thanks to you, i made it

They met at the platform of the train station; she was halfway getting off the Maiami stop and he was just about to leave the city forever. There weren’t any words needed to be said, but when their hands finally touched after the long wait of the past winter that finally melted away, and the spring just about to end, they shook hands with promises whispered by their eyes. They then bought two tickets and rode the express train to the grandest city of them all, Neo Domino City where the lights were just as bright—maybe even brighter—as those of Maiami, and the roads were all a dissonance of a pattern that only ever lead to success or failure and nothing else in between.

And boy, was Yuzu a fool to believe this was ever going to be easy.

Getting gigs at bars were the least of their worries as the two found themselves sleeping in parks and scraping for food with the money they made performing right out the street. Neo Domino City – it would seem – was the bane of all wannabe rock stars. The standards for good music were high, and the city filled itself with aspiring singers in the hopes to be lucky enough to make it. But Yuzu did not give up because she knew that Yuto, despite what other people said, was going to make it with his ripped jeans, Phantom Knight Stickers and Revolution Falcon cigarettes.

And that lead us back to three months post all that struggle.

“Here you go.” She smiled down at him as he sat on the grassy park with his guitar case right by his side, handing him a cool bottle of water. “If I need it, you definitely do.”

“Thanks.”

He took a sip off the bottle, and Yuzu settled herself comfortably on his other side. She was humming the new song Yuto wrote just last night, a serene smile graced her features with her eyes a distant but warm glow of sapphire under the setting orange of the sun. Her thoughts wandered back to why after all this time, she still stuck by this hardheaded rock star.

“You don’t have to stay with me, you know.” He grunted as he laid himself down on the grass, eyes closed as a soft breeze blew past them. “I’ll just hold you down – not that I already haven’t.”

“Silly boy, I want to be with you.” He peaked one eye open, and stared at her as she played with her fingers. “When I see you, late at night working hard, writing songs, trying out new chords, it makes me want to stay forever.”

He called it reasonable enough, but even she knew it really wasn’t. The truth was, they were both aware of why she had been there the entire time. Because she wanted to make it just as much as he did – and his what would be fame, was her one-way ticket to the golden stage of success. Of course, the whole ambition had been riddled with the lust that had wrapped itself around the two teenagers, one that had been there since the day they met that almost winter. But they never spoke about feelings and such flimsy trivialities, because it would just remind them that there was more to life than making it—most of which they’d already left behind.

That day they managed to earn enough to stay a night at a bed and breakfast, all thanks to Yuto’s new set list – and despite the cynicism behind Yuzu’s support, she found herself proud of the fact that her should be, would be but could not be boyfriend had finally found his sound. Coincidentally, there was an open mic for the bar just right beside the bed and breakfast so they walked in to kill time, sing songs about lovers and cheap perfumes. Yuto heard for the first time ever Yuzu’s singing voice unfiltered, classy and natural—just the way he liked it. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one entranced by Yuzu’s cantata.

There were lurking talent agents amongst the bar audience who found interest in the pink haired beauty. They liked her spunk, but most importantly, they liked the elegance in her voice that contrasted Yuto’s rough guitar playing. By the end of her last song, the shaded men approached her, determined gazes and pleading voices, throwing business cards at her as Yuto was left sidelined and drinking empty his jug of beer – and yes, jug of beer is correct.

When the night ended, Yuzu was left with a range of record labels to choose from, and Yuto a drunken mess left to wonder how long their sort of arrangement would last. The answer touched their fingertips more than they would ever dare to admit but the silence spoke loudly for itself. So the night became some sort of a farewell/congratulations celebration amongst the two – in which Yuto would buy the ice cold liquor of neon pink and electric blue that’d light up under the retro black light of their cheap hotel room, and Yuzu would smoke a little more weed than she’d ever intended. Next thing they knew, they’d had blood and cherry on the white sheets, and spilled ashes on their clothes.

They acted fine after the whole misadventure, as if nothing had changed—even though something did change—and that Yuto was fine working hard and crying tears all over his lyrics because he’d been up all those pitiful nights writing songs the world could fall in love with had they given him a chance, when others out there would much rather prefer his pink haired groupie who’d only lived on classics and opera and only recently got herself into the fine art of mainstream and indie. He was absolutely fine – and he even promised his recent song about treacherous snakes and things taken for granted had absolutely nothing at all to do with Yuzu and her pretty sly smile—nope.

They stayed traveling together for a few more weeks. He sang words he’d never sung before and his audience doubled because they never thought they’d hear such an honest voice. But the clock was still ticking for the two of them and Yuzu already had another line of new dealers ready to offer her the life of wax and plastic mannequins, as long as she traded in her soul into a world that swallowed up anything as tiny as a pink haired wannabe singer. And finally, the contract was sealed the night of Yuto’s birthday and their relationship—or whatever it was they had for the past six months, and the two more before this whole damn escapade—had dried up. There was nothing really left to hold them in place together – he wanted to sing, and she wanted the fame. So she signed and he watched her back like she’d watched his this whole entire time.

He stuck around for a while, even with the lipstick too red and the stilettos too high. And she became some sort of an expert in fame and all the glory it brought her. A queen of the flashy lifestyle of dresses and magazine covers, she learned to adapt to the fucked up kind of reality she’d been thrown in, before she’d ever been close enough to be destroyed—because it was all crazy and vicious and everyone’s a competition and all they ever wanted was to tear each other down. And it was this sense of hunger that had her name glowing brighter than her eyes that used to shine, spelled by the lights that littered across Neo Domino City—and she forgot she’d been borne from the neon stains of alcohol and dull shades of pastel that charmed his songs of indie and black and white. In her pretty little mind, she wished it’d last forever like this.

The day he left, she’d stood on a balcony and sang like a sixties queen, her hair done in champagne and silver, lighter than he’d ever like it to be. It was the day he realized he’d no longer known her—from the way she gently gestured her words with her dainty fingers and fragile hands, to the wide blue eyes that told so much more than he knew she’d wanted them to express. He left the roses at the foyer, and his tux in their hotel room. Not a letter or a word of goodbye, he’d packed his bags and his guitar in its pretty black and gold case, spent the next few days busking for a tiny bit of cash – enough to afford the cheap thrills of bar wine and liquor, and underhanded packets of weed and cancer sticks. Then with just more than he needed to scrape by, he’d bought a ticket that took him straight back to Maiami.

And although Yuzu saw it all coming, she was still surprised when she asked the reception for his name and had been told he’s left the building.

“Is that so?” She tried her luck again, manicured nails tucked strands of light pink hair in blonde highlights behind her ear. “Could you check again please?”

“I’m sorry but he really has left, our staff even saw him lugging out his baggage from the tenth floor.”

With a calm nod and a breath of artificial air, she turned around to look at the hotel lobby filled with idols like her in their puffy dresses and sixties themed make-up. A knot formed in her throat that somehow managed to tangle in her heart as she saw her boss come rounding in from the corner with bright flashes directed at her that followed behind him. With a caked smile and dust in her eyes, she let him hold her by the waist as they posed for the cover of the bestselling tabloid, along with her secrets splashed across the front page.

“Miss?” The receptionist called in a confused manner, and she turned back to look with that same lidded eyes and forced painted smile. “These were at the foyer with a card addressed to you.”

Yuzu took in the bouquet that was handed to her, smile turned gently into a small frown as her ducks glistened in unwanted tears. She’d realized that Yuto, despite his dislike for all the girly magic and powders of bright sparkles, had left some sort of glitter in her eyes. It was then that she found herself spent from all her money buying into his empty dreams and ambitions of making it, before she left him behind to turn all of it into a colossal mess of status and materialistic objects that decorated her face, her body, and her voice, a process no longer free—even when everyone had said that the best things in life had never cost a dime.

So she left in a reckless abandon. Because the pressure only got worst from then on and despite all that headstrong stubborn bullshit she tried to put on, she didn’t exactly match up to everyone else’s expectations. A spunky little girl like her had never belonged under the bright screeching scrutiny of the fake and dazzling world of celebrities and high class fame. Instead she wanted to sing for unnamed guitarists that wrote songs about getting drunk and stealing people’s cars, and the highs that no one could ever bring her but a certain purple haired roughed up ruffian that liked phantom knight stickers and sang all day and all night to classical Disney soundtracks.

She planted roses in front of her hotel room, didn’t really leave a letter or a word of goodbye. Instead she wrote a song and stuck it behind her window sill for the next hopeful to see. She’d never told anyone that her fingers weren’t meant to dance to music, instead they were meant to play—the piano. Because classical music had always been her strong suit, and she never really wanted anything else but to be able to tell their story the way Yuto could with his lyrics.

