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he's still waiting for tomorrow
All his life he's never fit in.
He's always been a genius, able to take things apart and put them back together, able to pass through his classes in boredom until the school finally let him work during lectures, able to build new and unique inventions without lack of money or government loans holding him back.
He's also always lived in a mansion with parents that love him despite their misgivings, always had all the money he needs to see whatever he pleases or get whatever he wants. He's always had what everyone else could only dream about, and he thinks that's fair turnabout.
The problem was that he was too rich, too strange, too reclusive to ever make any lasting connections or friendships. He could never buy the companionship he really needed, the kind that understood what he was doing, or at least was able to criticize and use him without wanting his money or his ideas for themselves.
He shuts himself in with his inventions more and more, choosing to move to the family's basement and garage to work because, to him, his parents did care enough to give him his space. It never really occurred to him that they were hiding their black sheep from the rest of the world.
He made robots and turned to a Gothic look, tried to make himself unique so that his personality was reflected on the inside as well as the outside. He tried to make himself evil, tried to be something other than his useless self.
That's why, when he'd found the box and solved the puzzle, releasing a witch that would end the world, he was glad. He'd have a companion now, if only because her powers were weakened to the point of leaving behind merely her spirit. It was something he could do to help, something that kept her tied to him, no matter how much she complained.
It was like having an older sister, or a mother, or a boss that cared, ordering him around to find magical artifacts that, though usable, went against his scientific knowledge. Weird shit kept happening, but it was okay, because, really, he could have fun and be a stupid teenager without ever actually dying or getting in trouble.
He could be himself without having to make sure everyone else understood, because, to him, no one needed to understand; someone just needed to care.
After Chase Young and Hannibal Bean came into their lives, after the Xiao-lin monks lost and the witch Wuya came back into her own, after the Hei-lin and Xiao-lin battles became more than just messing around with each other, he was left behind again, and — this time, it really did matter, because he really did want that friendship back.
Wuya still visited, still concerned herself with him and cared, and his bots were more than enough companionship, but — human contact couldn't be replaced so easily by his mechanics, and, really, Wuya didn't have time for him anymore.
He missed the ghost who yelled at his idiocy and worked with him despite his incompetence, missed the companionship she used to provide, however annoyed she may have been with him. She had been far less scary, far less threatening, and he could pretend, at least then, that she was weaker than him, if not on equal ground.
At least that way, she couldn't fully be defeated. At least that way, she'd still be alive. At least that way, he wouldn't be left here, alone, with nothing but a mask to remind him that all of it was real.
