Disclaimer: Do I even have to say it? Fine. I DON'T OWN NARUTO. Sadly, 'cause if I have to wait one more chapter for Team 7, I swear I will teleport to Japan with my ninja!powers and kick some serious Kishi ass.

This is (loosely) based on Sophie Kinsella's 'Remember Me'. Yes, I love that book. To death. And sadly, I do not own that either.

((Thanks to HereRTears4U who corrected me when I wrote 'PS I Love You'... I was thinking of that book when I wrote this intro, so it ended up being actually written down when it didn't have anything to do with the story... xD; )

Prologue

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

Fuckingbedamnedcrappyshit.

I almost feel like the rabbit from Alice in Wonderland, white and with glasses dangling at the brink of my slightly pink nose

(and short and a bit overweight)

wearing this stupid uniform which is red and purple – except that the rabbit didn't have (natural) pink hair.

Or horrendously uneven horse-teeth with vampire fangs.

Yes, I know, I'm a freak. Newsflash (not).

Now, as you may or may not have read my rant about the state of mind I'm currently – or rather, almost always – in, you may wonder, exactly who am I?

I'm Haruno Sakura. 22 years old – or, well, in a couple of weeks, going on 23. Middle-class family, grew up in the suburbs – top of my class all the way up until med school, where I missed the final test for the semester because my alarm clock didn't work, and now I work as a receptionist at the fabulous hotel chain Sharingan.

I know what you think; Sharingan? It's probably a great job where I get to meet all these fancy celebrities, take it easy, get a glass of champagne while I'm sitting behind some perfectly cleaned desk with the newest high-tech computer – yeah, I know, I thought that too when I filled the application. I mean, hello, we're talking about the Japanese equivalent of Hilton.

But in reality? Not so much.

To be entirely honest, the only thing I actually like about my job is my fellow receptionists – and of course, the other hotel staff, but mostly the receptionists – Ino, Hinata and Tenten.

I mean, I've known Ino since I was a kid, and we've been best friends ever since that time in kindergarten when she stood up for me when Ami tried to dye my hair yellow with watercolor. She was even the one who recommended the job when I ended up broke and failing med school. And I even live with her – even if we drive each other up the wall at times, we still have an awesome time together.

I only got to know Hinata and Tenten recently – well, a year ago, actually – and they're both incredible. Hinata may be shy and quiet, but she's so sweet and helpful. And she can actually be crazy – at least if you let her have alcohol. It's strange how she can be so kind despite growing up in such a screwed up family – the Hyuugas, which weirdly enough is the business rival of the Uchihas, who own Sharingan, but Hinata decided to take her life in her own hands and do what she wanted – which was not to inherit the family business.

And Tenten – well, she's just Tenten. She's actually Chinese and not Japanese, and she's sort of mysterious – she doesn't want to tell anything about her past – but she's really nice, although a bit crazy and extremely stubborn. She's feisty, too – and kicks ass like she never does anything else. (Which is not too surprising, since she's obsessed with karate, kung-fu, kickboxing and basically any kind of martial arts you can possibly imagine.)

Either way, the four of us are best friends.

(Although, admittedly, right now I don't really feel like being best friends with them right now. Why do I always get the hard tasks – like trying to get from Sharingan to the headquarters of Vogue, which is in the other end of Tokyo, in the matter of fifteen minutes, and then back?!)

And me? Well, I'm just… you know, to put it plainly, a pushover. (That's why I always get the hard tasks.) Even though Hinata is more of a pushover than me, she's way too nice – you feel guilty for making her to do stuff. But me? Well, sure, I may protest and even start yelling, but in the end, I still end up doing it. (I've this annoying habit of trying to please everybody. Like Monica in Friends, only that I'm even like that to my own friends, which Monica wasn't. That lucky bitch.)

It's a good thing, though. I get a lot of friends because of it – they all say I'm really nice and I always help out everybody, even though I've got my hands full myself.

But right now, I'd rather wish I was some arrogant and bossy bitch who never followed anybody's orders but my own – except maybe those above me.