So she wrote about short lived fame and about the damage it could cause, and how being famous didn’t really equate to being happy, and that pretending to be in love while singing some song about love didn’t feel even half as good as actually being in love. She wrote about breaking free and the taste of the high life, the alcohol and drugs, the smoke and the parties that looked more glamorous than they actually were, and how that wasn’t really anything special if she didn’t get two seconds of peace smoking out under fire escapes with the guy who taught her how to live. And she wrote to the people who’d read her song to remember that they’d always been the lucky ones, because they never had to learn her lesson the hard way, because they didn’t need to have all their secrets for the world to see, and they didn’t need to dance like puppets to prove their worth.

Because she had been small and tiny and the absence of Yuto made her realize that nothing about her dreams had been real—because all she really wanted was the ride he took her in and without all that, it had been pointless. And the gold will melt and the glitter will fade, and all the glory of fame will one day disappear—but never the magic of the music written by the boy she loved. And it was true—there really was more to life than just making it.

She scrambled to pack her bags, and ran away with her hood up and sunglasses on. She let the dye wash away with all the guilt she knew she’d been worth. And when she arrived at the Maiami City platform, she almost looked exactly like the girl that left with Yuto on that journey to Neo Domino City.

“Yuto?” She whispered into her phone, hidden beneath one of the trees in the back grasslands of the station. “Are you finishing up at eight or nine?”

“Nine, why?” The other line answered, rugged voice just like she’d always known him to have—even with the six months difference between them. “Want me to tell you the perfect time to come by?”

“Yes please.”

She shivered, a light drizzle started to come down on her, and she hid deeper under the tree.

“Very well, I’ll come by the station at ten.”

“You’re going to make me wait a whole entire hour?”

“Well you made me wait half a year for you so I think you could manage.”

And she smiled at the husky reply. Because she knew he’d always been sly, and she could feel the smirk of his lips in the way he said it, just like she felt it on her lips months before this predicament.

“Then I’ll be waiting, hiding from the rainfall.”

He ended the call, not seemingly in the mood, and she stood waiting, just like she promised him—even though he never really came through with his own. And when he finally got there, she’d looked just as young as he’d known her that first autumn night two years back, and he wondered then what had been the point of giving into her, if he knew he’d never be able to please her. But as he watched from his black car—named Rebellion Dragon because he was still a dork through and through—he saw the way she shivered, and the way her laced dressed stuck to her porcelain skin, and how her lips reddened from the frosty bite of this year’s autumn rain. And he smiled.

He got out of the car and she looked up in relief as his presence warmed her.

“Never really dressed for this weather, ever, are you?”

“Hush you up.”

He raised his hand up in an offer, a soft gentle smile that she never thought she’d ever deserve to see. The rain pelted against their shivering forms, and his eyes looked onto her soul, unravelling every bit of her defenses.

“Are my empty dreams and promises good enough for you?”

She nodded and took his hand into hers, a tight hold and a promise to never let him go.

“Yeah.”

The small bot with the smiley face heels it’s head, bright red ready for the kill. Mr. Yama is just a little bit confused, but Hiro knows how this will all play out. The small little bot made of scrapped metal and wiring surprises the audience with quick dodging and acrobatics, separating it’s body only to come together and disassemble Little Yama. Hiro sits, a small smile on; he forgot all about the thrill of bot fighting—until now.

The megabot continues to destroy, leaving people in awe and amusement at how such a small thing could become such a big threat. And when the final kill hits, it jumps back, turns face again and bows like it should after a well fought battle. Hiro is smug because, why wouldn’t he be—it’s the second time he’s conned the same guy.

“No more Little Yama.”

“Wha—what?! This is not possible!”

“Hey, I’m—I’m surprised as you are. Beginner’s luck. Do you wanna go again—”

He totally forgets this is right about the time he should be running. But of course, old habits die hard and it’s like the script of that night had embedded itself into his mind. He’s just surprised he even remembers anything said at all that night because it’s been so long.

“—Yama?”

“No one hustles Yama!” The older guy shouts, and Hiro sees the boys from before coming up towards them, hard glares, and cracking their knuckles. “Teach him a lesson.”

“Hey fellas? Let’s—“ Hiro takes a step back, a sheepish grin that he knows will not suffice, stupidly plastered on his face. “—talk about this.”

And just like he expected, a flashing light rushes towards them, his brother on a red moped. Tadashi shouts for Hiro to get on, which the latter takes his time to, staring up at the undead brother of his with the worried frown etched on his face. He can tell Tadashi’s a little mad, but Hiro just wants to hug him because he’s right there, he’s alive and everything’s going to be okay.

“Tadashi! Ah, good timing!”

Tadashi slaps the helmet down his head, just like he did before. And when Hiro lifts it up, to look up his brother’s back, he smiles, quite contended. He turns to take control of the robot he knows is still with Yama, excitement rushing through him like the salty city wind fractioned against his teary eyes and rosy cheeks.

“You okay?”

“Yeah!”

“Are you hurt?”

“No!”

“Then—” Tadashi starts hitting him while he drives, and it’s hazardous but it’s just like old times—he doesn’t really care if his older brother is pissed off at him at this point as long as he’s alive. “—what were you thinking?! Knucklehead!”

Tadashi makes a sharp u-turn at a dead end, and drives on. He starts his speech about Hiro graduating high school at thirteen and how he’s not doing anything useful with his life. It’s the same old boring script but it’s refreshing because Hiro who’s seen beyond just bot fighting and exciting moped chases knows this is something he previously wished he had back – and now he does. Yama comes in, his goons right behind him readying themselves to block out the only other exit for the Hamada siblings. But Tadashi is smart, and he’s a great driver—and there’s a conveniently placed plank of wood at the side—so they get away unscathed.

“Bot fighting is illegal! You’re gonna get yourself arrested!”

“Bot fighting is not illegal. Betting on bot fighting—that’s, that’s illegal. But so worth it! I’m on a roll big brother and there is no stopping me!”

Like the last time, he speaks too soon. Red lights and blue flash around them, police scattered everywhere. Tadashi gives Hiro a side glare and Hiro shrugs innocently. They are cuffed and taken into the car, Tadashi’s moped being driven by one of the officers. The ride to the station is silent and Hiro could swear Tadashi is lecturing him telepathically all the way from the slums to the city center. It takes Aunt Cass three hours to pick them up from the station and Hiro has never been so relieved to see her worried stricken face rushing up to them.

“Are you guys okay? Tell me you’re okay!”

The two brothers chorused back with their own reassurance, small smiles on their faces. Aunt Cass hugs them tight.

“Oh good.” She grabs one ear each from the two brothers and drags them back into her car. “What were you knuckleheads thinking?!”

Hiro can actually relate to fourteen years old him now that he’s felt the thrill of bot fighting once again. But Aunt Cass’ current scolding is no longer directed to him, it’s the other Hiro who was so clueless and knew nothing of what is to come. And with the gift—curse—of having seen the future unfold through his very eyes, he’s determined to stop the unfortunate series of events he knows is coming. So once up in his room, he goes straight into his computer, Tadashi mindlessly mumbling behind him.

“You better make this up to Aunt Cass before she eats everything in the café.”

“For sure.”

“And I hope you learned your lesson bonehead.”

Hiro does not reply like the last time. He is already starting the research for Baymax’s new design and upgrades. Tadashi takes a glance at him to see what he’s up to, only to see diagrams of arm thrusters and wings. Taking a guess of what this is all about, he lets out a frustrated growl.

“You’re making a new bot again, aren’t you?” Interrupted, Hiro swivels the chair to face Tadashi with a stoic stare, only to meet his brother’s glare. “Unbelievable. When are you going to start doing something with that—”

“Take me to your nerd school.”

It is not what Hiro says that catches Tadashi surprised. It is in the tone of Hiro’s voice. He sounds mature, sure, and very determined – nothing like the Hiro he knows of.

“What?”

“If you want to stop me from bot fighting then take me to your nerd school.”

“That’s new.”

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Of?”

“What I can do. And I think I have something figured out?”

“Oh?” Tadashi raises an eyebrow, grabbing the spare helmet from the side and tosses it to Hiro who effortlessly catches it. “And what is it that you have figured out?”

“Just, something.”

