You walk down the stairs to the basement, taking in the musty, sweaty smell soaked into the room. At least it's not as pungent as your room upstairs, you shrug. When you get to the bottom of the stairs, you see Dirk sitting at the table, crying softly. You walk over cautiously, about to ask what's wrong, when you suddenly see. The plate of fudge is empty, but you remember it still had a few pieces on it when you went to shower. Dirk looks up at you and it clicks. You pull up a folding chair and pat him on his back sympathetically. "I'm sorry."
Dirk sniffles back some snot and wipes his eyes with the side of his meaty hand. "I was waiting for you and I got to thinking... how do I know that I didn't get changed at the carnival, too? I thought, what if I just forgot? So I had some fudge and... well..." Dirk can't seem to say anything else, ending with a whimpering sigh. You give him a hug, pressing your damp, clean hair against your friend's tear-stained cheek. "I understand. But you know, I was thinking about it in the shower, and I still can't remember very much about my old life. I know some things, I know I was 30, I kind of remember what my personality was like. But I can't remember what my name was, or what my face looked like..." You end the hug and look at him meaningfully. Dirk nods. "Yeah, I didn't get everything either. First it was like I wasn't sure if anything was even different, and then it all came back bit by bit with every piece I ate. I think... I think I was at a college before? Like maybe a student or a teacher? I think I was about your age so I can't really remember which. And I remember going to a gym, being really proud of how I looked..." Dirk looks down at himself again and his face deflates with sorrow. "Marty... why would someone do this to people?," he asks, "Change people's lives for the worse and make them forget and stuff?"
You shrug. "Honestly, Dirk, I'm as confused as you are. I mean, I don't even know if I should be calling you Dirk, or if you should be calling me Marty. But we'll get to the bottom of this, and if we're lucky, we might be back to our old selves at the end of this, too." Your slightly less chubby friend looks down at you and finally smiles. He scratches at his wheat-blonde hair and his plain face breaks into a grin. "You know, I know that magic or whatever made us friends," he says, "but you're a good guy. I'm glad we're in this together." You feel your fat cheeks tighten into a smile, too, and flush a little. "Thanks -- I feel the same." Dirk gestures to your head. "Nice haircut, by the way." You look down, not sure what to do with the compliment. Clearing your throat, you change the topic.
"So what should we do next, Dirk? Do you have any ideas?" Dirk sits up straighter and takes a bit of a breath. "Yeah, actually. I think...."