Because I've got to tell you – it's not like it's an easy thing trying to run in those shoes. They may look perfectly normal, just being black flats (which still cost a fortune – why the hell name a store 'Underpriced Fashion' if it's the same price as in any other place?), but really, they're slippery as hell. I've already crashed into three (quite irritated) people, and literally fell into the cab I was sitting in.

A cab which, by the way, couldn't choose a better time to run out of petrol so I now have to jog the last 40 minutes towards Sharingan (which, with the help of a cab, would've only taken half the time).

Well, really, there isn't much to do when you can't walk in high-heels. Can you imagine some kind of frog with a hump who tried to walk on his hind legs after having had three bottles of tequila? Yeah, that'd be me in stilettos.

And it doesn't make things better when I'm carrying three fucking bags filled with issues of Vogue across the years where ads of Sharingan have been published. And a binder filled with budget propositions featuring the new marketing campaign. And four lattes from Starbucks plus an espresso and a cappuccino.

And this freakin' woman's bag Uchiha Sasuke asked to pick up at the Gucci store with some kind of present in it, which, excuse me, may look like something from a fashionista's dream, but weighs a ton.

I mean, I realize he may not have time to pick up presents for his girlfriend ('cause who else does he know that would like a woman's bag from Gucci? Naruto?), but still… shouldn't personal matters not be a business associate's concern? Isn't that what he always tells us?

Then again, Uchiha-san usually gets his panties in a twist whenever the HOBO of the HOBOS comes around.

The HOBOS stands for the Hot Oh-My-God-Worthy Brothers of Other Smexgods, and the HOBO, the president of all HOBOS, also known as Uchiha Itachi – Uchiha-san's older brother, who's the vice president of the entire corporation in charge of Sharingan.

Don't look at me, it was Ino who came up with it.

The thing is, Uchiha-san – which is the head of the Sharingan in Tokyo – is usually an anal asshole, but really, when the HOBO comes around, the entire hotel staff is basically inwardly (or, well, not so inwardly, since we do it whenever he's not around) cursing him to a world with no sense of organization filled with slackers.

But in my opinion, he's secretly funny to watch when the HOBO is around – before his arrival, he's like this little wind-up toy you used to have as a kid, going 10000 miles an hour, swishing about in every little corner of the hotel to make sure that everything's picture perfect, and then when Itachi actually arrives, he's Mr. Cool and Composed himself, like he didn't just act like a pregnant bitch who hasn't eaten lunch (which, trust me, I should know, considering how my older sister Shizuka is in her eighth month).

Well, sort of like I'm doing now – except that he doesn't pant like a dehydrated horse for water after a race like I do.

(Hmm, what with his muscles, he probably doesn't need to. I bet he could easily be able to carry even me and be able to run laps around Tokyo and still manage to look just as amazing as he always does.)

A beeping sound emerging from my pocket startles me as I awake from my daydream of touching the godly abs of Uchiha Sasuke, making me almost walk headfirst into a pole – swearing under my breath; I try to balance the uncountable amount of bags on one arm while trying to pull the way-outdated Nokia 3310 I've had since 2003, reading the minimal text on the flashing screen.

New Text Message From: Sai.

Sai. Sai – my boyfriend. Suddenly, I feel guilt penetrate me as I realize I had been fantasizing about another guy while I'm dating another. Sai is great – well, he's just a tad weird, but his drawings are fantastic.

And I'm in love with him. I think.

soz can't come to the party tonite. gallery workmate is having a thing and i g2g. sai

Screw what I said. That bastard. How could he cancel on me? It's my mother's 50th birthday – and it's probably the only time of the year where I get to see both of my parents (and all of my sisters) at the same time, and introduce him to my family. He knows how much it means to me!

That's the thing I hate about him. He always cancels on me – now more frequently than ever. I know he thinks it's important to keep personal relations with his colleagues to make work easier thanks to Naruto's influence, but seriously – does he have to attend every little 'thing' they decide to throw? What about me?

"Haruno!" a loud voice barks, effectively allowing me to really walk right into a pole. Ouch. That did so not help my hangover from Ino's girls' night out from yesterday.