Needing no more explanation, Tadashi grabs his own helmet from the hook and leads the way down. They get to the garage and Tadashi prepares to drive the vehicle, Hiro eagerly climbing up behind him, helmet on and an all too familiar chip stuffed inside his cargo shorts. They drive fast to the San Fransokyo Institute of Technology, Tadashi’s renowned nerd school—as Hiro likes to put it. The classical campus modernized by the glowing spiral of the robotics lab, and Hiro sees a mile away, excitement pounding hard against his chest. And Tadashi feels the subtle adrenaline pump from his brother, a proud smile creeping up as he slows down the moped.

“We’re here.”

“Cool. Can you show me around?”

“Sure.”

They walk into the building, bright lights all around and different experiments stationed in every corner of the room – cats with thrusters, robots playing ping pong, girls on electromagnetic suspended bikes and everything Hiro remembers the first day he stepped foot into this very lab, three years ago.

The yellow bike glides past him, and Tadashi comes up from behind. Hiro steps aside as the rider gets off the bike, and hangs it up. She takes off her helmet, looking right at him with intimidating brown eyes.

“Who are you?”

“Gogo, this is my brother, Hiro.”

She pops her gum, still staring at him with that same piercing gaze. But Hiro’s used to it so he just smiles, and slips past Tadashi to inspect her bike. He feels the magnetic field surrounding the wheels, and turns to her.

“Have you ever thought of using these as skates?”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean like—think about it. If you can create a bike modeled with the use of electromag suspension, you can use the same formula to create skates.”

“Skates huh?” She raises an eyebrow, and Tadashi leans against the counter, a curious glint in his eyes. “Why skates, to be specific?”

“They’re smaller, lighter, which means they’re faster, and they’re also easier to maneuver which means they can take tight corners that a bike normally won’t be able to.”

“I’ll think about it. ”

Hiro is satisfied and moves on to the next. Tadashi curiously follows after him, roles feeling reversed, but it oddly makes him happy. His brother is taking interest on the projects of his friends, and suggested something even Gogo finds as a good idea. Not everyone can crack her stubborn protocol in terms of dealing with her projects but oddly enough, Hiro is able to.

Wasabi stands at the back corner. Tadashi makes the brief introduction and Hiro waits for Wasabi to demonstrate his own project. He tosses the apple through the invisible lasers, and Hiro catches the thin strips that fly towards him.

“Laser induced plasma?”

“Oh yeah. With a little magnetic confinement—”

“Ever thought of using them for something else?”

“Like what?”

“Seems like something a superhero could use.”

“Little man, you make me laugh.”

“With the right materials and engineering, these plasmas could be embedded as retractable blades into a suit ready for battle action.”

“That’s interesting.”

Hiro nods, happy to have done his job. Wasabi gives Tadashi a bewildered stare, and the older Hamada shrugs, clearly just as lost his friend is. Gogo slips by between Wasabi and Tadashi, grabbing one of the tools neatly placed in Wasabi’s work station, causing a friendly quarrel to surface between the two. Meanwhile, honey-blonde Honey Lemons rolls her ball of tungsten carbide whilst listening to her very, audibly loud earphones. Hiro and Tadashi follow after her and she notices them, eyes immediately locked onto to the younger of the Hamada brothers.

“Oh my gosh, you must be Hiro! I’ve heard so much about you!” She coos at him with a shrill voice, kissing both his cheeks. “Perfect timing!”

“That’s a whole lot of tungsten carbide.”

“Four hundred pounds of it!”

Honey drags him all over the place, much like the last time. He follows helplessly as she goes through the chemical ingredients of her project. Hiro remembers the scene pretty well so he follows through with the flow. Tadashi is sidelined again, perfectly fine with it as he sees his brother enjoy the antics of his overly hyped best friend. The color pink explodes in front of him, and Honey Lemon is covered in it’s dust. But she’s smiling and Hiro rubs his chin in consideration. Tadashi guesses he has a comment to make about this one as well.

“So, chemical metal embrittlement?”

“Exactly!”

“That’s cool. But you know what would be cooler?”

“What?”

“With the right coding and sound knowledge of chemical reaction and the periodic table, I think you can expand by creating mini bombs of chemical reaction, specially compact and ready for easy use.”

“Oh, I like that idea!”

“Yeah, me too.”

Tadashi nods in approval, stepping up to pat Hiro’s back. Hiro smiles at him, scratching the back of his head.

“Hiro, this is Honey Lemon.”

“Honey Lemon? Gogo? Wasabi?”

“I spilled Wasabi on my shirt one time people, one time!”

“Fred is the one who comes up with the nicknames.”

“So, where’s Fred?”

“I’m right here!” A green mascot jumps in to the conversation, and Hiro turns, expecting to see the goofy member of what once was Big Hero 6. “Don’t be alarmed my friend, this is just a suit, not my real face and body.”

“Hello.” Hiro offers a hand to Fred, who eagerly takes it as he comes out from his costume. “I’m guessing you’re the school mascot, both day and night.”

“Yup.”

“What’s your major?”

“Oh, no, no, no. I’m not a student—although I am a major science enthusiast. I’ve been trying to get Honey to develop a formula that can turn me into a fire breathing lizard at will. But she says that’s not science.”

“It—it’s really not.”

“Yeah. And I guess the shrink ray I asked Wasabi for isn’t science either. Is it?”

“Nope.”

Tadashi rolls his eyes, about to make a leave for his lab, but he stops, seeing as Hiro doesn’t follow him. Instead, his brother once again makes a suggestion—to Fred of all people.

“While there may be no formula to change you into any mutant of some sort, with a little bit of tweaking and some installments made, your mascot costume could be made into a battle armor equipped for combat such as fire breathing, and withstanding heat and impact.”

“See guys, this is what I’m talking about!”

Rolling his eyes, Tadashi whistles to Hiro, making a gesture to follow him as the younger Hamada turns to look at him. Hiro gets the message, and leaves the group just in time as another playful argument arises from them. Hiro follows after Tadashi, the same hallway that once lead him to his own lab, back in his own time. He smiles slowly, nostalgia forming at the pit of his heart. But the lab is different – because this is Tadashi’s lab, and everything in place is not his but Tadashi’s.

“So, what have you been working on?”

“I’ll show you.”

Hiro’s not sure if when Baymax activates, he’ll be his Byamax, or Tadashi’s. His mind is split in half as a part of him wishes that is his Baymax because it would be nice to have something—someone—familiar in an environment where everything and everyone are strangers again. And plus, reprogramming Baymax back to his Baymax would be a hassle and he may need the robot’s help to follow through with his plans of changing their fate. But then, there’s that part of him that knows that if that is his Baymax, he’ll have a lot of explaining to do. And he really does not want to get anyone—specially Tadashi—involved in the upcoming crisis.

As Hiro goes back and forth between what he wants and what he needs, Tadashi rolls out the duct tape and gently places a strip he bit off onto Hiro’s forearm. Peeling it off quickly, Hiro yelps out an ow which activates Baymax. The robot inflates itself from it’s charging station, waddling over to the two brothers. Hiro looks up, preparing himself for what may come, rapidly thinking of ways to explain himself if ever this Baymax is his Baymax. The robot, ditzy as ever, bumps gently into a yellow stool on his way. He picks it up, and sets it aside, moving towards Hiro.

“Hello. I am Baymax, your personal healthcare companion.” Baymax and Hiro stare at each other for five seconds and before Tadashi can interject, Baymax speaks again, much to Hiro’s horror. “Hiro, I am glad to see you again. It is good to know you are alive and well after a terrible fall.”

“Wait—what?” And there it is; Hiro’s eyes quickly dart up to Tadashi who stares incredulously at his robot. “Baymax what are you—”

“Hiro, I shall scan you now.”

“No—wait, don’t scan—”

“Scan complete.”

“Unbelievable.”

“It seems that there is an error in my system as it indicates you are currently of the age fourteen, and of 5 feet height. However, in my last scan you were sixteen and—“

“Tadashi your robot’s talking crazy.”

“Baymax, I don’t understand. Your coding was perfect the last time I checked.”

“Tadashi, you are alive.”

“Yes, I’m alive but you’re—wait, what?”

Hiro’s eyes widen, glare turned to the big white robot, warning him to shut up. Taking the hint, Baymax silences himself but Tadashi does not miss the silent exchange between the two.

“Hiro, do you know what’s going on?”

“Tadashi—of course not! This is my first time ever being here!”

“Hiro, don’t lie to me. This isn’t a funny prank. How did you even get to Baymax—I haven’t even brought him home yet.”

