Have I officially lost the plot and started to write some Pewdiepie fan-fiction because I'm a fool that reads WAY too deeply into stuff that isn't there?
…Yes.
Do I own Amnesia or Pewdiepie and the objects of his imagination?
Fuck no.
Is this an overused and slightly stale idea?
You bet your sweet apples it is.

TRIGGER WARNING: Eh… nothin much.

"Minds that are ill at ease are agitated by both hope and fear."
Ovid

His body jerked up, eyes snapping open to the familiar cloak of darkness shrouding the room around him. It took a moment, but he slowly loosened the death grip around his own neck and breathed in deeply, hands sticky with sweat against the clammy skin and prickly hairs. Carefully he brought his knees up to his chest and pressed his forehead into the groove between them and started to quell the erratic breathing and the violent jumping of his heart hammering away behind his ribs.

It didn't work. But it never worked, so it was hardly surprising. The fuzzy neon glow of the alarm clock would read 4:30 am, just as usual and he would just have to lie awake in bed for the next two hours, hyper vigilant and buzzing with adrenaline.

With a huff and a scrub of his hand against the hairs on his face he swung his legs out of bed and crept across the room, footsteps light so as not to wake the slender form still curled up under the blanket, her long caramel coloured hair fanned out around her head.

With quick movement he turned the kettle on and dumped some instant coffee grounds into a mug followed by way too much sugar to be healthy, but he didn't really care by that point, he needed something to keep him occupied for the next few hours, and drinking scalding sugary coffee until dawn streaked the blackened sweep of sky usually did it.

Boiling Water and milk joined the mixture in the cup and after an incident with a slippery teaspoon the steaming mug was placed on the table and a body in the chair close by.

It was just a game. The same sentence he had been hearing and uttering under his breath for the better part of the last month, until the words had mixed together and lost the meaning they were supposed to have. The numerous comments listed in ever increasing rows were only aggravating the issue like scratching a rash until it's raw and bleeding. He exhaled through shaky lips and forced his eyes open, shoving off the twisted and warped images he could only half remember fluttering behind his eyelids. It was just a game after all.

What he couldn't pick was when it had become something more than a game. When it had gone from a fun distraction that people enjoyed watching, too a vicious being looming on the edge of his conscious mind waiting for the lull of sleep to make its move. The game he had played so often now a nightmare that kept sleep at bay with slashing teeth. When he had to start re-watching his own footage to see what he had said was when he had first thought something was up. It had started off as something to draw more viewers in, casually picking up an object and having a conversation with it as if it were a real person. Giving it a distinct personality based on how it looked, what it could do or where it was. The conversations when they had started were usually dull and took effort to speak, but all too quickly it had become second nature as he slipped into the personas with ease. But now he wasn't the one directing the banter, it was the character of whatever object he had engaged. Watching the footage was like seeing himself speak in tongues, and he had no recollection of even switching voices or directing the flow of words. It was then he had started being woken up at all hours of the night drenched in a cold sweat and body quaking with the lingering traces of fear and mortal terror.

He chewed his lip and ran a fingertip around the rim off the coffee mug, quietly trying to organize the chaotic thoughts that were slamming into him from all directions. The whole situation was so crazy and he was so far out of his depth all he could do was avoid the damned game at all costs, and hope the nightmares he could only ever remember terrifying glimpses of would just fuck off and let him move on.

But everyone wanted more; his amnesia commentaries were apparently too fabulous. He let out a quiet chuckle and lifted the sweet coffee to his lips, swallowing it down and letting the warmth heat him pleasantly from the inside.

He didn't have to worry about it now. Here in the dimly lit room he could just relax and forget the little things that nipped at his heels in everyday life.

For now he could let himself relax and enjoy something as simple as a view of the stars through the window.

The faint glow dusted his face, eyes open and wary as they swept across the faintly lit landscape. His body was tense and poised, hands resting lightly on the windowsill but still at the ready in case something were to happen. His lips were pursed in a faint frown, brows drawn in close across his forehead as he watched on from between pulsating amber eyes. His breaths were light and steady, ears trains for the slightest movement as he waited.

Slowly the soft patter of footsteps started up down the end of the hallway, and his hand flittered instinctively to coil around the well-worn grip of his end of his weapon. As the soft steps grew closer he relinquished the grip and let his hand fall as the door creaked open slowly and shut with a soft click.

For a moment there was nothing but the fragile glass of silence between the two figures, waiting to be shattered by the hushed tones of a quiet word or two.

"Are you ok?"

The man at the window snorted at the quiet breathy question and turned with the faintest swish of his draping clothing, bright eyes narrowing into cynical slits. "I'm sure we all agreed at some point that what you just asked was a pointless question."

From the dim lit room a pair of shifting green eyes tilted down towards the floor, taking the faint light with them. "Sorry. I just can't think of anything else to say."

With a dismissive wave of his hand the man twisted until he was leaning on the wall, completely ignoring the land he had been eyeballing so intently only a short while ago. "Don't worry, you mustn't take it seriously, I'm just tired is all." He muttered.

"I know." The shorter man stated calmly. "You're worried about him."

A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he shook his head slowly, silky fabric tracing the back of his neck as he moved. "That transparent eh?" He asked.

With a shuffle of footsteps and the sound of a throat being cleared another question was tentatively pushed into the whispered conversation, "You said yourself that he's stopped playing, so why are you so worried?"

"Because he's an impulsive bastard." Was the simple reply, the thickly accented voice layered with concern and bitterness. "And we don't know what he might to next, or what the outcome is going to be."

The shorter man pursed his lips and took a step forward as his companion turned back to the window. "We do know. We'll all be there to-"

He visibly flinched and spat out a single word. "No."

"No?"

"No, were not risking his mental health in this."

The pursed lips turned into a full on scowl. "So you'd rather risk his mortality?!" The words were dripping with bitterness and sarcasm, the faintly lit eyes narrowing to cold chips of emerald green. "Projections can only do so much, but you already knew this."

There was a shaky exhale, and his head tilted away from the window letting the pale glow outline the sharp features. "I'm sorry."

The sneer softened and the green eyes opened a little wider as they breathed In slowly and deeply, collecting himself together before speaking again. "It's going to be worse for him no matter what happens, and they're going to be rigging it against him more and more every time he does something right. He might die, and you'd lose yourself again if he did."

There was a moment of silence as the sentence hung heavy in the air.

"I'm only looking out for you." He stated calmly, arms up in a non-threatening gesture as he back up a few steps before turning and walking out of the room with the same quiet footsteps he entered with.

As the door clicked itself close the remaining man pressed his forehead against the cold, misted glass and closed his bright amber eyes with a quiet murmur. "With any luck he'll never come close."