Blinking to help my now blurred vision, I reach for my glasses on the ground, only to find that there're two parts. Great. I've now also broken the only remaining pair of intact glasses (which were glued together, but still) I've left.

As I look down the stairs from the bridge on which I stand, I see at the ground below a figure that is impossible to not recognize, even from such a distance and without glasses. It's Uchiha Sasuke, looking absolutely drool-worthy in one of his usual button-up shirts and black pants.

And who's looking mighty pissed by the way he's having his hands on his hips.

"Dammit, Haruno, how long does it take to get a couple of magazines?" he yells, aggravated. "You can spend 5 minutes of your non-existent break to run about in the neighborhood in search of a fucking muffin, but getting some magazines takes a bloody hour?"

Well, try to run in these shoes, and we'll see how well you'll do, mister.

And actually, it hasn't even been an entire hour. Just like… 55 minutes.

"I'm sorry!" is all I can shout back in reply as I try to descend down the stairs, gripping onto the rail tightly since all I can see of the steps is a white blur – whoever decided to paint such a high staircase such a light color? What about people with bad vision and broken glasses? Does anybody think about them?

Life is way unfair.

"If a simple 'sorry' could solve problems, we wouldn't have the police," he snarls quite audibly – which is actually a really weird thing, since the only person Uchiha Sasuke ever snaps at out of the hotel staff is me. (With the others, he just talks in this cold, obnoxious tone of arrogance, like he's way above everybody else; unless they do something wrong, and that's when he snaps. With me, he's always snappish.)

It's like his favorite hobby to bully (slightly overweight) short, pink-haired girls.

Well, judging by how he always acts like there's a stick up his ass, it doesn't astound me.

"Okay, I'm really, really sorry," I press on as I slowly walk down the stairs. "But it really isn't my fault, I –"

"Excuses," he grumbles with his baritone voice, and I can just imagine his scowl – since I can't see it, what with my broken glasses and all. "Excuses will get you absolutely nowhere in life, Haruno. It's like with your usual tardiness – instead of blaming it on your surroundings, you should try solving the issue at hand."

I grit my teeth, fighting all my natural instincts to just rush down the stairs and push him into the water below the bridge. What the hell is his problem? I can't actually help that my alarm clock is broken and my Nokia 3310 doesn't even have an alarm – at least not one that doesn't don me a splitting headache – I mean, not everybody is a billionaire child.

And completely, undeniably, drool-summoningly, unbelievably hot.

Okay, don't let it distract you, Sakura. He's a fucking idiotic asshole, and you'll just have to bear with it if you want to keep this job. Put all your lusty hormones which have not received the treatment they deserve the last twenty-two years get in the way for your pride.

But seriously. I know that Ino always says that Uchiha Itachi is a hot piece of man meat – which nobody who's completely sane would disagree about – but if I should be entirely truthful, Uchiha-san is way, way hotter.

And it's not only the appearance, too. He's so intelligent. So ambitious. Talented – I've heard he's some kind of child prodigy, and he knows how to play 5 different instruments, can speak 10 languages fluently, and knows how to do university math in his head without a calculator without breaking a sweat.

And it's like he never hesitates. Always so composed – well, except when the HOBO is around. And so cool.

But well, he's got the personality of a fucking asshole.

"I'm sorry, Uchiha-san, I'll try to make things better, I –"

My speech is cut short when I slip on the last step, tumbling forward, trying to steady myself on the rail again, fumbling with my fingers as I accidentally grasp hold of a passersby's arm – a passersby which shakes me off abruptly as my foot is unable to find solid ground, making me fall headfirst down the stairs.

Everything seems to revolve in slow motion as I watch Uchiha-san yell my name, running slowly up the stairs, but it's too late – I'm descending at a rapid speed, and my body goes numb at the same time as I feel a sharp pain pierce through every cell of my body, and then, just as the ground comes closer, I shut my eyes.

God, is this going to hurt as hell.

Laughter.

Somebody's laughing – carefree, joyous, as though she – it's definitely a female – doesn't have a care in the world and is enjoying life to the fullest.