“Tadashi, I promise you, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Hiro!”

There is a knock on the door, and a man of the late forties enters. Hiro knows this man – he knows this man so well, he actually feels sick being in this close proximity to the person responsible for Tadashi’s death. Baymax tilts his head, also recognizing the professor. However, Hiro’s warning still looms and he keeps quiet about his findings.

“Saved by the villain.”

Hiro mutters, and though Tadashi catches a little bit of his mumble, he decides to let it go, turning his attention to his famed professor.

“Burning the midnight oil Mr. Hamada?”

“Hey professor. Actually, I was just finishing up.”

“You must be Hiro.”

“Um, yeah.”

“Professor, actually—may I speak with you?”

“What’s wrong, Mr. Hamada?”

“There’s something wrong with Baymax’s coding, I’d like to ask you again about using an alternative to—”

“I see. Okay, come with me.”

Tadashi and the professor leaves, and Hiro waits until they’re fully out of earshot before he closes the door and starts scolding Baymax.

“What were you thinking—oh I know! You weren’t thinking at all, because robots don’t need to think.”

“I am slightly confused.”

“Baymax, don’t you get it? We’ve travelled back in time!”

“I thought the portal ripped, and we were unable to move past the—”

“I know, I thought that too buddy but how else would you explain Tadashi being alive and me being fourteen again?”

“I understand.”

“This is bad. First day and we’ve already caught Tadashi’s suspicion. This is bad—this is very, very bad. He’s going to reprogram you!” Hiro paces back and forth, grabbing a handful of his hair as he squeezes his eyes tightly, trying to come up with ways to neutralize Tadashi’s suspicions. “I have to do something, quick—Baymax, open your access port!”

“Hiro—”

“Buddy, I won’t take out your chip. I’m going to insert in the old one that allowed you to perform karate. We will be needing it.”

Baymax nods and opens his port. Hiro takes out the red chip that contains all previous fighting data, including new upgrades, from his pocket and inserts it into Baymax. Hiro taps the port close, and sighs deeply.

“Baymax, what are we going to do? I can’t just tell Tadashi that I’ve come from the future where me and you, and the rest of the gang are superheroes and now I’m back here because I want to stop Tadashi from burning to death.”

"Good morning, Tundra."

He muttered absentmindedly, eyes fixated on the screen of his phone, and she gave a small nod to acknowledge the greeting. She would've thought it ended there, but he had so much more in mind.

"Why are you always here so early?"

He asked in a tone of nonchalance and she wanted to ignore it, but there was something endearing – and quite possibly charming – in the sincerity the blue in his eyes held.

"It's nice to be early. You don't miss your classes, and you don't get into trouble."

"That's a very good reason."

"And yourself—why are you always coming to school late?"

"I prefer missing my classes, and I don't really care much for getting in trouble."

"I know boys like you Jackson. I don't like boys like you."

"And you may find, it's not really fair for you to easily categorize me like that."

"And I suppose you're not a hypocrite, calling me Tundra and all."

"But you answer to the nickname, so I assume you don't care."

"Just because I don't care, doesn't mean it's not wrong."

And it was true – he bitterly realized.

It was that small interaction—such a petty conversation—that got him interested in her. Never mind the fact that ever since then he started to notice how pretty she actually was—is—and he thought there was simply more to her than the elegance and grace of a queen, and the image rumors have vividly painted of her. And back then he swore by his heart, he would figure it all out – figure her all out.

So he started talking to her more often. Not just simple hellos, and goodbyes, or small smiles and brushes of the shoulder. He sat with her in class, talked to her at lunch. And slowly he started to realize, there was nothing so icy about Elyssa Mari Arendellia—after all.

She never questioned his motives—which he was thankful for—and she got so much prettier every single time they met, it just about killed him. It was all in her eyes and sweet mocking mouth that he couldn't help but longed for. Oh God—if only she felt the same, he would pray.

She was always so composed, the ideal image of a sickeningly innocent girl that could make any boy that fell in love with her change for the better. So it took a good long while for him to catch on—she was not at all completely flawless. Despite the make-up that covered her bruised and pale skin, when you got close enough to truly see beyond the mask of her eyes, you would know – she was flawed by the pressure that drove her perfection.

It was halfway through junior year when he found out about her. He took her to a Christmas party his best friend – Harry Horrendous Haddock, the quirky boy with a girlfriend so brave and intimidating – hosted. As expected, she didn't drink or smoke. And her clothes were tight and conservative, he thought he might have fallen further in love with her.

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

"I'm okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

He gave a small nod and left her be with the promise to come back and check on her later that night. She was okay with him leaving her, she really was. It was Jack's territory after all, and it was a whole world she did not belong to. So she spent the rest of the night sat on a curb by the back door, a couple of smokers out. She coughed her heart out as if it was something so grotesque, when she knew it herself, it was blatant hypocrisy on her part.

"You're Elsa Arendelle, aren't you?"

A girl asked, pretty, short black hair, green and pink streaks sprayed on her fringe.

"Yes, I am."

"I heard about you. You're the tundra bitch."

"I suppose that is my nickname."

"I'm Tatiana Faye. You can call me Tooth."

The girl extended a hand, manicured nails painted black, and her eyes dark in the shades of the faded yellow light. She grinned, a pretty little one that Elsa could've sworn that if she were a boy, she would have fallen hard in love with her. And the organic drug stained the tips of her fingers, and she smelled just like her addiction, and Elsa understood. So she took the hand and shook it, with a small and polite smile.

"Do you want to try?"

"No, thank you."

"Really? I've got a guy here that can offer you any drug you want."

"Any drug?"

Her voice had that amused doubt in it, and she almost gave away a mocking smile. But she held herself back and tried to conceal the truth of who she really was.

"Yeah—hey Sandy!"

A small and stout man waddled over to them, hair so golden – she was certain it had to be dyed. He had sandy dilated eyes, and a lazy grin that told the story of his high. He never spoke, but signed, and Elsa sort of understood.

"Hello, Sandy says."

Tooth translated for her, and Elsa nodded.

"Is he the guy?"

"Yup. Anything you want, he can offer it to you."

"Oh."

"Do you want anything?"

"I don't think so."

"There's temptation in your eyes, Elsa. That's not something you can hide, specially from a girl like me."

Elsa caved in. And half an hour later, she was laughing with Tatiana and Sanderson – Sanderson Mansnoozie, that was Sandy's full name, and a beautiful name it was indeed. Pretty dust misted over her wide eyes, and all she saw were bright colors of a psychedelic dream. It was beautiful being stuck in the abyss of something so detached from reality. When Jack stepped into the scene, he was furious.

"Tooth, what the fuck did you do?"

"What now, Jack?"

"What'd you do to Elsa?!"

"Please, she was begging for it."

"Tooth, fuck off."

Completely unknown to all that surrounded her, Elsa merely stared off in a daze, her body shook and her mood slightly lifted. Jack's hold on her wrist, a warm touch that almost transported her back to reality, was something alien and brand new. And somehow, she remembered—he was not supposed to know.

"Jack."

She tried to explain but he was so mad it scared her. So she never uttered another word. And he dragged her back to the car, and sat her there, whilst he stormed back into the house, loud swearing directed at Tooth and Sandy. She didn't know that he worried so goddamn much about her, because she never thought it possible. All she could think of was how lovely the drug was to her, and how she wished he'd share the experience with her. Because over the course of these high school years, pills that pulled and blotches of paper were all that ever got her through.

She woke up in an unfamiliar bed the next day, all wrapped up in a plaid shirt too big for her, and her face a dirty mess. He was sitting on his bedroom floor, half a bottle of beer beside him, and she wasn't really sure what to make of it.

"How long?"

It was a simple question. And though she wished she didn't remember the night before, it was kind of impossible for her to lie to this guy. Mainly because, over the one year that they had known each other, he seemed to see right through all her bullshit.

"Since first year."

"That long, huh?"

"I suppose."

"Is that all you take?"

"Yes."

"That'll undo you one day."

"And I suppose alcohol won't."

She was right again. But he resisted the urge to yell at her, and tell her that that wasn't really the case here. To hell whether he killed himself with all the liquor he drank—fuck that. He didn't care whatever happened to his body as long as she was okay with her pretty face and her innocence – that innocence that never actually fucking existed in the first place.

"Why would you do it?"

"Don't fucking ask me that because you know fuck all about me."

"I'm asking because I fucking care."

"Oh wow, how noble of you Jackson Overland. But fuck you, I can take care of myself. And I don't need your hypocritical ass on my fucking case."

