The Sanctuary. An interesting place, or so Bailey had heard. He walked past it nearly every day on the way home from work, except the rare occasions where he decided to be spontaneous and take a different route, but he had never actually bothered to go in. But the golden doors remained a rather alluring landmark to the teen.

On one particular day, curiosity had finally chewed through his resolve, and he gave in. Bailey stopped in front of the building, took a good look around outside, and then pushed open the doors.

He wasn't entirely sure what he had expected the interior to look like, but he was definitely not expecting a homeless shelter. Apparently he needed to stop tuning out every word after 'golden doors' and 'free food'. A homeless shelter was not nearly as cool as a place that just gave out food. He would feel bad about taking food from the place now. 

Bailey sighed and looked around. Well, he was already there, so what was the use leaving? He figured he might as well just look around. There was no harm in doing that. Besides, he probably hadn't given the place a fair chance. 

The young teen walked through the halls with his hands in his pockets, glancing through the doorways and around the corners. There really wasn't anything all that cool, except...

Someone had left their drawer open, revealing dozens of pairs of brightly coloured socks.

There were so many of them! Bailey could hardly contain himself. He bounded forward and grabbed at them eagerly. There were a few ones identical to pairs he owned, but the rest were new and fresh ones! Ones that weren't in his collection! 

He had to have them.

Bailey glanced around to see who was near him. There was no one. No one to see what he was about to do. It really wasn't that bad of thing, if you thought about it. They were just socks, after all, and whoever left the drawer open obviously didn't care about them like he would.

He grabbed as many pairs as he could and cradled them in his arms, walking briskly out of the room so as not to seem overly suspicious.

Memo couldn't have said what he'd done so far that day. It might have had something to do with having just fallen in the shower and maybe temporarily having a broken neck.

At any rate, he was ambling back to his room, a towel on his head, because he was pretty sure his phone was there (since he had no pockets. Since when did he have clothing without pockets? Were these even his clothes? How was he supposed to know?) and his phone would tell him what was going on. He'd been feeling very scattered lately, but could never remember enough to figure out if there was a specific reason why.

He was still trying to figure that out, hands bundled in the ends of his boringly white towel in lieu of gloves, toes in a "pair" of socks that were one half fireworks and one half x-ray foot bones, and the rest of him in poofy, lack-of-binder-hiding bright blue hoodie and dark green sweat pants, when he walked right into someone.

And he'd been right on the edge of a breakthrough! He could feel it!

"Oh! Sorry!" Bailey half yelped, half mumbled to the stranger that he'd just managed to walk into. He had also managed to drop most of the socks he had been carrying. He bent over and began to gather them back up as quickly as he could.

He didn't even bother to look at who he'd just walked into as he shakily stood back up, trying very hard not to drop anything as he did. He had intended on getting out as quickly as he could, and not running into anyone else to witness what he was doing. Bailey didn't typically steal anything, and this was weighing heavily on his conscience.

"I... Uhm..." He looked back up at the man. He was definitely weird looking to say the least. He was absolutely covered in tattoos, and his clothes were completely mismatched. The biggest things that he noticed was the fact that his socks were absolutely awesome. And that their pairs were in his arms.... "Sorry again."

He needed to go before he started babbling and admitted to something. He held on tightly to his armful of socks and went the opposite direction, not realizing that it would be a dead end.

"No no, I'm sorry!" Apologizing upon running into someone was the right thing to do even when Memo couldn't remember who did the running-into. Chances were it was him, after all. And it was nice. It was the polite thing to do. So apologize was what he did!

This kid didn't ring any recognition bells whatsoever, not even the super-super-super vague bell. Something else was ringing bells, though. Lots of bells. Lots of colourful bells.

Were... those.... his socks?

While he stood there blinking, marvelling at the realization and then slowly realizing that SOME RANDOM GUY WAS TAKING HIS SOCKS, Memo was treated to the spectacle of the random guy scampering away towards a dead end.


Which.... he knew was a dead end.

Memo scratched his head. Why would he know that that was a dead end? Why would he even be thinking about it?

What had he been thinking about at all?

Bailey waddled awkwardly down the hallway, having caught a falling pair of socks between his knees. He needed to get away fast, and he needed to do it without running into that tattooed guy again.

He had figured that he was home free and clear, until he walked right into a wall. When did that get there? Bailey dropped everything in his arms and rubbed his head, staggering backwards in pain. His head pounded in pain and the room was spinning.

Bailey glanced around. There was nowhere else to go but backwards. Sure, he could enter someone else's room, but he wasn't sure what exactly could be in them, and then he would be just as stuck. 

With a sigh he scooped up everything he had just dropped again and turned around. He was going to have to go back past the guy, and he was going to have to act like it wasn't weird.

He walked briskly and stopped just before reaching the man, giving him an awkward nod and hoping that he would move out of the way so that he could get through.

This was so weird. He felt like he could almost remember, but it didn't feel like a memory. Not a recent one, anyway. Maybe it kind of felt like a childhood memory.

Oh! And the same person was back! "Do I know you?" That had to be it! He didn't think he had met this person before, but if it felt like an old memory, maybe that was why? More importantly, though, this person that he maybe did, maybe didn't know was back, and he knew that he was back from finding a dead end, and those looked like his socks.