It brings something to mind – the picture of cherry blossom trees, my namesake – the sweet taste of expensive champagne, like the kind mom got for Shizuka's wedding – the smell of something lemony but at the same time woodsy.

"You smiled!" a voice which sounds disturbingly alike mine exclaims, her voice filled with the same laughter as before. "You didn't smirk!"

Smile…?

Another memory comes to mind. My twelfth Christmas, the last one I ever spent together with my entire family. Back when my father hadn't left us for – well, for whatever reason he had. My parents sitting in the sofa, cuddled up together with happy face expressions; 16-year-old Shizuka arguing with 14-year-old Sayuri about carbohydrates and weight gain; my little sister, the 5-year-old Sachiko playing with her brand-new Barbie dolls, and trying to hide them from the 2 years old Suzume.

Then, it's as though somebody is fast-forwarding a tape of my entire life; hearing that I'm beautiful for the first time from Naruto; having a crush for the first time on Shikamaru, who I got to know in high school; hearing my mother's sobs through the thin wall between the master bedroom and mine when my father's side of the bed had gone empty; never having time for anything else but studying in order to get into med school; getting into med school; meeting Sai; failing med school; and then…

"Where're you going, daddy?"

The little curious, squeaky voice piping up – I know that it belonged to me. Freezing solid, I remember this moment. The moment that changed everything.

I close my eyes as hard as I can, trying to shut out the memory. But it's too late. I feel my skin prickle at the thought of having to relive it, and my body tense completely, as if I'm waiting for a rain of daggers to stab me from every direction.

"Just out for a walk, Sakura-chan. Daddy's gonna be home for dinner tonight."

"Why are you going on a walk with your bags packed, daddy?" I hear my own voice prod with painful clarity.

"Well…," my father's hesitant voice drawls like I had recalled in nightmares a thousand times before. "You see, daddy is going to be hungry if I walk too long. So… daddy made a lunchbox."

"A lunchbox? Daddy can make bentous?" my childish voice blubbers with excitement. "Can daddy make a bentou for me tomorrow? Mommy's bentou has too many vegetables."

I can feel my face scrunching up the way I used to when I imagined something unpleasant. He smiles, and then, "Yes, I will, honey. And… can you give mommy this note?"

A carefully folded paper is put into the palm of my hand, and the familiar gesture – the gesture I have repeated in my nightmares as I recalled this memory a thousand times – gives me the sensation of burning away my skin. "I will, daddy!"

Everything's fast-forwarded again, and then, shown with perfect clarity, I recall my mother's piercing scream… her hysterical sobbing… the slap on my cheek which made me recoil with shock, falling to the floor because of the abrupt force… the tears, the confusion, the –

"No," I mumble hoarsely. My throat is as parched as if I've been walking around in Sahara for days without a single drop of water. "No… don't go. Don't leave. Come back… don't go…"

"I'm right here," a strange voice that does not belong to this memory murmurs into my ear – a voice which is strikingly familiar, "… I'm right here, Sakura."

I can feel my hand being squeezed gently, filled with the warmth of the proximity of another, fingertips belonging to another person gently stroking the back of my hand, and I gently squeeze it in turn. Hot breath ghosts my face as a pair of lips gently press against my cheek.

"… Mm…," I mumble; I can't remember it having been like this before. The places he touches with his lips makes my skin hot as though it's put on crackling fire without hurting, and there's this strange lemony, woodsy smell that's musky and still refreshing drifting into my nostrils. (Yes, he finally switched from that extremely girly and fruity perfume he used to wear!)

Every cell of my body completely tenses, but not in that unpleasant way as I had done earlier, but as though I'm trying to hold something in – my hormones? My lust? I can't remember when I ever felt like I so badly wanted him before. Before, when he kissed me on the lips, all I'd think was, 'This is kissing. It's okay. Not bad. Not great.'

But now… my lips are almost aching to have his on them, just like the heroines always seem to feel in romance novels.

But that still doesn't change the fact that I'm thirsty as hell.

"Sai…," I whisper, my voice cracking, "…stop…"

Although I really don't want to. But yeah. I can always kiss him later, I guess.

