the panicked state he had been in... I'm seriously beginning to think he was more a "victim" than the "attacker". If anything he'll see me as an attacker when he wakes up because A) he doesn't know me and B) he's in an unfamiliar place. Probably think I kidnapped him or something.

If he's traumatized by whatever happened to him, I'm gonna rage. I haven't the slightest idea how to comfort people and if this guy just bursts into tears or starts having a panic attack we're both screwed. ...Oh god; he's gonna freak out if I tell him I was the one who changed his clothes. I groaned and turned my head, feeling an embarrassed flush grow on my face. This sucks. Now I know how all those people in the books feel when they wake up to different clothing. Speaking of clothes- "I should probably put his in the laundry room..." That'd be smart.

I sighed and stood, grudgingly pushing myself up off the couch, and maneuvered around the table and bed to get to the other side of the basement where his clothes lay near the table of boxes and a few feet in front of the patio doors. I knelt down, cringing at the sight of the sopping clothes, and promptly rolled the sleeves of my green chiffon button-up up to my elbows, buttoning them there, and promptly picked the saggiest and heaviest pair of pants I have ever seen in my life, slinging them over my arm. Chills ran down my spine and I tried not to shiver at how cold it was, a lump forming in my throat. Gross~! Bloody and wet and gross a-and-Ew!

Note to self: never have children. If this is what being a mom feels like (cleaning up after their children's muddy and rain-soaked clothes) I want no part in it. Even if kids are adorable. It's not like I'm responsible anyway, so, hey-if I need to I'll just adopt one when I'm forty.

"This is so gross..." Keeping the baggiest pair of pants on earth slung over my left arm I knelt down and picked up the jacket, slinging it on top of it, and then picked up the zipper shirt. I stood up, zipping it back up, and had moved my foot to turn when I suddenly heard groaning and the sound of footsteps.

Heavy, clumsy footsteps.

Slowly I turned my head, staring in alarm at the blonde who had a hand against the half-wall that only partially divided the room. He was standing with a limp, his blue eyes hard and staring at me in a mixture of emotions. He looked angry, hurt, confused-but also a little relieved. Mainly confused though. Not knowing what else to say I blurted, "You're up!" I then blinked and tensed, uncomfortable, and awkwardly stammered, "W-Welcome back, sleeping beauty."

"Who are you?" Whoa. My eyes widened and my eyebrows shot up. I heard that voice before-at least, I'm pretty sure I have. I would recognize it anywhere, but it wouldn't make sense unless he's that extremely tiny percent who is just coincidentally so much like a fictional character. Like that Peter Griffin guy. But he, uh, certainly knows how to get straight to the point. "Where am I? What's going on!? A-Wait, are those my clothes?" His eyes shot to the objects I was holding, causing me to look down at them as well.

"Oh. Well, would'ya look at that. I-I guess they are, huh? H-Hey, um, you hungry?" I looked back at him, trying to quell the twisting feeling in my stomach. I was scared. "I-If you give me a minute, I-I can put these in the dirty clothes and-and then I can go back upstairs to reheat the soup I made for you. I-I mean, I probably should have waited until you were actually up to make it, since it's cold now, b-but I-I dunno, I didn't know when you were going to wake up and figured it'd be better safe than sorry and-" I inhaled deeply, cutting myself when I realized I was not only ranting but out of air, and shook my head. "Point being! You hungry?"

The blonde just stared, silent and observing. He appeared untrusting of me, but seemed to have relaxed just a little. "...I..." He frowned, looking down for a moment, then at himself. His eyes focused on the bandage that I had placed on the back of his hand where he had been bleeding just below his knuckles before back at me. "I guess. A little."

"Great! Well, not really-being hungry isn't something one should be great about, but-" I began to ramble nervously, only to pause when I realized what I said was stupid and wasn't making any sense. "I-I'm gonna shut up now. And put the clothes away. And... get food-that's a thing I'm going to do. Right now. Okay." I clamped my mouth shut and quickly scurried through the doors to the laundry room, dumping the disgusting clothes in there and quickly washing my hands and arms off at the sink before drying them. I rolled my sleeves back down, allowing the green cloth to cover my hands, the tips of my fingers just barely poking out. I rushed back into the basement, ignoring the dirty blonde who was watching my every movement, and stumbled as I passed by him, having almost stubbed my toe into the couch again. I hopped on one foot as I avoided it, speaking to the male as I fumbled over to the table with the bowl, "Just-Just wait here? Okay? I-I'll be right back! Whoa-Phew..." I let out a relieved breath as I landed on both feet, before stiffly grabbing the bowl and heading upstairs.

I looked at both my feet and the steps as I made my way up, being as careful as I could so not to spill or fall, and heated the soup up in the microwave once more. Then I made my way back down where the male was looking around the room, flipping through all the stacks of drawings I had on the computer desk next to the couch. He looked both a little surprised, impressed, and solemn. Like he was remembering something unpleasant.

"I-I'm back." I spoke stiffly, clearing the silence. The male jumped and looked at me alarmed, hand shooting out to his side as if to hold something as he spread his legs apart, only to cringe and cry out as he nearly fell over. I shrieked and stumbled back, started by his sudden action, and hissed when a bit of the broth from the soup spilled on me. "Ah-man!" Well, it was only fifteen bucks... but it was such a nice shirt! I think it'll come out though... I'll pester Penelope about it later. I hurriedly set the bowl down on the Inn table and made my way to the blonde, tentatively reaching out to help him stand up.

He smacked my hand away when I reached out and I flinched and recoiled, stepping back, and watched him struggle to stand up by himself, a hand on the table. He leaned to the side, all of his weight on his good foot. "I can do it myself," He grumbled.

"O-Okay, s-sorry!" Don't help. Got it. Thumbs up. Okay. "Just-Just sit on the couch, o-okay?" My voice squeaked a little. He gave me a glare before his gaze softened and he sighed.

"I'm sorry... I shouldn't have snapped at you like that."

"It's fine! It's fine! I-It's-You just... shouldn't moving right now. I think. I'm pretty sure. So... sit down. Eat. Whatever. Um, yeah." The male limped over and plopped down on the couch with a cringe before shifting and leaning over, grabbing onto his left pantsleg and lifting it up slightly so he could get a better view of his foot and the ace-wrap around it. I wondered what I should do. Is this the part where I give him the bowl to eat or do I ask for his name first?

"Did you do this?"

"Wait, what?" Huh?

He looked at me, eyes curious. "Were you the one who did this? All the bandages." He plucked at the two jackets he was wearing, pinching it between his fingers. "And the clothes-are they yours? You were the one who changed me, right?"

"O-Oh, uh, yeah." I nodded, standing there still as a statue. "S-Sorry."

He looked surprised at that, blinking at me. "Why are you apologizing? You helped me."

"I-I know, but-but it's not really... nice to change someone's clothes, e-especially since they're unconscious, a-and I-I dunno, but it's-it's awkward a-and most people would usually freak over it. I know I would, but-"

"Did you see how bad it was out there?" He asked incredulously. "If I stayed in those clothes I would have froze to death."

Yeah... that's true. "S-Sorry..." I'm sort of glad that he could at least tell I wasn't the one who caused those injuries, so maybe he knew how he received them? I don't think he believes me to a be threat.

"Stop apologizing."

"Sor-" Hmm... Dang it. I silently nodded instead and forced my feet to move, taking the bowl off the Inn table and handing it to him. He took it, but looked at it in confusion. "H-Here."

He lifted it up to his face and... sniffed it. "What is this?" I stared.

"Chicken noodle soup. It's good for colds and stuff."

The boy made a contemplative face before lifting it up to his face and just drinking the broth, not bothering with the noodles or chicken. The poor spoon lay forgotten, blocked by his thumb as he held up the bowl. He took a few sips, before those sips turned into gulps, and after a few moments he had pulled the bowl away with a small gasp. "It's good!" Has he never had chicken noodle soup before? The face of wonder he made as he scooped up some of the actual food with the spoon was almost cute. "It's really salty." The tiniest of smiles made its way to his face. "Is this kind of food common in this world?"

...World. Right. Okay. Let's not go there, hun. "Yeah... sick people eat it all the time. Sore throats. Congestion. Stuff like that." Would it be too random to ask now? Or is that how it's supposed to go? I hate asking people for their name-especially if I had forgotten it. Not that I ever knew this guy before, so... "H-Hey, uh, what's your name?" Wait! Crap. "I'm Irene."

"I'm-" Guard down and relaxed he began to answer, but just before he said his name he froze, a conflicted look crossing his face as he looked down. His hands tightened on the bowl and spoon. "My name is... My name is Roxas."

Right, well, reality check, please? I think this guy hit the loony bin. Or am I dreaming? Heck if I know.