Chapter Text
It's been months.
Derek returned to the institution with a surprising amount of concern directed towards him. Most of it were the same, “I thought you dropped out,” “I thought you died,” etc; etc.
However, he didn't recognize any of these people asking. He didn't recognize anybody, in fact. He's forgotten what happened in the months, he's forgotten what's happened in… all of his life. Which is a pretty horrifying thought, to be honest. Amnesia— like something out of a movie. Although horrible, he had to admit that it was pretty cool, if you didn't consider the downsides. He was like a character in a movie!
…that's not exactly an upside, either, he supposes.
The news about his amnesia spread quickly, most of his “close friends” trying to tell him about his life before— but what they said were extremely surface level. Some even outright lied. He wasn't sure what these people get out of lying to him like this, but he only knew a couple things about himself as fact.
His name is Derek. Derek Hutchins. He's 20, and majoring in robotics. This was his third year of college, so he's skipped a grade or two. He's pretty smart (the others’ words, not his…) [...on second thought, maybe that's why there were so many people trying to claim that he was their friend.] and… that's it, actually.
There wasn't anybody else who knew anything beyond that.
That's sad, isn't it? He has no friends— no close ones, at least.
Even the voice in his head keeps berating him for how sad and pathetic he was. So ann— the what?
“Derek Hutchins, You are a Disgrace and Failure. I'm Ashamed, and You know You can do better. Be better.”
…He's just going to ignore that. Guess he had self-worth issues before this, or something. Not that he particularly cared. He had months of assignments and projects to catch up on, after all. This must be living hell.
…Where was he? Why was he recapping everything that had occurred over the week that he's been back? Why wasn't he paying attention to the lecture currently happening in front of him?? Ohmygodwhatwashesaying—
Right. He remembered now. The professor was mentioning something about a group project. A lot of people were dissatisfied at the groups being assigned, but… He didn't really care. He didn't know anyone, after all. Even if he got a bad partner, he'd just try to finish all of it himself. Surely, that will go well.
“If Your partner does not contribute to this project, I suggest You kill them.”
Oh. Okay. What? WHAT? He thought this voice was just some insecurity thing?? That's outlandish??? He's not KILLING anyone over something as frivolous as this???
“Yes You are.”
NO HE'S NOT.
“Disgrace.”
You say that a lot. It's beginning to lose its meaning, don't you think?
“Capitalize My pronoun.”
Huh?
“I can see Your thoughts. Capitalize My pronoun.”
What???
“This is Your final warning.”
…Okay. Sure. Whatever. He can capitalize the pronouns of the voice in his head, he supposes.
“I give You respect by capitalizing Yours. It is only basic mannerism You do the same for Me.”
He gets it. Stop.
A tap on his shoulder jolts him back to reality, and he stands up from his seat, to the shock of the other person.
“Oh, I'm— I'm sorry. Do you need anything?”
Looking around, he just noticed that most of the class is already gone. How long has he just been sitting there, staring into space? Embarrassing.
He stared down the person who tapped him on his shoulder, examining every detail. He seemed to do that every time he met a new person, which was… strange, but a non-issue.
They had curly brown hair with green highlights at the tips, which went with their lime coloured eyes. They seemed overall disheveled, as if the life had been sucked out of them. Shirt untucked, eyes swollen with red beneath— must have cried recently. They rubbed their neck nervously, their nails painted black.
Their voice cracked as they spoke, and they were a lot quieter than he would have liked them to be.
“We were assigned as partners for the project. I— I need your. Number.”
Ah. Right. He felt a sense of familiarity at them, but didn't linger on it for long.
“###-###-####, and yours?”
They hastily wrote their number down on a piece of paper, and handed it to him. They left quickly afterwards.
Hm.
“He looks too unwell to assist you in completing the project. This will be a hassle.”
That's ridiculous. They're probably just going through a rough patch or something— I'm sure they'll help when it's time to actually work on the project.
“It starts today.”
What?
“It's due next week.”
What?
“Maybe You should learn to listen better, Hutchins.”
…this can't be real.