He awoke in a cold, black room. He blinked- once, twice- and turned his head wildly, attempting to find something to focus his eyes upon. He instantly regretted it, as pain shot through his head. He desperately attempted to remember what had led him to this dark room, this hard, stone slab of a bed.

There was a car… and there was someone else…

He couldn't remember. Not yet, at any rate.

Then he realized that there was someone beside him.

He was surprisingly unalarmed at the revelation, and tentatively reached out a hand, placing it on the someone's shoulder.

The someone shuddered, letting out a sound that sounded suspiciously like a sob. "S-simon… is that you?"

He wasn't positive how to reply. The someone had a little boy's voice- rough, yet sweet, and seemed to be about his size- slightly bigger, though.

"I… I think so…" His voice cracked, throat dry. "Am I… Simon?"

The boy beside him sat up. "You… you s-sound like him."

Something- a slight breeze, perhaps, caused the door of the room to open slightly, a sliver of yellow light entering into the room. Simon- as he decided that he might as well be called, for now- was able to see the boy's face more clearly. He had a long, angular face, with dark hair cut closely to his head. More interestingly, though, tear marks trailed down his face. The boy, who had been studying Simon's face- with perhaps more interest than Simon had been showing him- realized what Simon had noticed, and ashamedly wiped away the wetness from his face. "I… I know what you're thinking," he stuttered, "but you have to understand. I was really worried about you… although I'm not exactly sure what happened. It was something bad, though, and I was really worried about you."

Worried? Why should he be worried about him? Simon wasn't positive that he in fact knew this boy. "And you are…?" he began, in a distant, yet polite tone.

The boy stopped rubbing at his eyes, and fixed him with an incredulous stare. "What? I… you've forgotten about… I'm Horace! From… from…" he trailed away. "I guess that I can't remember where we met… but we're best friends!"

"That's… good to know, I suppose." Simon hazarded a glance towards the door. "Talk more quietly, please; we don't know where we are."
"Sorry." Horace rubbed at his neck, a wounded look crossing his face. "It's just… I can't believe that you'd forget me that easily. Remember the time that we-"
"I'm sorry, but I don't." Simon turned his attention to examining the room. "We need to figure out where we are and what happened. Then I can remember all the fun times that we apparently had together."

A somewhat petulant, somewhat resolute expression came to rest on Horace's face. "Alright." He began to climb off of the bed.

Footsteps approached.

"Stop!" hissed Simon, roughly grabbing Horace's arm and pulling him back onto the bed. "Someone's coming… pretend to be asleep."

Horace immediately pulled the thin blanket over the two of them. They huddled there, barely breathing, in the cold and the dark.

"They're in here," said one voice, the tone of which was barely distinguishable. "Two of them- probably about six or so, the both of them."

"I can't believe it… dropped on the front step… no papers, nothing!" This voice was louder, a female's voice, high and hysterical.

"Calm down, Patsy," said the first voice, which was beginning to sound more like an older man's. "Who knows- they may turn out to be decent assets to the orphanage."
"I guess so, but I doubt it. I can't believe it… of course something like this had to happen during my first week running the place."

The conversation gradually traveled away, and Simon breathed out a long, low sigh. "So, we're orphans, then."

Horace blinked. "Orphans… but we can't be! My dad…" He swallowed. "I can't remember. Does your head hurt? Because mine does, and I wonder what happened… I'm sure that there's some kind of explanation…"
Simon had merely felt curiosity, tinged with annoyance, towards Horace thus far, but as the boy's voice trailed away, he felt a twinge of pity. "Enough," he said quietly. "We can find out more tomorrow. Ask questions, investigate. But right now, we should just go to sleep."
Horace sighed. "I guess." He slipped out from under the blanket, placing it clumsily on top of Simon. He sat, watching the door. "You sleep first."

Simon said nothing. He thought himself to sleep by attempting to remember what had led Horace and himself to this place.

Right before he fell asleep, he thought that he remembered something, but it was just the sound of Horace quietly crying, and, so tired was he, that he could not tell whether it was memory, dream, or reality.

Author's notes:

I published this on Ao3 awhile ago and, naturally, forgot to put it up here. Here's a few notes about what I'm planning for this story.

I'm obsessed with Simon and Knightley, and have been ever since playing through AAI2 during the summer of 2016. I don't ship them, however, and, during my search for stories about them, found that most stories about them are shipping fics(apart from a few excellent ones by the author elyvorg, which can be found on Ao3 under the tags for these characters). I thought that I'd better remedy the dearth of friendship stories for them, and have been working on this story that will focus on their dysfunctional friendship, rather than the romantic relationship that many authors prefer.

There will most likely be 18 chapters, starting from when Knightley and Simon were six, and ending when they are twenty-four(when Knightley dies). I'll probably alternate between their perspectives as well.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy! :)