PeachBerry: When I started this story, I had a specific plot in mind…and now five months later I have a completely different plot! What the heck…? Yeah. Sorry for the confusion. I hope all you people who thought Kairi was gonna be in this aren't gonna be too mad. I originally had Kairi as a friend to Sora…but no. She's no where in sight for this story. Maybe I'll put her in…but not as a love interest. I'm sorry to say, and I'm only sorry because people are narrow minded, that this fic is yaoi…RikuxSora to be exact. Didn't I put that in the story description?

Wingy: No, PB didn't. Which is why it probably threw people off.

PB: Ack! Sorry bout that. I changed the summary so it fits the description better…

Wingy: PB also is sorry for the long waits. Better get used to it though because PB only writes to procrastinate from projects that are due…which actually isn't often this year.

PB: But I'm procrastinating now…so on with the story!

Disclaimer: I don't owe or profit from anything Kingdom Hearts related.

Warning: You'll probably be confused, so make sure you're paying attention!

Belonging

Chapter One- Rainy Memory

About three years later…

"Alright now sweetie, the doctor will be with you in a minute so you can just relax for a little while."

"Thanks."

It's that time of the week, and it's annoying as fuck. Every Monday afternoon, I have to walk to this building, talk to that freaky lady with her long ass nails tapping her keyboard. It's all so annoying. I don't get why mother sends me here, hands money to these people. A bunch of cronies with bits of paper that say they're good at whatever they're doing.

The classical music playing softly in the room wasn't helping my mood either. Not that I have a problem with classical music, but the fact that it's being used as 'waiting room' material must make their composes roll in their graves.

I sighed in my uncomfortable chair, picking up a random magazine and thumbing through the pages. It didn't distract me, but actually made me more ticked off at the thought that people actually read this kind of shit. It was all pissing me off. The whole world pisses me off. I could've ranted on for hours in my head about how fucked up the world is, but just then the freaky secretary told me to go in the next room.

About forty minutes later I find myself laying on that infamous daybed that all shrink offices have, answering questions that I've been asked a dozen times before by others. How annoying.

"And when you wake up from these nightmares, how do you feel?"

"I dunno."

"Do you feel scared?"

"Not really."

"How about lonely? Sad? Depressed?"

"Sometimes, but how do you expect me to feel after having a nightmare? Fucking happy with glee?"

The man who sat across from me heaved a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as if squeezing away a headache. It's a routine thing. He asks the questions, I answer them with the best possible answer, and everyone goes home happy. Of course, I've gone through this charade so many times, you can say I like to mix it up a little.

"Sora, kindly keep the profanity to a minimum."

"Sure thing Dr. Squall." (1)

"Please, call me Leon. I prefer it actually."

It's rather hard to describe Dr. Squ- I mean Leon. I've only been seeing him for a couple weeks. He's far younger than the other people I've had to see. I sense this aloof vibe from him, certainly a lot more laid back than the others. His long, dark brown hair and rough features makes him look more like a rebellious biker than a shrink. Must be the fresh out of med school type.

Should be fun.

"Please at least try to cooperate as well. I know you don't want to be here. At least try, for your mother's sake."

"Ouch, low blow Leon. Drawing the mother card on me."

"High cards tend to win the hand. So let's reshuffle." Leon looked down to his clipboard, studying its contents for a few seconds before fixing his blue gaze back on mine. I felt unsettled under his gaze; such an incredible hue of blue reminded me of someone. It hit me hard in the chest and I forced my sudden surprise back into my stomach, leaving a tiny residue in the back of my throat. It happens like that when I try to force a flashback from coming. Sometimes works, sometimes doesn't. Thankfully it did this time and Leon took no notice. I forced myself to listen to what he was saying so as not to lead to suspicion.

"Three years ago, you went missing. Three months later, you return in you bed with no memory recollection. Now you wake up from reoccurring dreams and have what seems to be random flashbacks." Leon seemed to study my reaction to his words as he finished his analysis. I hope I hid my discomfort from him. The subject of my memory loss was rather taboo back at home. The thought of those three months of lost memories frightens me. I fear of losing more. I fear something terrible must have happened to me, so much that I am sick in the head. Can such a sickness be cured, I tend to wonder to myself.

"Sora, these flashbacks are most likely your suppressed memories."

"So I've been told." This guy thinks just like the rest of them.

"Well, I do not believe these flashbacks are sporadical, random I mean. Obviously, something is triggering your memory." As he spoke his last works, he got up from the worn leather chair he had been sitting in and walked around his desk.

Leon's office was fairly small. A semi-cluttered desk was placed in front of a large bookcase that covered the entire wall. I was seated on the daybed towards the other side of the room, the door to my left and a window to my right overlooking the street. The walls were painted a dark blue and adorn with many pictures of different inkblots. I vaguely wondered if they were for show, or Leon actually used them.