Memo looked back and forth between the armful of socks and the guy's face a few times. "And are those my socks?"

"Uhm..."

...

"Uhm..."

...

Bailey's mind blanked. 

...

He glanced down at the socks he was holding. There was a very good chance that the socks he was holding were his. He stood there, his face devoid of any expression other than an open mouth, and stared at the man.

His mind was blank, but his conscience was screaming out. He had to give the socks back, but just how he was going to go about that, he had no idea. How did he do it without making himself look like a complete idiot and/or a thief?

The only solution that his body could produce was to make his arms go limp, causing him to drop the mound of socks for the third time. "Sorry," he mumbled, offering no other explanation as he stared blankly at the man and the pile on the ground. 

This was super weird. Why'd the maybe-not-maybe-familiar guy drop all the socks? And he didn't answer the more important question! He'd even asked it first because it was more important. But then he hadn't specified that the first question was more important, had he?

Hmmmmm.

"You didn't answer the first question." Memo kind of wanted to huff and cross his arms, but crossing his arms without a binder was a bad, bad idea and he was not going to do that. On that note... he was talking to someone he may or may not know, but probably didn't, without a binder.

More than a little bit uncomfortable, that.

Memo's discomfort manifested as a little bit of restless shifting and an attempt to put his arms somewhere that didn't draw attention to his chest or to his attempt to not draw attention to his chest. "Seriously, do I know you? Have we met before? The socks I probably asked someone to wash again. But there's something really weird going on."

"I uhm..." Bailey looked down at his feet and dragged them across the carpet. He didn't want to answer the questions. Actually, he really didn't want to answer the questions.

"Look, I took them, alright? They were just there, and no one was with them and it looked like they wouldn't be missed, so I just took them! I'm really really sorry." His voice grew softer near the end. It was crazy awkward doing saying that, and having to look down at the socks he had taken didn't really help.

"I... Like socks," he added after a minute, lifting his jeans a few inches so that his taco socks could be seen. "They're sort of my thing. I just haven't had a lot of extra cash to add to my collection lately."

Memo scratched his head. The kid took them? Why -

Oh. Memo's towel-wrapped hand drift down to his chin and he leaned into it a bit, as if he were propping himself up. While standing. In the middle of an open hallway. Because that was just something Memo did.

Just like this kid liked socks. Memo liked socks too. That was why he had such a collection. It was too bad that socks didn't come in pairs -

wait, yes they did. Had he seriously started to think to himself in actual words that they didn't? Heh. He should probably go to sleep. Or get some caffeine. Or convince himself that he had had both. That probably worked. He couldn't remember well enough to be sure, though.

"If you like cool socks, and I like cool socks... if you don't want to wear matching socks, why don't we just trade halves? If our feet are the same size, I guess."

Problem solved!

"If you like cool socks, and I like cool socks... if you don't want to wear matching socks, why don't we just trade halves? If our feet are the same size, I guess."

Bailey blinked at the man. He had just stolen his socks and then admitted to doing it, and yet the guy was offering to split the pairs with him.

How did that make any sense?

Well, it was a good thing that Bailey wasn't one to distrust. Or to question things for very long. "Sure!" Bailey agreed enthusiastically. "I'm a size eleven. I think it's the same in Canada as it is in the US? I dunno, I haven't bought any shoes here yet. How do you want to do this?"

The teen sat down on the floor in front of the big pile of socks and began to separate the single socks from their match. There were a ton to get through, and he wasn't sure what to pair with what.

"I'm Bailey, by the way. What's you name?"

Wooo agreement! It was great when people agreed with Memo's suggestions and ideas. At the very least, it meant that he remembered enough to make it somewhat coherent, because normally people didn't agree to things they could understand. They certainly didn't agree so energetically.

So all was well!

Waitwaitwaitwaitwait "You're Canadian too?" Full stop on the socks, Memo was completely distracted for the moment. "Whereabouts? Which province? How long have you been here?" He clapped his hands together and barely managed, through pure luck, to keep towel between skin and markings. "I'm from BC. Northwestern. Prince Rupert. Super rainy, but I've been in the states for yeeeeaaaaaars. Mom's American and she moved back south, see."

Somewhere in the ramble, Memo ended up on the floor too and began absently splitting pairs into opposite piles too. "Bailey's a good name. Probably won't remember it, but that's nothing on you, all me. I'm Memo."

"I am!" Bailey nodded excitedly. I was always awesome to meet another Canuck; especially one with such great taste in socks! "I'm from Stratford Ontario. Home of the Shakespeare enthusiasts. That's what my parents are. 'S why I moved here a few months ago, too. My dad got a job as a stage actor here, so a few of my brothers and I moved with him. Sorta miss home, but New York is cool too."

"Oh I love BC! It's so pretty!" Bailey's eyes grew wide and soft at the thought of Canadian sights. Talking like that made him miss it much more than usual. "You ever miss it there? I miss Tim Hortons a lot. No real good place to get cheap coffee here."

"Nice to meet you, Memo," he extended a hand for the man to shake. "Is your memory really that bad? Do you have like amnesia, or something? Or wait... No, Demensia? Or was it Alzheimers? I dunno, and you probably don't either, do you, if your memory's that bad."

He paused and looked down at the socks he was folding - one with cats and the other with take-out food containers. "Err- sorry, that was super rude, wasn't it?"