Mathew's eyes slowly opened up as he realized that he was lying on something soft, a bed maybe? Instead of the usual hard floor or dirty mattress that he was used to sleeping on. Despite how long he obviously must have slept he was still fighting to awaken from the unconsciousness that still threatened to engulf him in its folds again. It was nice and warm under the covers. He didn't want to move.
Becoming more aware of what was around him it appeared that he'd been tucked into a comfortable bed, one that he had never seen before. The sheets were pulled up to his chin, keeping him warm and cozy. He'd been tucked in tightly. Whoever had done this seemed to honestly care for him. Strange, no odd, a bit unusual even for him. No one had done that for Mathew in a very long time. No one had ever really cared about his comfort before. No one had ever even cared about him before, to state it plain enough. So, who had done this? Who was it that was caring for him? Most important, and probably the answer to his other questions too, who's house was he currently in?
Mathew's eyes had cleared away the blurriness that sleep usually brings by then, and his mind had grown clear, so he took his chance to look around better and understand his situation.
The room he was in appeared to be a guest bedroom. It was a nice room too. Well kept, clean, comfortable. There were paintings on the wall, a tan coloured thick carpet on the floor, and even a wooden antique style dresser adorned with dried flowers on its surface that lent the air a refreshing smell. There were even a few other small bits of furniture like the bed side table to his right that furnished the room.
The person whose house he was in was well off then. Most likely middle class considering the size of the room and the condition it was in.
There were no other clues inside of the room he was in besides what he could see from the bed that could be used to try to figure out the identity of his unknown benefactor from. Despite the mid-day sunlight steadily streaming in through the bright blue lacy curtained window, he was still left in the dark about who the person was. He couldn't even remember how he got here. As far as he could tell from his jumbled thoughts he was playing another baseball game when something happened and then he woke up here.
'I don't think I'm in danger though.' Mathew thought as he let his head fall back to continue to rest on the fluffy pillows. They were already trying to send him back to sleep, even though he just woke up. 'I don't really need to know who he or she is. It doesn't matter. I'm safe and I'm being taken care. I'm…safe. That thought just seems so weird. I really hope it turns out to be true. This is kind of weird though, isn't it? Shouldn't I be a least a bit more concerned? Shouldn't I be a bit more paranoid? Shouldn't I be trying my best to escape this place? Because, really, I don't know where this is, or even if it is safe to remain in here. I don't know. I don't really care. What is that word I'm trying to think of right now? Ah yes. I guess I'm feeling apathetic. Well, that's fine with me then. It's better to be feeling nothing than to be scared, or in fear of what is happening around me, or hurt and in pain of some kind. Yes, I definitely like this better. This is all perfectly fine with me, splendid even. I guess nothing really matters to me anymore, not even myself. But, I think I stopped caring about that long ago.'
Mathew gave a small snort at that and chuckled soundlessly for a bit.
'Yep, I'm just fine with this…because I really don't care what happens to me. I could die for all I care.'
And with that, Mathew's breath evened out as he fell asleep again and another night and day passed before he managed to wake up again, in the same room at almost the same time as before. He'd been asleep for almost four days by then.
But, he didn't know that, nor did he care. And no one else cared either for their little baseball playing Panda Hero. No one else that is, besides the person who's house he was in. No one cared about Mathew besides the blond blue eyed man struggling to make something at least slightly edible for Mathew to eat downstairs in his kitchen. No one cared for Mathew besides him.
Mathew didn't know that though, and he continued to think that he must just be burdening the owner of the house with his presence. He was doing anything but that. The owner wanted him there, because he was the one who'd brought him there, and was now carrying a plate of slightly burnt grilled cheese and a bowl of tomato soup up the stairs for him. The same person who was praying that Mathew would finally be awake after all this time of having to wait at his bedside and hope for him to wake up. He was the only one who had ever prayed that Mathew would live, and continue to stay in this world. That person's name is Alfred F. Jones.