Leon studied the bookcase behind his desk carefully, fingering past a series of books. I half glanced at the door to my left, wondering if I would be able to make a break for it. Before I could decide though, he slide a book from a middle shelf out and sat back down.

"Why don't you take this." He said smiling. God, was his smile creeping me out. The scar across his face curled up at the end near his lip, making him look like the reflection in a broken mirror. (I'm sure it was just the bad lighting in his office though.) He handed me the book. It was fairly heavy for its small size. The cover was made of red leather and had no title.

"What's this for?" I opened the book up revealing it was not just a book, but actually a journal. The blank parchment-like pages were lined neatly with gold ink and calligraphic designs decorated the margins. It had that fairly old small, dusty and disused.

"This is to help your memory. Whatever dreams you have, nightmares, flashbacks, just write them all down in here. It's for your own personal use, so use it for any other purpose you may desire. Just don't burn it."

"And by personal, you mean no one but me reads it right?"

"Yes, it's for your eyes only."

"I don't see how that's gonna help." I said doubtfully.

"It's more for record purposes, Sora. They say the memory becomes better after being written down. You can also sort through your thoughts and piece together memories a bit better."

I contemplated the idea. I still didn't like the thought of writing my heart out, the journal getting stolen and all my little dark secrets are revealed. And if Leon doesn't even get to read it, how is it suppose to help him understand me anyway? I surprised myself at this thought, because I knew that even though others had failed in aiding me, I desperately wanted someone to help. I of course, didn't like the idea of a stranger helping me. It's like someone telling you that you're incapable of taking care of yourself. I didn't want to give that kind of appearance to Leon, or anyone else. That would make me vulnerable.

"I don't think this will really do any good." I said, placing the book on the small table standing between me and Leon. He only pushed it back towards me.

"Sora, I know you're probably tired of people trying to help you, and failing. I can tell that you won't give in easily, but at least this way, with this journal, you can be helping yourself. Don't you want to regain your lost memories?"

The question hit home, and I didn't answer. It had been three years since that time, and I'm still trying to cope. I never shake off the feeling that something terrible happened to me. Something drastic changed deep inside me, as if some kind of switch turned off and I see the world draped in shadow.

Ever since I woke up alone in my bed screaming and crying out with such fierceness it made my ears and throat hurt. It was the night three months after I went missing, and I had no recollection of where I had been, who had taken me, what I had done. I felt as if something precious and yet disgusting had been ripped out of my body. This nerve-racking feeling always has me question, that maybe I wasn't meant to remember.

At that moment of reminiscing, I felt strangely alone. Even with Leon's gaze fixed on me, I felt like someone had just left the room, leaving an empty place. Something wasn't here anymore. Something was missing…

It was then that I knew, that even if I wasn't meant to regain my memories, I wanted to remember. Because if those lost memories, be them horrible or bittersweet, if they could lessen this feeling of loneliness even by a little…maybe I could save myself.

I picked up my new journal from the table, and Leon flashed that creepy, but friendly smile of his.

I don't normally like the outdoors. The sounds, the smells, just the whole 'energy' of the outdoors erks me. I sometimes feel that there's too much life existing. It bothers me…I feel out of place. And as I step outside of Leon's building, my new journal packed safely away in my backpack, that feeling overwhelms me. I don't necessary live in a big city, but it's not exactly a walk in the park. The air is still smog-filled, cars honk loudly and people bump into you on the sidewalk without so much as a simple sorry.

It's late afternoon, my stomach's begging me for dinner, but I know no ones home and I didn't feel like just cooking for myself. I only live with my mother, but she works late at the hospital. I sometimes feel that she only works so hard to avoid being with me. It's always awkward in our house now.

I know she works hard so that we could afford our house and food, but even on her off days she goes out. Telling me that she's out shopping, or an old friend wanted to talk. I know what she really does though. Goes out to the bar and has herself a couple drinks. I can smell it on her when she gets home, usually late at night. It's a problem, but a small one. She doesn't do it all the time because she's dedicated to her precious work. It's more of a single moment kind of thing. That one moment, where you feel nothing but deep, deep depression. Yeah, that's her real problem.

I don't blame her though. Losing her husband in an accident and then losing her son. I can't imagine how nerve racking it could have been for her. We don't talk about it though, so I might never know. I sometimes joke with myself that's it mother who need therapy. All this thinking was making me down. So I decided to go down to my secret sanctuary.

