Remembering the Forgotten
By: Ellipsis the Great
DISCLAIMER: Kingdom Hearts and everything affiliated with it belongs to SquareEnix and Disney. All I own is the plot…although the original idea came from orangediscord’s one-shot ‘Left Behind.’
Summary: Sometimes, I thought I was the only person who remembered him…eventual Seiner, other pairings unknown.
Rated: M.
Spoilers: Takes place after Kingdom Hearts II; I dunno how much of the plot will be included yet, though.
Warnings: Yaoi and a little angst (probably). More warnings later if needed.

Prologue: Vacuus Nomen (Without Name)

“Now you see me, now you don't. First you do but then you won't; watch me vanish right before your eyes. You might think you see me there in a cafe on a street somewhere—yeah, that might be me but I'll be gone. Now you see me, now you don't. If you ever get the feelin' that it feels like déjà vu, because some stranger feels like someone that you know…” –Lee Ann Womack, ‘(Now You See Me) Now You Don’t’

Sometimes, I thought that I was the only person who remembered him.
Of course, that isn’t to say that I remembered everything about him—I didn’t know his name, or his voice, for example—but I remembered his face, and a few of his mannerisms. I remembered that he always—always—pissed me the fuck off.
Mostly, I remembered his presence. Like sometimes, when I was fighting Hayner Duncan, he would get a free shot in because I paused for a split second, waiting for someone to step in and break us up. It was an odd feeling, thinking that something should have happened that just…never did. I fucking hated it, but I’d been getting it a lot. And I got the feeling that people (and by ‘people’ I mean ‘Hayner’) were starting to catch on.
I tried ignoring it for a while, and then this kid—Sora, his name was—passed through Twilight Town, and I could almost physically see the Boy (that’s what I came to call him) standing there instead of Sora. If you replaced the brown hair with blonde and changed the styling, they looked so much alike that could have been twins, or something. It was fucking weird, and not in a good way.
After Sora left (I ended up missing most of his stay because being around him freaked me out so fucking much), I decided that forgetting the Boy was useless. So instead, I learned to deal with it, and also how to get those odd ‘feelings’ out during times other than those split seconds during my fights with Hayner.
I began putting him in my art.
And yeah, I’m a fucking artist. Don’t fucking look at me like that, you judgmental bastard, you don’t have to be disgustingly effeminate to be an artist. Nor do you have to be gay (which I actually am), emo (which I actually am not), or insane (also not). But I’m getting off the fucking subject—happy now?
Anyhow, I started sticking him in some of my paintings. It was never all of him, mind you—there was a silhouette of him here, or a person with his eyes there…that sort of thing. I wasn’t quite that creepy or obsessive. But we tend to express what we know—and, somehow…for some reason…I knew the Boy.
Does that make any fucking sense whatsoever?
Ah, fuck it. I don’t give a damn.
So…I know what you’re thinking right now. You’re thinking ‘why the fuck is this guy rambling about this shit?’ and ‘why the fuck does he think I care?’
The truth is, I dunno if you care. The truth is, I don’t fucking care if you don’t care. If you don’t give a fuck, what the hell are you still reading this for?
It’s because you’re curious, right? You want to know the reason behind my little monologue, am I right?
What the fuck am I saying? Of course I’m right.
So I’ll get right to the point…
…Well, maybe not exactly right to the point. You’ll have to keep reading to find that out.
But I will say this:
The painting that I finally did of the Boy—the one that my art teacher forced me to enter into the school’s art competition in spite of the fact that I had never entered it before—is the painting that completely changed my life.
Still curious?
Then read the fuck on, dipshit.

o.O.o.O.o

“I thought I said I didn’t want to enter the damn thing, Miss Astor.” I said, scowling at my sweet but surprisingly manipulative art teacher.
Miss Astor (the aforementioned art teacher) sighed and set down whatever it was she was working on in favor of giving me an almost disappointed look. “Seifer…I don’t know if it’s a macho thing, or if you’re just too private for your own good, or what, but…I will never for the life of me understand why you’re hiding your talent away like you do. You’re really, really good—probably better than me. And I’m not…I refuse to let you keep that talent from everyone anymore. I’m sorry, Seifer, but…I just can’t.”
“Well I can.” I said. “It’s not your decision.”
“As long as you’re in my class it is.” She said. “And right now…I feel like we’re roping off the Grand Canyon or Niagara Falls or something like that. Those sorts of things—things that beautiful—aren’t meant to be hidden. It’s practically a crime to hide them, really.”
I blushed a little. “You’re exaggerating.”
“But the point is the same.” She said, undeterred. “I’m not letting you hide anymore, Seifer, so you’d better just suck it up.”
I glared at her, but she just stared defiantly back at me until finally I sighed and nodded acquiescently. She smiled, victorious, then went back to her sketch without another word. I stood there for a moment more, not entirely sure what to do now that I had agreed to let her enter me into the contest, then decided that the wisest course of action was to go work on my painting.
So, I gathered my things out of my locker and went over to where my painting was being kept. I sat down and took the cover off of it, surveying it for a moment.
It was alright, I suppose. It had been done in oil paints, since those don’t dry as fast as pastels. It was also rather dark, with the Boy pressed against one side, hand against the edge of the painting like he was peering out at the audience. The background was all blacks and reds, pressing against him as though he was being trapped to the side by it. Before the paint could dry I had smeared it across his face so that you could no longer make out any of his features, like the darkness was living and trying to erase the Boy.
…Okay, so it was really fucking dark.
I poured out my color palette, my jaw clenching like it always did when I painted, my eyes slightly narrowed, my eyebrows furrowed together in deep concentration. I must have been touching the damn thing up for a good half an hour before I was interrupted.
“I need a name to submit.” Miss Astor said.
I jumped a little, whipping around to face her. When had she come up behind me?
“Sorry.” She said, not sounding apologetic at all.
I shrugged and turned back to the painting. “It’s called ‘The Boy Without a Name.’”
She put her hands on my shoulders, peering past me at it. “I don’t know that it fits.”
“It doesn’t have to fit—that’s what it’s fucking called.” I said huffily. “Let the critics try to figure it out.”
“Let’s call it ‘Vacuus Nomen.’” She said. “It’s Latin for ‘without name,’ but it sounds darker so it fits the piece better.”
I nodded slowly as the idea tumbled around in my head a bit. “Alright. Vacuus Nomen. I like it.” I decided, then gave her a semi-hopeful look. “Can you at least leave my name off of it?”
She pursed her lips at me.
“Please?” I asked. “If my dad finds out…”
Her eyebrows rose, but she nodded. “Alright, fine.”
I smiled.
“But!” She said, messing with my beanie. “If you win, I’m telling. Deal?”
I made a face. “Deal.”
“Good.” She patted my back. “Now go home. It’s perfect, okay?”
I snorted. None of my pieces were ever perfect. But I cleaned everything up and left anyhow, hands stuffed in my pockets.
I wondered if the way the wind suddenly picked up as I stepped outside was some sort of a bad fucking omen, or something.

End Prologue