Summary: Kurt and Sebastian have been together for 6 years, until the day Sebastian suddenly disappears and no one remember him, except for Kurt. He must go find Sebastian and get him back again.

A/N: This story is mainly based on the movie: The Forgotten. It's a thriller and it's about a mother who loses her son, but no one remembers the son. You can watch the trailer here: watch?v=CqjWuzPdHdo. It's a really good movie, it can be recommended ;) My version of the story is gonna be a little different from the film. Reviews and other responses are always appreciated, I hope you will enjoy, my writing isn't the best, but I'll improve later on ;)

Chapter 1: Prologue

"Sebastian!?" There was a pause.

"I'm over here!" came the reply. It sounded so far away, yet like he could reach out into the dark and feel the person who answered him.

"Where?!" He can't see anything. It's so dark.

"Here!" came the reply once again. It sounded closer this time, yet further away again.

"I can't see you!" He can't see anything.

"Then open your eyes!"

"Please don't leave me!" He managed to scream before everything was suddenly white and bright. Very bright. He tried to open his eyes, but the brightness from the light outside, made him wince and close them again. He lied there with closed eyes. He felt weak. He couldn't even make himself open his eyes. But he knew he had to at some point. He managed to slide his hand across the soft sheets beneath him. Yup, it was still the same sheets and the same bed he had been used to lie on for a whole year. He had also been used to lie in exactly this bed for 6 years ago. It's actually his real bed, it's his childhood bed. But still, every day when he would wake up in this bed, he would slide his hand across it to feel, if he maybe this time, was back in what he felt like had become his real bed. The bed he actually felt home in. And then maybe, when he was guiding his hand further across the bed, he would feel a warm, breathing body beside him... But it never happened. He always woke up in the same bed, and never with another body beside him. He was used to having dreams. This dream specifically, he was used to have almost every night, so he never thought further of the dreams or even some nights, nightmares. Horrible nightmares.

He slowly sat up in the bed. It started to creak by his movements, something that he had also been used to for a year now. His 'real' bed hadn't been creaking, even though he had slept in it for 6 years, even with another person. It had been a really good bed. He sat on the edge of the bed for a while. A minute passed. 5 minutes passed. 20 minutes. Suddenly an hour had gone by, without a single movement. Slowly, he made himself stand from the creaking bed. He walked over to his wooden closet and opened it. He looked inside it for a while. He remembers once upon time when he was so busy about what he was wearing. From every clothing down to every accessory, had a meaning. He had special looks from what fitted his mood. When he was happy, he would wear bright colors, when he was sad, he would wear dark colors, when he was in a more neutral mood, he would go with...- Neutral colors. It still took him more than an hour per day to get finished with his outfits and his hair would probably take the longest time to fix. His hair also depended on his mood. It would be more spiky than usual when he was happy, more flat and not done so well when he was sad, and more high on his head when neutral, but still perfect. Now...- he would use 5 minutes... Never more. He did the same thing every morning. He looked inside his closet to look for some clothes, but he always ended up with a pair of either sweat pants, or just loose fitted jeans. A loose t-shirt, or when it was cold, a long sleeved shirt or a hoodie. A pair of socks and then he would trudge out into the bathroom, splash some water in his face and randomly run his hands through his hair, and he was good to go. Next step; breakfast. This was usually the worst part of the morning. He would have to face his dad.

He trudged up the stairs and into the living room. He found his dad seated at the table in the kitchen, a half eaten toast on his plate, a cup of hot steaming coffee and a newspaper in his hand. He sat with his back facing his son, but he could always here the lazy trudging of feat coming nearer. "Good morning, bud." Burt Hummel said lightly, like he had for the past year. His son had walked past him while he bid him good morning, the young man now standing by the coffee machine, pouring himself a large cup of coffee. He needed his daily coffee, or else he would be more useless than he already was. "Mornin' dad." He had scratched the "good" part in "good morning" a long time ago. He wouldn't act like it was a good morning when it never was anyway. He turned around to face his father, and he always seized to catch the small wince his dad's eyes made every morning when he looked at his son's condition. He tried to ignore it and just look anywhere else except his father's eyes. He leaned back against the counter and started to sip at his coffee. He knew his dad was watching him, but he tried to ignore it. He always hated when people was looking at him. He tried to concentrate on the slight burn on his tongue from the hot coffee, he closed his eyes and took another sip and swallowed... He already felt much better. But he couldn't ignore the eyes on him any longer. He opened his eyes and regretted it immediately. His father was looking pitying at him. His father pitied him. It was almost worse than disappointment or judgment. He quickly looked away again and tried not to cry. He knew he was far out now.

"Kurt. Buddy-" his father started, but he still couldn't make himself look at his dad. "Could you maybe sit down? Just for a few minutes. I just want to talk for a bit, ya' know, before I get to work. I feel like its ages ago since we've had some father and son time." Burt tried to catch his son's eyes, but Kurt refused to look into them again. He was afraid to see the pity in them. Burt waited a few seconds. He wouldn't push Kurt, but he just couldn't stand to see his own son in this condition anymore. Kurt needed to take baby steps, of course, but then he also needed to get some pushes now and then to get started. So Burt pushes, "Kurt? Please." Kurt looked carefully into his dad's eyes, and surprisingly he didn't find any pity in them anymore. Kurt decided after a while; that he would sit down to face his dad. Burt was right after all. It had been a long time since he and his dad had really talked. Kurt removed the mug from his face and took a step forward. He reached out towards the chair in front of him, and pulled it out from under the table. He then sat down carefully, still with the hot coffee cup buried in hands to keep his cold fingers warm. He looked up expectedly at his dad, waiting for what to come. "Son...-" Burt started, and Kurt looked harder at him and also slightly leaned more forward. "I think maybe it would do you good to see a psychologist."

Short, short chapter, but it's still only the prologue! ;) Please review and let me know if I should continue or just if there's anything else you'd like me to know :)

- chriscolferlove