Taking the shortcut route, I turned left down an alley. The suns' rays disperse as I walk deeper between the two walls, the action calming me. Ever since I returned, light irritates me. According to a previous shrink, my behavior towards light could be because I hadn't seen much sunlight during the period of time I went missing. Three months. That is twelve weeks, or 74 days, or 1,776 hours of no sunlight. It's logical, a theory is that I was kidnapped by some loony. Why would they let me roam free somewhere outside in the sunshine?

I feel slightly sick at the thought of adapting to the dark. Though it brings calm to me, I fear what I might of went through to obtain this calm. Just like a beating, after a while, you start to feel numb, and then you don't feel anything. No even the bat slamming down on your chest.

The alley way ends and opens up to what I call my sanctuary, a small park set in the middle of four abandon buildings. Trees line the walls of the enclosing, their roots snaking up as if reaching up to the sky. But because of the lack of sunlight, most of the trees are dead and hollow, their bark an unhealthy grey. Old, dead leaves are littered about the ground, crunching under my feet as I walk across the open lot. A swing set lays toward the center, rusty chains and poles creak as the soft breeze sways. One out of the two swing's chains had rusted to the point that the links collapses and the black rubber of the seat lays sprawled on the ground. I take up the one seat that isn't broken.

The swing creaks loudly as I softly push myself back and forth. I knew I couldn't really swing on the seat, for fear the chains might break. So I lightly drifted forwards, then backwards as I lost myself in the peace.

Peace. If only for now. As I drift on the swing, the sounds of the street traffic fades away. I rest my eyes, relaxing my head against the chain of the swing, letting my legs drag along the ground.

And the rain comes so suddenly. Pouring down hard on my face. But I don't feel the chill of the water drops, only the wind and water galling on my cheeks. And someone is beside me, laughing, seemingly at the rain. He's also swinging, rising higher than me. I feel a tingle of jealousy that he can go up so high, but mostly I'm just happy not to be alone.

Despite the rain, the boy swinging besides me wore only a t-shirt and jeans, both are soaked through outlining his body as if he wore nothing. He rises into the air above, legs kicking out in front of him. He's laughing at the sky, but I could barely hear his voice. Barely a whisper, droned out by the pounding rain. I can tell he's laughing though because his shoulders relax and tense repeatedly. And like an echo in my mind, I remember hearing him laugh so many other times. From up in the sky, I watch him swing down to meet me at ground level. His head turns to me and I almost glance his face, the rain pouring so hard my eyes find it hard to focus. But he pulls back, legs kicking underneath him, and his features are lost in the blur of the rain as he swings back up into the cloud-filled sky.

I snap, slipping off the swing, falling down on my back, legs still caught up in the seat. I lay there, stunned for a moment before I realize how blue the sky is. Wasn't it just raining…

And then it hits me.

It had a flashback. The broken swing next to me was proof enough of that. The ground felt hard and dry underneath my back. I remained there, trying to recall the abrupt memory.

'He' was definitely the same boy I see in my dreams. Most of my shrinks think he was the one who kidnapped me, but within my memories, I never felt an inkling of ever feeling threatened by this boy.

My head just kept spinning on the subject till my eyes fell on my backpack. I slowly got up, groaning from the slight soreness from falling on my ass and opened my backpack. I pulled out the leather-bound journal, running my fingers along the smooth surface of the cover. I reached into my backpack again for a pen and opened the journal, hearing the pages crinkle from remaining so stiff. I stared at the blank page, recollecting my thoughts.

And I began to write.

TBC

(1)- Le gasp! Tis Squally! Well, there you go mother. I inserted your boy in there. And what's this? He's a doctor of sorts? Ho hum! He bring'in in the monies/giggles/

Can't you just imagine him holding a clipboard?

PB: Transition chapter…hard to write. I think Sora is a bit oc…that's ok with you guys right? Meh, I just don't want to rewrite the chapter…again.

Wingy: Lazy PB! O, PB wanted to thank all the people who reviewed. She's happy that people enjoyed the prologue, and she hopes that you people liked the new chapter.

PB: Nerg, you probably all realize who the kidnapper/luny/boyinsora'sdreams really is right? If you don't, well maybe you'll find out in the next chapter. Lemme just tell you now that he doesn't formally get introduced till a couple more chapters.

Wingy: This is probably PB's most plot-filled story. It's complicated and confusing at times, but if people are having a hard time, remember, you don't have to read!

PB: Yeah, or send me flaming reviews of how retarded I am because you don't get it. But anyway, I'll respond to reviews in my profile and my LJ, btw. And those who are still there, thanks for sticking with me! I tend to rant after I finish writing chapters. Next one might be longer, might not be, please so don't complain about the length.

Wingy: Yay! Reviewing is good for PB's health! (and Wingy's too) So join in the fun the fun and do it!