Extra-Ordinary:

Morrison Abebe:

Even the drumming of his fingers on the table top couldn't drown out the 'thump thump' of his heart beating in his chest, the sound reverberating within his skull so loud he almost feared that everyone else could hear it.

He hated social functions, couldn't stand them, they always made him feel a little nauseous, not to mention self-conscious, and he could never shake the idea that everyone was laughing at him the moment he turned his back on them. He had trouble with dealing with groups of more than two people at a time, a restaurant filled of men and women was quite literally making him break out in a sweat.

Why was he doing this again?

Of course that was a stupid question, or an obvious one at least, since he knew the answer already. He was here because it made his mother happy, because, more honestly, it would probably get her to stop nagging him to go out for at least the rest of the month, ample enough time to organize another such paltry offering to appease her parental concern.

She insisted he 'go out and meet people' he offered to attend these formalized get-togethers for lonely people seeking companionship. Or Speed Dating as everyone else called it.

He was, however, definitely not here to meet someone, least of all a female someone, which along with a below average everything was the big difference between him and the numerous other young men dressed in snappy suits present. To anyone who knew Morrison well, and admittedly that was a category which included him and his mother, such a notion was as inherently laughable as, to Morrison, it was terrifying.

He reached for the water, wisely provided by the function's organizers, and took a gulp, trying to steady his nerves. However, unsurprisingly, contemplating how terrifying something you were about to do is didn't exactly help you feel better about it, water or not.

Just a little bit, half-an-hour, then I'll stop by the cinema, watch a movie, and tell mom that I was here all evening, just got to endure it for a little bit,

That thought did more to relax him than any amount of water and, for a moment at least, even helped ease his raspy breathing and unsightly perspiration. His scheme was, to his mind at least, more than full proof enough.

Feeling assured of his quick escape he took another look about the place, the restaurant serving as the venue for the event, and noted the people being moved into place, women and men being assigned across from each other, cards being read and other administrative minutiae occurring.

He'd been through this whole song and dance twice now, or something like that, but even so the world of Speed Dating still unnerved him. Even the name, 'Speed', was enough to make him break out in a cold sweat. He couldn't help but think to himself; 'wasn't the point of dating to take it slow? To get to know more about each other? To be friends before you became more than friends?'

Admittedly his experience in this regard, dating, was rather limited…in fact even calling it limited might have been a generous way of stating; 'non-existent'. When it came to romantic relationships he had a single record under his belt and it was a record of dismal, one-sided failure.

The closest he'd ever come to a relationship with a member of the opposite sex, and his mother obviously didn't count, only even existed because the girl in question had pretty much strong-armed him into it, he'd just considered himself fortunate enough to be pulled along for the ride for as long as he was.

Oh…

There it was again, that slow building feeling of trepidation, that mental imposition which made everything around him seem hazy as he confused things that 'could have been' with things that 'never were'.

Reflexively, and to comfort himself, his hand reach for his breast pocket, feeling the contours of the pill container inside it, satisfied that they were there if he needed them.

Not yet though. Not yet. He was, he hoped, getting better after all.

Footsteps and his first 'date' approached, he almost ran right then, as he prepared for the rest of the night. But he'd learned to act only mildly afraid when he felt totally terrified, one of those life skills he had picked up at Genetics, and thus instead prepared a shaky smile and feigned interest.

Here we go.

Soda, much preferable to water, helped whet his metaphorical whistle as he reclined back in the park bench later that same evening, the restaurant and his many accidental droppings of knives, forks, water glasses and himself forgotten.

All in all, it had been a more successful venture than the last two times, he wasn't sure but he thought one of them had actually smiled at a point. Of course whether said smile was directed at him or at the guy the table over was probably open to argument…probably the other guy but he was going to count it as his at least for tonight.

The second half of his plan for fooling his mother, he always felt guilty about that, had gone less smoothly;

As it turned out there were only romances, comedies, romantic-comedies and another blockbuster action film showing and, though it was true, that all he had needed was a way to pass about two hours' worth of time it was also true, if somewhat hard to believe, that Morrison did actually have some standards.

Or, alternatively, that he was picky about movies.

So here he was, sitting alone on a park bench at night, sipping on a can of cheap soda, it was hardly what he'd wanted to spend his supper doing, but the experience had been surprisingly revelatory in its own way.

He'd discovered that he actually remembered quite a few of the star constellations he'd learned about as a child.

He'd also discovered that he didn't have cry every time he was alone anymore…

That sounded way sadder then it should have…

That idea alone brought a small chuckle.

Yeah, yeah he knew it sounded pathetic and all, sure, but 'good' and 'improvement' were relative concepts and when, like him, your benchmark was pretty low to begin with, even those things that seemed pretty pathetic to normal people could feel like pretty big improvements. He wasn't extraordinary, he could barely be described as ordinary, and so his achievements were appropriately the sort of things which to most people would seem ordinary.