Sai stops kissing me, and withdraws; I can feel the rush of oxygen coming into my lungs as I'm no longer taking short breaths of his own, warmed-up exhalations.

"… I'm not Sai," the kisser responds, his voice different from before; harder, tighter – his tone chilly, and almost slightly accusing.

Forcing my eyelids to slowly flip open, my head almost seems to explode at the motion as blinding light disrupts my previous world of darkness; muttering a slight 'ow', I blink a couple of times, before I realize the face belonging to the Not-Sai was still in front of me.

A face that I definitely do not recognize.

"Aaaaaaaaaah!" I shriek at the top of my lungs, as I pull up my sheets to my chin. What the hell?! What has happened?? Why am I in bed with a – with a complete stranger? Had Ino's girls' night out really gotten that much out of hand, and why on God's earth hadn't they stopped me from going home – and to bed with who could've possibly been a rapist, or a murderer, or something?!

Oh no. Knowing my luck, he's probably both. He's probably an asylum-escapee who intends to keep me locked up in his apartment forever, raping me whenever he wants to, and when he'd found a new victim, he'd murder me, just like in that thriller me, Ino and Tenten forced Hinata to watch once.

God, please don't let him be that. I've been a good girl all my life. I've done all my chores, and haven't thought any bad thoughts. Well, except that one time when I had that weird sex dream about Uchiha-san and me doing it in his office after a movie with Sai. And that other time when I poured my coffee in his beloved orchid he got from somebody important because he had me stay after work to relearn the new reception computer system I actually totally understood.

And that time when I was the one who borrowed Sayuri's dress and got Bloody Mary all over it and she blamed Shizuka for it, who blamed Sachiko, and they all got into a huge fight.

And that time when I accidentally broke mom's favorite bottle of Chanel and I blamed it on our dog, Lulu.

And that time when I –

Oh my God. I'm doomed. "RAAAAPIIIIIIST!"

"God, Sakura!" the Not-Sai-Man yells as he almost flies right up from my side onto his feet, annoyance clear in his voice. "I'm not a fucking rapist!"

"That's what they all say!" I scream like a banshee, pointing accusingly at him. "You – you son of a bitch! How could you take advantage of a drunken girl? Do you know I can sue you for this? Trust me, I'll – I'll call my lawyer as soon as you get me my glasses! You rapist!" I throw in as a final insult for good measure.

Okay, I know that was lame. But still.

"Sakura," Not-Sai-Man says slowly as though I'm the retarded one, "For the last time, I'm not a rapist. As far as I know, you weren't drunk – at least if you don't call that glass of champagne you had for dinner enough to make you tipsy, which, frankly, does not surprise me – and you don't wear glasses. Anymore."

"Yeah, right," I snort with as much incredulity as I can muster in my shocked state, "so how do you explain me being in your apartment, and most probably stark naked?"

"You're not in my apartment," Not-Sai-Man replies irritably. "You're in the hospital. And you're not starknaked."

Stunned, I take a look around the room – while my vision is still blurry, I can still make out the typical white walls, a large window with billowing light curtains, and an IV tube stuck to my arm, which I didn't notice before. As my hands hesitantly travel underneath the sheet, I also find that I'm wearing some light material that's probably some kind of a hospital gown.

But what the hell, it's so light you can't blame me for thinking I'm naked! And also, his room might be light, too – how was I supposed to know? He doesn't have to look at me as though I'm like some kind of moron, which I can tell by the way he's crossing his arms and angling his head!

"Well," I argue defensively, "that still doesn't explain why you start kissing me and – and molesting me while I'm half-asleep. Just you wait until my boyfriend hears about this. He's going to kill you! I'm just going to say your name, and he's just going to rip your head right off, and –"

"I did not molest you," the Not-Sai­-Man counters, sounding as though he's trying to contain himself as to not blow up and probably kill me with whatever weapon he has. (I still think he's a murderer. Or well, at least a rapist. Rapists carry weapons, don't they?) "Do you even know who I am?"

"No," I answer defensively with reluctant honesty. "Who are you?"

"Sasuke." He pronounces the name with irritating clarity as though I'm too much of an idiot to understand. "It's me. