I should give one of my best friends, Linda ( silverbreaths on tumblr. beware, it's probably changed since the time I've written it down), the indirect credit for a good portion of this story. I would not have thought of it without of her odd little mind or her quirky prompt: One day Dan and Phil wake up and remember nothing. With a bit of talking over this point of "nothing" I tweaked the idea into one easily molded into… well…. this… I don't often do first-person narrations, however it seemed to work in this case. Enjoy.

I came to the realization that I was awake slowly. I did not open my eyes, but let the sunlight streaming in from somewhere touch my eyelids and make my vision red. Something was different. My mind felt blissfully clear: crisp, blank, fresh as a new bank of snow. But why? Not only was something different, something was definitely wrong. It was an odd feeling, to know something was lost but not knowing what that something was. The missing thing in question was thought. Or more specifically: memory. Or maybe I was explaining this all wrong.

As my eyes adjusted to the light of the room, I found myself simply staring at a crack in the ceiling. Somewhere in the rumble of wakening I had turned over onto my back, one arm caught underneath my body. It wasn't terribly comfortable, yet I made no move to change my position. I had lost the desire to… anything. I simply stared at the dusty crack that ran from a corner in a slash over my bed. It could have been minutes or hours that I watched it. I don't know why I watched it the way I did, but watch I did. The crack did nothing.

After some time had passed, I looked down at my surroundings. This was really odd. I had no memory of these sheets, which were patterned with white and grey and black, but they felt familiar to me. To my right was a bedside table and beyond it was a small dresser with black drawers but a wood patterned surface. There were various objects on both: a light, a picture in a frame, a few stacks of books. He eyed the nearest one, by Delia Smith. The name was familiar too.

This was all too weird. Like selective memory, I found myself trying to think of something that I definitely knew. I had no problem remembering math or how to speak (I muttered words aloud; getting my sleep softened tongue to adequately pronounce them before I was satisfied that speech wasn't an issue.) However, personal things like what I had for dinner last night, my favorite color, hell, even my name trickled through my mind freely. It was like water that slid through the cracks in my fingers, no matter how I tried to grasp it close to me.

I should try to jog my memory by using things here. Perhaps I have some weird amnesia.

This was obviously the room I lived in. It was much too comfortable and too my liking, even if I don't remember making it that way, to be someone else's place. So I grabbed the corner of the plaid duvet, pulled it off of myself and stood up. It was the first good look I'd had at my body since I woke up and I peered good-naturedly downwards. Strange, to be relearning the body that I'd obviously had for a while. I ran my hands down my tanned arms distractedly, did a quick pat down to make sure all parts were there, and then walked across the room to where I instinctively thought the bathroom was.

I peered at the face in the mirror and began cataloguing features. Not long but not short brown hair, the fringe parted above his right eyebrow and swooped to the left. It was a bit mussed and curly from sleeping. I don't really like that… Both ears pierced, each sporting a black stud. I made connection with a pair of dark brown eyes. Those are my eyes. Stepping back from the mirror I also traced my exposed skin. I wasn't wearing a shirt and a thin but not toned body was uncovered. Nothing abnormal, just a regular average guy. Good.

I probably should take a shower, but when you've forgotten basically everything about yourself, that tends to be the more pressing matter. Besides, I was hungry and the grumblings from my stomach wouldn't stay quiet for long. I padded out of my door and along the corridor, still a bit freaked out that I could find my way even though it was as if it were the first time I had ever seen these halls. I found a kitchen, complete with refrigerator, oven, dishwasher, and cupboards with plenty of cereal. As I searched for a bowl I thought about how weird it was that I could remember these appliances and utensils and different kinds of food but I couldn't even remember my name.

Strange.

Bowl full of some cereal called Shreddies and milk poured; I set off on what proved to be a more difficult task. Apparently, organization is not my strong point because several drawers were full of random crap. It looked as if I had just shoved whatever was on the counter into the drawer and then tried to close it, despite the overflowing mass of miscellaneous objects. Eventually I found a spoon tucked under a bunch of already opened mail. I extracted my utensil, pulling the papers and envelopes haphazardly out of place, and then closed the drawer putting numerous creases on the spilling of paper. I shrugged and picked up my bowl, quickly deciding that I wanted to continue my exploration.

Bowl in one hand, spoon in the other, I walked through the hallway slurping cereal in a completely graceful way as I peeked into each room in turn. Kitchen/ dining room/ living room I already knew about. And my own room of course. There was a room with a wardrobe and a desk with keyboard and a laptop, head phones still connected. Another bathroom, a room with a bed that looked like it hadn't been touched in a while. Guest bedroom? The next door was closed.

Without qualms, I reached out and grasped the handle, turning it and swinging the door forward. In here was another bed, but this one was not tidy like the other. The clearly unmade sheets and duvet were strewn aimlessly in many directions. It looked like there were pillows under the sheets, or at least that's what I thought until they moved. There was something or someone in that bed. The bowl in my hand slipped through my fingers and crashed on the floor, causing milk to splatter up into my face and on the floor in a wide circle.

The resounding crash and shudder of the bowl coming to a standstill created enough sound to jolt the figure awake. I found myself looking into a pair of bright blue eyes.

Okay guys, tell me what you want. Is this worth continuing?