I'm Extra-Ordinary, he couldn't help but giggle to himself a bit.

Of course that was just one explanation for it, the other was just that he was so desperate to feel some sort of happiness or worth again that he convinced himself that something that wasn't worth getting excited over…was.

It wasn't that he disliked feeling happy with his mom, or resented her for being the only thing in his life which even began to give him some sort of positive feeling, not at all, if anything she'd probably never be able to understand how important she'd been these past few years in helping him deal with his own insignificance, although that was probably true of mom's throughout history. But…but…on the other hand…

Pathetic or not, and he most definitely was, he also was still a person and, every now and then, unreasonable as it was, he wished he had something about himself, about his own life, originating out from him, to be happy about. He wished he could make himself happy or make himself proud or have something which made someone, not him or his mother, value him more then they valued someone else. It was a really selfish impulse, for sure, but it was also one he couldn't pretend he didn't have.

Also masturbating didn't count. That wasn't happiness, it was just about as close to a physical incarnation of the abstract concept of loneliness as a guy could get.

No, the real reason he would have preferred to watch a movie, and was beginning to realize he should have just done so, was because it'd keep his mind occupied. These days, exhausting as it was, that was about all he did, find stuff to take up his thoughts so that they didn't go back to, well, what they always went back to if he just dwelled on things.

Sure he understood that a by-product of this was that a lot of memories, good memories, happy memories, were being lost or diluted. Constantly turning away from them meant that, inevitably, his ability to recall them, his clarity concerning them, was also growing impaired. Then again if they weren't happy memories to begin with did it really matter if he forgot them? Wouldn't forgetting them, maybe, be sort of a positive?

He frowned, taking another sip, as he latched onto that thread, pulling on it to make the whole idea come apart. Because the truth was, obviously, that this wasn't the first time he'd had such a thought, or feeling, by any margin. Obviously that idea, that concept, 'shouldn't I just forget the stuff which makes me feel bad?' had occurred to him many times before, in different guises and shapes, sure, but the same basic idea remained the same.

It did have a sort of persuasiveness about it…but only when he didn't think about it too hard.

The truth was that now, just like every other time this idea had occurred to him, he knew that he wouldn't ever want to 'forget' what he went through with her, the good and the bad, or what he learnt from her.

In the end she didn't feel about him the way he felt about her, in love no one's right or wrong even if they hurt, and he couldn't and wouldn't hold that against her, he had no right to do so. She was happiest with someone else, drawn more powerfully to someone else. He'd been a speed bump on the way too her 'true love' he supposed.

Still he didn't want to forget any of it, beatings included, and he couldn't ever, and wouldn't want too, deny just how many important lessons she gave him.

If someone were to ask him; 'was it worth it?' well…he wasn't sure if he could really bring himself to say yes but, no matter what, he'd definitely say he'd do it again to be with her even for a little bit.

The beep-beeping of his phone's alarm drew him out of his reverie, thankfully, before his thoughts became any more morbid then they already were.

Whelp, two hours up, that should be enough to keep mom happy, he stretched out as he stood up, giving a sigh as he felt the tension flow out of his spine with a 'crack' noise in his neck.

NCEITFOA:

Rabbitz: Knowing that someone commiserates always helps me, thank you very much J I too hope, of course, for the best.

Mephiles: Thanks, I appreciate the compliment. Yeah those one-shots, man, I can't bring myself to delete them (yet!) but posting them just feels…pointless in light of recent developments to me. I would rule out that someday I might but…I wouldn't hold my breath either, sorry L

UltimaX: Ah! Well I'm glad you liked it. Personally I'd avoid the manga, if I could go back in time and warn my younger self to do so I certainly would, but of course your decision is up to you completely. The Anime's actually how I first got into it as well.

E.R Man: Thanks for the compliment :) Sorry if you didn't enjoy it, perhaps you prefer this sequel instalment, thought I'd assume not.

As for your point, well, we're all entitled to our own opinion so its fine that you disagree with me, but I have to admit I don't really see how you hold your position. Arnett explicitly made clear how much stronger her feelings for Kazuya are than her feelings for Morrison, not to mention Arnett is literally interacting and being more intimate with Kazuya than she's ever been with Morrison.

Maybe if she ever expressed emotion towards Morrison, the way she has towards Kazuya, I'd believe you but so long as she doesn't seem to really even care he exists, compared to religiously worshipping Kazuya as if he was her deity, I think there's a pretty clear disjoint in the value she places on them.

Thanks to everyone who left a review, I always enjoy speaking with fellow fans, and I hope you enjoy this, admittedly, low quality sequel.

Ciao! :)