"Don't you fucking get it?"

"No I don't. Why don't you just go and fall out of love with me already?! All that you thought I was is a lie!"

He was just as confused as she was. Why wasn't he out of love with her already—anyway? She was clearly living one big fat lie – and the look in her eyes would not let him forget that so easily. So why couldn't he stop caring? Why couldn't he just—not?

It scared him, and he was so fucking afraid to admit it – that everything she has done, and everything she was doing, it was all he ever wanted. Because he didn't really care if she was in love with that hallucinogenic drug, or if she cared a little too much about her grades. The contradiction within her existence reminded him that he liked her, no matter what he found.

"You clearly don't know how love works."

"Then why don't you explain it to me, huh?"

It was a rhetoric challenge. And despite the fact that she was not really expecting an answer, he kissed her anyway. She gasped as his hand crawled under the plaid shirt, and she was kissing him back with closed eyes. He tasted so much like all the wrongs in her life – from the drug abuse, to the lost parents and the unforgiving sister. And she was entertainment to his mouth.

Never had two people been so right for each other. The tundra bitch and the alcoholic—what a scary couple that was. And they started something scandalous, and amazing, and she fell in love with him the way she fell in love with the LSD. A small try, a curiosity sparked, to an obsession she couldn't seem to ever live without. And it was just as deadly as it was wonderful.

They found friends that loved the same things they loved. The kind of people that liked to hide under fire escapes and smoked rocks and browns. Tooth became Elsa's best friend. Aside from their fucked up morals, she was the only girl among the group – and therefore, would've automatically understood her the most. And she loved it because there was no bullshit behind Tooth and her purple eyes.

"What do you think of Jack?"

"I think he's alright."

"You've got the guy pretty smitten."

"He has me by the neck too, so we're kind of even."

"I'm kind of jealous."

"Really?"

"Been liking him since the third grade."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. You're more like the kind of girl that would suit him best."

And the best thing about it was that, there was no bitterness in the way she said that – rather, plain admiration. And they got along pretty well, even though she was the bad girl in class who spat at teachers and is the known slut of the school. Because she saw more than just beauty and façade with Tatiana. And she never minded prostitutes like her in the first place.

Though Jack was never one to take the kinds of things Elsa was so into, he did promise to do anything for her. No established relationship or anything, there were feelings and he just couldn't stop giving in to what she wanted. Because what she wanted was—and is—everything he wanted. So he tried the pills, and the pretty pink powder. And the experience was less than favorable, but she promised him, he'll get used to it.

"I don't see what's so good about this."

"Clearly, you haven't lived yet."

"I beg to differ."

"Well."

"It's still different, hearing things like that from you of all people. That balaclava you wear is perfect to hide the shit that you do."

"It's not that I'm a necessarily bad person. I just need a little bit of break – some sort of an escape, that's all."

"Will you ever stop?"

"Will you ever stop with the alcohol?"

"I don't think so."

"There's your answer."

"Our children would be terrible."

"No."

"Really now?"

"Not if we don't leave them to make the mistakes we've made."

"Are you saying it's the parents' fault?"

"Yes. More often than not."

"Well, I think so too."

They kissed again. The kind of kiss that could ruin you—just a little bit—because it burned. And she looked so fucking good with her hair all messy and everything from the shadow in her eyes and face in dusty foundation, God only knows he'll never fucking leave her.

"I fucking love you."

And they became some sort of a couple. The kind that didn't live for the sweet moments or stolen kisses. They were like miscreants falling in love, everything in their life planned out for the crimes their souls were willing to commit. And eventually they blew out all their money on useless things they thought they needed, and they had to find another way to get through the life of the addicted. So they planned a heist. They conspired with Tooth and her boyfriend, a man with grey hair, ten years older than the lot of them. He never got along with Jack – always thought he was out to steal his girl – but Elsa adored him.

It was due on a school day, and Elsa refused to come – and those involved thought it ridiculous—a drug addict like her, still caring about shit like that, doesn't she know her life isn't going anywhere? But Jack was Jack and he didn't care about grades and all the works, so he did her part of the plan. It was a small robbery, in an unknown pit stop between the havens and their simple town.

(The guns are out and shots are heard. They get the dough, and he gets shot.)

He was bathed in blood and spilled alcohol, but they bought the drugs before they tended to his wound – because Elsa’s escape was more important than his life at stake. He felt better with the powder in his system, and he confused hallucinations for painkilling. But the one thing he needed to numb the burn from the scar of his wreckless behaviour arrived three hours later, worried and eyes cried out.

They found each other by his bathroom sink, and his hand was dyed red but that didn’t stop her from kissing him. And with his soiled palm against her face, they kissed and they fucked. With remnants of the LSD on his tongue, she licked it off and got high on herself. She was a slave to her addiction with all the pretty pink powder and the glitter of dust in her eyes. And he didn't care whether the blood on her cheek stained with all the sins he knew she was worth – because she was beautiful in the name of all her mistakes.

"Should we stop?"

She asked him, breathless on the bathroom floor, and he hesitantly nodded.

"I think it's time."

"Just one more."

And the summer before senior year, they repented for all the sins they had committed. His silver hair glistened through the kaleidoscopic lights of their daydreams, and fucking and kissing whilst on their high was the best feeling in the world. But they knew this kind of lifestyle would not last any longer. It was not going to be easy detoxing, but if that's what she needed, and if that's what will keep him alive—then screw the drugs.

Sometimes, she misses hearing colors and seeing noises, but that's all in the past—she hopes. They continue the rest of summer doing things normal couples do. But somehow that proves, that everything—even the good things—never does come easy. They find themselves losing the one thing that once kept them together. Because love—they find—is, and never really was, part of the equation in the first place.

The wreck of their blooming romance withers on the night before they're back for senior year. He finds it bitterly accurate how much he predicted came to light with the summer of their relationship facing it's end.

"Are you going to gun this relationship down because you can't put your misplaced anger somewhere else besides me?!"

"You think I have misplaced anger? Well—fuck you then."

"Think? Jesus Christ, I fucking know."

"And how would you? You're never home, you're always fucking about with that goddamn prostitute."

"Tooth is my fucking friend and you have no fucking right to call her that."

"Why? Isn't she one anyway?"

"You know fuck well why she does what she does—Goddamnit Elsa, you were her best friend. Just because you lose one thing you had in common with her, doesn't mean you get to treat her like shit and start stabbing her behind the back."

"You don't fucking understand and you never will! All you care about is your booze and these addicted friends of yours—"

"Don't act as if they were never yours!"

"I don't care if you hang around with them Jack, I really don't. You have the right to be friends with people who likes the same things you do. But I care about the fact that I'm losing you to them and you're leaving me behind."

She breaks down in front of him and his eyes go wide. He takes small step back, arms limp against his sides. There's unfinished bottle of liquor, rolling and draining on the kitchen counter, and a revolver sitting on top of it. And the lights are off because they can't pay their bills, and their house the smell of burning cigarette.

"I think we should break up."

"Are you being serious?"

"Yes."

And he leaves. He takes a bag with everything he could ever need in it and runs away, from the only relationship he ever liked. She is left with everything; the house, the leftover drugs and alcohol, and the inability to pay rent. So she packs her things up as well, and leaves, because sooner or later she'll be evicted and it's better to go looking for something now than later.

Elsa with the platinum hair, and the cerulean eyes, sits by her sister's front porch, smoking a stick of what she promised to never ever touch. But she's given up the LSD and she doesn't really want to go back, so she finds something else to atone for her loneliness.

"Elsa?"

The door opens, and her own blue eyes stare back at her broken figure. They're wide and completely innocent – something different in contrast to who she is – and they reveal, something Elsa would never have thought she'll ever see. The warmth of a welcome, and forgiveness.

"Anna?"

"Are you okay? Come in—you poor thing."

And if only the world had realized earlier that running away never does—and did—anything good, and if pride never hindered the human mind, we would all find, that miscommunications would be less likely to appear. And that's something Elsa finally gets. Because she's sitting in a fire lit living room, warm with a mug of hot chocolate, and a sister crying tears of happiness – and it takes her this long to see all the years that she's missed thinking Annabella would never want her back.

"I'm so glad you're home Elsa, welcome home."

"Me too."

But her world doesn't parallel with Jack's as he finds himself almost left for dead on the roadside of his favorite club. There's that empty revolver just by his side and siren cries don't sound nearly as nice as that of the chimney crackling with fire. Cherry red lights burn and the paramedics almost lose hope. Because there's just too many substance in his system and alcohol is the least of all their worries.

