(A/N) Hey, just to warn you, this is a pretty unique writing style in my opinion. I don't usually write like this just to tell you. So yeah, enjoy! P.S. plz, constructive criticism welcome!
The sound of pelting rain boomed in his ears, while the thin damp sheets clung to his body, dark hair adheres to his face veiled with sweat. Where was he? His eyes opened and spun wildly around the dark room consumed in a cold void. More importantly, who was he? He searched his mind for a trace of anything, a memory, a word, an emotion, but there is nothing, like the prison he was in.
Wait. There was something. A dimming light, hiding in the corner, crouched up. It was crying. The face, yes that's what it was, the face, it was crying. Oh what a lovely face, wavy locks framing that perfectly browned skin, with eyes crystallized like ice, but the ice was melting. He wanted to stop it, the ice shouldn't be melting, it was hurting him. It hurt his chest; it burned like molten rock within him. He screamed tearing at his throat like it would release the beast clawing at his heart. Why did it hurt so much? The lady inside him suddenly stopped crying and looked at him. The pain subsided if only for a solemn moment, and the girl, she looked at him. And when that gazed brushed him, it was like she was embracing him, herself melting into him like a waterfall cascades into a forlorn pool.
All the tension had eroded away, and he looked up. What was that expression on her face? Her delicately curved eyebrows compressed, lips pursed, eyes; her eyes were searching. What were they searching for? Were they searching for him? Why he? He started calling out, but something restrained him, he had no voice. He needed to let her know he was there, he just needed to. She was looking for him. Her lips parted, chest rising as if she too wanted to call out, but stopped and started weeping again, her slender figure dawdling in the dusky shadows of his mind. No! She needed to know he was there! She just couldn't give up. He was there.
Without warning, he was being tugged away from the empty presence of her. "Jet!" a puerile voice called echoing in the cave "Jet, wake up! Oh, Longshot, he's alive! Jet! Quick get him some water! He can't speak!"
Jet. That was his name then. It seemed right, like a sword fits into its sheath. A rough cup was being pushed to his lips emitting a cool sensation through his frayed throat. That feeling. It's so familiar; it must have come from the something. The girl, yes, it must have come from her.
"I need…" he croaked, the two boys leaning in close to better hear his rasps, "I need to find her." He leaned back slipping back into the darkness of his mind hoping to find her there again, but it came to him that he was still alone. For now.