It takes Elsa two weeks before she gets back into school. Happiness, a foreign name, now the only motto she has in her life. But that all seems to crumble when the news of Jackson Overland splashes across the school, leaving many people to thrive in the scandal of his summer expeditions. And she cries before she visits him.

"Hi."

She shyly walks into the room, all white walls and beeping sounds that remind her, he's not dead just yet.

"How are you?"

"I feel fucking wonderful, as you can see."

He grins, nothing sarcastic. And she sees the needles pierced through his skin, and the dead look in his eyes.

"You said we'd stop together, right?"

"I'm sorry."

"You should've told me."

"Mine was different. Yours was LSD, that's all you ever took. I had nicotine and tar, alcohol and the weed, and cocaine and heroin. I would've never let you go through what I did."

When she sits on his bed, there's melancholy in her eyes. And she presses her palm against his cheek like the day he covered himself in the blood of their addiction.

"I started it, didn't I? If I never let you taste it, you would never have."

"It's okay."

Their foreheads touch and she wants to kiss him. He's all in a hospital gown, wrapped up in bandages and he still looks so fucking great. And in his eyes, she was still the most beautiful girl to ever exist. And she looks better now without the pale lack of sleep.

"Babe, you look so cool."

She throws her head back laughing, whilst he kisses the soft of her knuckles. When she looks back at him, a smile ghosts over her lips and she leans in forward to breathe down his ear.

They had a concert that night, small stadium with blinding lights and mist made by cheap smoke machines. There would be less than a hundred people in the crowd, and many would be there just for the hell of it – because it was summer in Maiami filled with teenagers that had nothing better to do. But hey, if they ended up liking the way he played the bass and Yuya’s smiling face as he sang Ballad Marching on Death’s Door then they should be alright.

They let Yugo go out and warm the crowd, excited eyes as he prepared to wow them with his new found DJ skills. Yuya cheered him on, bright smiles ever the encouraging, and Yuri was quick to make a snide remark about the coming disaster. Yuto on the other hand had nothing much to say because honestly with Yugo, he was either going to miserably fail and embarrass himself as everyone expected, or completely surprise them by being some sort of a pro.

“Ladies and gentleman” Yugo shouted to the uncaring crowd of people. “The fun has just begun!”

“He’s using my line!” Yuya bounced up, fingers pointed at the blonde fringed, blue haired boy. “That’s my line!”

“Looks like Yugo’s originality flew out the window.” Yuri snorted, back turned from the stage. “Can’t really say much though since that line’s anything but original on your part, Yuya.”

“Hey, if you want to talk about originality, give me my face back first.”

“Because it’s my fault I was born with the same facial structure as you—oh yes.”

The bickering tomato and purple cabbage gave Yuto a headache, so he left them for the small exit at the back. A little fresh air ought to do him good – and maybe some pot if he had time enough to roll one. He kicked the backstage door close, finally in the grassy area. He sat, cross legged on the ground and took out a packet of cancer sticks, courtesy of his best friend Kurosaki Shun. The Revolution Falcon logo glowed red under the faded light of the moon, a brand made famous by said best friend.

“You really do work that rockstar persona, don’t you?”

A soft voice called from his left side and he turned to face it’s owner. Eyes startled at the beauty that beheld him, with her pretty pink hair and luminous blue eyes.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m a fan–Hiragi Yuzu.”

He was definitely going to remember that name.

“Oh.”

She held up a hand, as if a beckon for him to take it and shake it, which he did because smoker or not, he had manners—and whoever said chivalry was dead anyway?

“My, quite the charmer, even for a wannabe punk.”

“Excuse you, I’m not a wannabe.”

“I beg to differ.”

“I thought you were a fan.”

“Yes, fan enough to know all your songs and be able to criticize you, despite my adoration for the good bass playing and lyrical art.”

She giggled with a voice that sounded like classical music, the kind he would hear whenever he found himself bored with electric guitars and bass dropping and raving. It was a tune he’d like to remember for a long time, just like her name – her name was definitely music to his ears.

“Want to escape for a little while?”

She asked and it caught him completely off guard. But she never gave him a chance to refuse because next thing he knew she had her hand wrapped around his wrist and was dragging him down to the parking lot. He found this somewhat embarrassing because—dude, wasn’t he supposed to be the one leading the way?!

“Where are we going?”

“I saw this Harley up at the parking lot, I thought we should go and take it for a spin, down to the new diner I found.”

Yuto stopped for a minute, which resulted in Yuzu pulling at him to keep on moving. He stayed rooted on his spot, as if in deep thought.

“Did this Harley happen to be white?”

“Yes.”

“With translucent yellow wheels?”

“Yes.”

“That’s my friend’s Harley.”

“Oh.”

It got kind of awkward for a while. Yuto was half thinking of going back for the concert which was definitely not happening any time soon seeing as the key member was nowhere near in sight. The other half of him was telling him, well fuck it, it’s not like anyone cared enough to come for the music and holyshit, this girl is so pretty I might pee myself.

“Let’s take it out for a while anyway.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“What about the keys?”

“Got them right here.”

Out from his pockets came the silver chain with the silver key. Yuzu grinned, not at all surprised and Yuto could kind of guess she knew he had them all along. But that’s okay, it’s all fusion’s—I mean and Yugo’s—fault for being stupid enough to leave his baby’s keys in his hands.

They got to the parking lot and he hopped on first before she followed suit. She wore a peachy pink dress up to her knees and sandals on so she sat on her side and hugged tight Yuto’s waist. White helmet on, the eggplant was just so fucking glad she couldn’t see the red on his face because despite all the accusations and rumors, he literally has never had a girl this close to him before.

“Where to, Miss?”

“Drive straight on, and then take a left. The diner’s just around that alleyway.”

“We’re going to LDS grounds?”

“Yes.”

“What, are you some sort of a wannabe rebel? Non-students are banned from that street you know.”

“Don’t worry, I have friends who’ll cover for us. Besides, don’t you think it’s a little unfair that those stupid elites get to keep a large part of the city all to themselves?”

“If you say so.”

He didn’t really give much of a fight, because he knew he would lose. With her cherry scent chafing his nose, and laughter that sounded like fancy frilly fireworks exploding in his heart, there was no way he would not give in. And to hell with the rules because he really didn’t like the elites to begin with and he was thirsty for a little bit of crazy adventure.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

“Hold on tight.”

And she did. And he drove, for miles head on. The wind tangled their hair in a messy mosh with night time breeze, and the stars blinked, the only witness to their escapade of that night. They went through neon colored city lights, and flashes of orange and yellow from the cars that passed them by. And he tasted salty Maiami air and she laughed because damn, this felt good.

They arrived at the diner, fifteen minutes later, and she was a little cold with her thin layer the only source of warmth. He was gentleman through and through, and leather jackets were never really his thing anyway so he took his off and draped it on her shoulder. A small smile was offered by her lips and they headed in.

The place was not at all busy, except for a few customers on the counters and others in their own booths. It was a quaint little place, rundown and with tired and pastel paper walls, but it had a homey feel to it and somehow, Yuto liked this better than playing for dull crowds who never really understood the words Yuya sang. Hell, he didn’t even know if Yuya understood half the words he sang.

“It’s nice here.”

“Told you.”

He looked through the menu, everything on display either fried or toasted, and the drinks were all hot or caffeinated. Nothing caught his eye but he ordered pancakes and coffee anyway because he needed the caffeine and frankly, he was feeling a little sweet.

“I’ll have the same please.”

Yuzu ordered and the maid took their menu and headed to shout at some cook named Halil at the back. The two left, nothing to do except share awkward glances and shy smiles with each other.

“What made you want to ask a stranger out on some sort of an escapade?”

“You call this an escapade?”

“Please, I’m just trying to be fancy.”

“It sure isn’t working, honey.”

“Thanks for raining on my parade, and here I thought I was doing well seducing you.”

“Oh please, I don’t date wannabe rebels.”

“Whoever said I was a wannabe rebel in the first place.”

“You’re dressed like scene kid, your hair is–God, what is up with your hair–and I’m sorry, but skinny jeans?”

“This coming from a girl with pink hair wearing a dress on the verge to winter?”

“Maiami winters aren’t even cold.”

“You wearing my jacket would like to beg to differ.”

“I’m sorry, you voluntarily put this on me, I never asked.”

“Your shivering body was enough to tell me you needed it.”

They got comfortable, real fast. And the battle of words exchanged helped them get to know each other better. Because for hours on end they sat in that booth, and talked about how Yuzu was only there for the autumn break before she had to go back to boarding school and Yuto’s knight tendencies to save damsels in distress, even if they weren’t really damsels – rather frightened little boys who couldn’t take the city life – cough, Sawatari, cough.

“Well, you’ll be glad to know that I won’t be needing any saving any time soon, Mr Knight dressed in black.”

“Really? You look like the type to look for trouble. Are sure you don’t need me getting you out of these crazy situations?”

She laughed again, a sip of her coffee as she looked down with closed eyes. He amused her, much like she amused him.

“You really love banter, don’t you?”

“Ah, I never knew I was this good at it until I met you.”

“Is that a pick-up line?”

“No.”

She nodded. She understood—sort of—just the kind Yuto really was. Because she was sure, that behind the dyed hair thirst for cheering crowds, all this boy could ever really be was a dork in disguise. Because he told her about the phantom knights stickers on the back of his guitar case, and his favorite MMORPG being Dark Rebellion, and how the number one most replayed song on his phone was Let it Go from Frozen.

“It teaches you a great lesson!”

“But seriously, Frozen?!”

“Hey, the story was cute.”

“Cute?”

“Yes, cute.”

“Oh Yuto my cutie–”

“Don’t ever call me that again.”

“–you really are a vintage dork.”

He never got the chance to justify himself because LDS security guards barged in through the diner door and rounded everybody up.

“Alright, non-LDS students, we’re taking you with us!”

“Well crap.”

The guys with weapons looking so much like BB guns stuffed in their belt holsters grabbed everyone not wearing a uniform. They took hold of Yuzu’s wrist and she yelled at them with her booming voice to let go and hey be gentle, I’m a lady! Yuto didn’t think twice before he grabbed her waist and carried her on his shoulders, as he ran for dear life for the diner doors.

There was a chorus of hey kid, come back and a bunch of LDS idiots chased after them, but Yuto was quick to throw Yuzu down on the Harley before he hopped on himself. He never wasted time getting the bike started before he sped off away from the place and Yuzu waved at the angry group of security guards with her graceful laugh ringing through the frosty air.

“And here I thought you aren’t any damsel in distress.”

“Oh you Mr Knight dressed in black, everything so far has been done voluntarily by you.”

“Well, you seem to have a knack for trouble.”

“That I do.”

She leaned in to give his waist a tight hug, before she threw her head back to breathe in his scent of nicotine and freshly cut grass. She was here for the autumn, never thought twice about anything, specially with all that she had done.

“Where to, princess?”

If he met her first, maybe things would turn out differently – or maybe they wouldn’t. The possibility is there. He wants to be selfish – he really does, and sometimes he thinks, he really is – but he just can’t be. It’s not a masochistic move, neither is it for the love of letting her be happy with the guy she really loves, or the pity he felt for his friend. It was neither one of these things. She was right about a lot of things, and his pride being his undoing, was certainly one of them.

But he feels sort of brave. Because he gets the small urges to touch her hand, and just hold her – and he does, subtly—of course. No matter how illogical it seems for him to fall for a study bug like her, what’s done is done. Sometimes, he thinks her and Haru really do deserve each other after all – both strange and narrow minded, completely naïve but not really innocent—the two fit perfectly more than the clichéd opposites attract.

He doesn’t stop waiting though – he thinks he never will. Of all the pretty lights and ever greens he passes by on that lonely cab ride home, all he that thinks about is growing old and still waiting for her. Maybe hyperbole was his specialty – he is sixteen with his entire life ahead of him, and here he is moping over a girl he’s barely met for less than a year. But he knows for sure, no matter how many of his lifetime passes by, he’ll never ever meet another girl like her again.

So he’ll savor all of these moments. The small intricacies he’s made with her. Starting from day one, to the very day he knows for sure he has to say goodbye forever. And the music on the radio is soft and slow, and the skylight beams in a comforting beckon that he flashes back to the memories that’s kept his feelings alive all this time. No Haru to come in between them, no Yuuzan to threaten him, and not anyone to steal the time he has left with her.

Like cram school, one of the few places he is able to have the luxury of her company and her company alone. One day stood out, in all the times he’s shared those small study periods with her. It was small, and delicate, just like her hand that brushed against his cheeks, and took off the wire framed glasses that sat atop his nose.

“How long have you worn these?” She was blunt when she spoke, and he wondered whether it was something to admire, or be disappointed in. “I never knew it before, but you really do suit glasses.”

“I’ve had them for a while.”

“They’re not just for show?”

“Obviously not.”

“How come you only wear them in cram school and nowhere else?”

“There’s really not much to see out in the world, and it’s not like I’m blind—just a little nearsighted, that’s all.”

“Do you ever plan on changing the frames? I’m sure your lenses don’t exactly stay the same forever.”

“The frames are okay. I don’t really care much about those things.”

“Really?”

She looked up at him in surprise, brown eyes wide and unblinking. There were specs of stars that dusted over the chocolate irises, and it kind of caught him off guard. He wanted to turn away and hide the red that splashed his cheeks but he couldn’t because, her eyes really were the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

“Yeah.” He muttered softly, fingers brushed through his neatly combed hair, messing it up in the slightest bit. “Just because I’m rich, doesn’t mean I worry too much about things like that.”

“I didn’t—I wasn’t assuming that.”

“Really?”

“It suits you—anyway. Uh, I like it, on you.”

His eyes dilated at her confession and the thumping of his heart made it hard to focus. He has always liked her, he knew that—but at this moment, he really really liked her – more than he would ever dare admit to himself, or to anyone else.

“Thanks.”

“I’m glad you’re my friend, Yamaken-kun. I’m really glad.”

“Why?”

“Because Haru—no, not just him, everyone else I know – they don’t understand the importance of studying, and how it’s actually pretty interesting. The things that you learn, and knowing there’s so many possibilities you can achieve, isn’t that kind of fun?”

“Fun really isn’t my word for it.”

“Being in cram school, I’m glad it’s you that I get to go to cram school with. Because you won’t brush off the things I say, despite your disinterest, you understand what it’s like, never the less. I’m so glad it’s you I’m here with.”

She smiled and what he would have given to have her smile like that forever. He always thought Haru was the only person that could bring her to curve up her lips in a delicate, innocent but awkward manner – he always envied that about him. But here she was, and she was giving him that smile he so longed for and it was so genuine it made his chest hurt and words choked him. But he guessed, the sweaty palms and the fast beating heart was totally worth it when it came to her.

"What's going on--Felix?"

"Reverend Jones is on the way with the rest of them."

"So soon? Well, that's unfair -- he didn't even give me time to at least attempt to look innocent."

"Peter."

Anyone else dare to call him by his first name would have been slashed and butchered to pieces. But not Felix--never Felix. He was loyal, and clever. He balances Peter on all the faults he knows he's worth. Whilst the brunette with his shaking hands and thirst for the killing, was irrational, spontaneous and outrageously unprepared, Felix planned with a calm mind and made sure nothing ever went wrong.

"Okay, let's go."

All boys nod, and with no one to oppose him, Peter flies off into the dark, hiding behind the shadow lands and it's luminous moon. Everyone else follow after, jumping up high buildings and tall trees, scattered across the city like tiny little ants on the way back to their nest, thirteen dead bodies left in their wake.

Moments after, men in black cloaks and white vests arrive, breathless. Eyes go wide at the horrific scene of blood spilled and death before their very eyes. A man, forehead damp with sweat and cheeks stained with tears, kneels down before the fallen bodies, shaking hands on a small crucifix.

"By Gods." He whispers into the night, strands of black locks fall over his eyes. "It's them again."

"Well, who else would it be?!" Long haired old Father Gold with burning amber eyes shouts--screams--fisting the black haired man's collar. "You see what your little group of savages do?! Do you see this bloody chaos?!"

"I am not responsible for this!"

"No, of course you're not." He let's him go, breathing hard with lidded eyes. "But you are responsible for them."

"I know."

"Get this sorted, Jones."

The other man does not speak, only a small bat of the eye in acknowledgement. He moves towards the bodies, touching them, blessing them.

Across the other side of town, the savages cheer with spilled beer and nicotine. Their king on his throne, a crown of blood that glows under dimming yellow lights, and the smile on his face as dreadful as the whiskey glow of his evergreen eyes.

"Wasn't that a bloody wonderful game, boys?" He snickers with curved lips, blinking at the dirty faces before him. "A very special gift, to Father Gold for all the wonderful things he's done for us. And there's more to come."

"Storybrooke is a big place. The Holy lands is just one of them. If we strike again on that famed street, we'll get our message across soon enough."

"And then we move on. From one place to another, we'll kill off everything and everyone who dares get in our way. We'll attack and--"

"No, not yet."

Peter stands tall above all, cutting off brown eyed and black haired Ruffio. He still smiles, devilishly handsome with his elvish gaze.

"Why do we need to stop now? It's our time--we can strike and strike, they'll never get a hold of us!"

"Except they will."

"And how do you know this?"

"Because what do you think will happen if we continually strike the same place repetitively? Wouldn't they catch on, wouldn't we be more predictable, and wouldn't they have stronger evidence to use against us?"

"Yes but--"

Peter steps down, moving closer towards the boy, lips still turned up, eyes raw with killing intent. Ruffio takes a step back, and another one--until he's tightly pressed against the wall. And Peter towers over him.

"Yes, Ruffio -- I can get away. But I wouldn't let you drag me down." That said, he pulls away and turns to face the other boys. "We're done with this business, for now. I'll call you all when we strike again. Until then, leave the reverends and the clergy to me."

He leaves the crowded room, whispering eyes follow after him. Felix stands in the corner, hood up and eyes closed. He pushes himself off the wall, before taking his leave as well, out the back door. The rest of the boys are left standing and confused, but they don't speak one word. They all disperse, out the door, to the kitchen, up the stairs. They leave the room in silence.

Peter stands on top of the fire escape, phone in hand, and Felix emerges from under it.

"You wouldn't take Ruffio with you, yeah?"

"Well--."

"You'd take the rest of the boys though, we know you'd never leave them behind."

"What a loyal servant you are."

Peter looks down, and Felix kneels, bowing his head. The image is picture perfect of a king and his knight, but there really is more than meets the eye. Peter rules this side of Storybrooke, the dark alleyways and gaps between skyscraper buildings.

Lighting up a stick he blows white toxic into the cold air. His phone lights with a new message and he smirks at the name flashing at him. Wendy Moira it says.

Tempt me, I need to get away.

He grabs the railing on the balcony, and jumps off it. Gracefully landing beside Felix, he taps his shoulder as the blonde looks up. There's a subtle glint in his eyes, an all too-knowing smile Felix gets, and the brown haired boy leaves before anything can be said.

If you wish it.

                                                (page breaks here)

"Where do you live?"

"The Holy lands."

Wendy whispers into the phone, struggling to put her boots on and tie her hair up. Cosmetics lay scattered on the ground, foundation dusted over the carpet and her bed is a mess of mismatched clothing. She's breathless and panting but there's a thrill in her heart that she can't suppress.

It takes awhile before Peter responds. His enigmatic silence causes her to stop and call his name out again. She bites her lip and sits on her bed, anticipating for him to talk. And when she's just about to give up, he finally speaks.

"Yeah, I'll be there soon."

"Okay."

They end the phone call and she runs out the door, hair in a messy ponytail streaked with blonde and brown. She's panting her way to the nearest park but a hand is on her wrist before she can go any further.

"Lass, what are you doing?"

Turning to face brown eyes and ebony black hair, Wendy jerks her hand away from the man.

"Hook." She hisses the name like venom on her tongue. "What are you doing here."

"It's dead in the night and you're a little girl running around like some madman out here. I should be asking you that."

"Leave me alone."

"Go back home. Your father--"

"Does not care so go away."

"Now listen here--"

"No I won't. You're not anything to me Killian, so you go on and go about with your night but don't get in my bloody way."

"Why are you out here?"

He challenges her with authority written clear in his eyes. The air is thick with it's frosty bite and the ice that suffocates her lungs, but she's a fireball of frustration with the taste for a rebel's lips. And she wants nothing more than to get away and see Peter.

"You know what happened. There's been a murder. You need to go home."

"No I don't. I know where I'm going."

"Oh really?"

"I'll be safe in it."

She doesn't say anymore, just backs away before running off. He doesn't follow after her like she expects, but he breathes in deeply the night and it's fading stars.

Wendy continues to run away, musty winter burning her skin and the scent of metal all around. She runs as fast as her legs can take her, to the park, to their meeting place, fear in her head and excitement pounding against her chest. And when she gets there, he stands, cancer stick between fingers and preyed eyes like glass beneath the nicotine filled smoke.

"Chasing the bird, huh."

"Peter."

She sounds breathless and he takes so much pride in that.

"What got you changing your mind? Couldn't wait for Friday night?"

"There's been killings in the Holy lands."

"I heard."

"They're all anti-Christ movements, my father said."

"Your point?"

"Do you know anyone that could possibly be the culprit?"

He almost breaks into a grin, but he takes control of that aching desire and takes a calm step forward.

It was coming Christmas with frostbites and the pressure of exams, and though familiar with each other's existence, they never shared a moment of true recognition. So Wendy Moira does not know what changed. Whether it's the nature of that boy who craves the attention--every nerve of his soul begging for it--or if she did something to catch his volatile stare, it changed the course of their relationship, becoming an imbalance in the stability of her faith.

"You should just write Jesus in these exam papers--I'm sure you'll ace it. After all, doesn't he have the right answer to everything."

He teases her, one day, standing by her locker and grinning like a Cheshire cat. She ignores him--of course--busying herself with taking out the much needed books. But he doesn't let her slip away so easily.

"Is it against your religion to talk to me or something?"

"No."

"Then why don't you answer?"

"Because all you are is being a dick."

He snickers, feeling as if he's the first to ever hear her curse. Because this is Wendy Moira Angela Darling, infamous for her good girl faith and the grace of her presence. He never really thought that she would be one to use such sinful words.

"So you can curse?"

"I can also talk, yes."

"That's nice to hear -- I always thought it was something forbidden to you."

"Why would you think that?"

"You're the school's church girl, you know? I expected...less."

"As in?"

"Someone boring, and a goody-two-shoes who's too afraid to ever say fuck. Why don't you say it for me?"

"Fuck."

"Beautiful."

"Am I amusing you?"

"Definitely."

When she finally gets to look at him, something in her eyes changes. It's not the glassy blue that stares blankly into the inanimate events of her life. No; there’s a curiosity sparked, and a smirk that's almost taunting.

"Who are you?"

"Oh, did I forget to introduce myself?" He scoffs, a hand running through shaded brown curls. "I'm Peter--Peter Pan."

"I'm Wendy."

"Nice to meet you Wendy."

"Uh-huh, what do you want?"

"Ever so feisty?"

"No, just in a hurry."

He gives her another smirk, and she does so too. She's half in love with him already. Because his sharp cheekbones and evergreen eyes is some kind of hypnotizing and though her reputation calls for the obedient girl who goes to masses and reads the bible, there's something different in the feelings she harbors and the rose colored glass she stares through.

"If you're free some other time, we can discuss important matters outside of school."

"Are you asking me out on a date?"

"Date, two classmates with contrasting views having lunch--whatever you want to call it."

"Can I just ask one thing?"

"Of course, darling."

"Why?"

"Because you interest me -- if that's not obvious enough." He sort of chuckles, but with lidded eyes and long lashes. "And I like girls that interest me."

"And?"

"And you turn me on."

She should feel scandalized, but she's not really. It's a crude comment, but she feels used to it. And the tattoo that forever scars her pale skin makes it difficult to deny.

"Oh, how sweet."

"That's the first time I've ever been called sweet."

"I can see why."

She looks as if she's about to turn and walk away. But she scribbles numbers on a scrapped piece of paper and he knows he's won her over. With a tuck of her hair, she hands it to him, written in messy blue ink.

"I'll be free this Friday. Is that okay?"

"More than okay, darling."

Curt nods were exchanged before she runs off to catch her bus, almond and honey hair tangled in winter's breath. He spares her a small glance, hands fisted in his pocket and throws his head back, before a pack of boys arrive with their wolfish grins and loud mouths. They talk of smoking in the toilets and drinking liquor, marks on their neck and calloused hands stained with the smell of blood.

"Ready for tonight, leader?" A blonde boy, just a little bit older and a face scarred in the name of his sins, speaks. "We've got everything set up."

"Yeah, we'll do it tonight--that's a promise."

"If we don't get finished there's always Fr--"

"No. It's either tonight or never. I need Friday free."

"Why?"

"Just some business to attend to."

"Oh?"

"Important business."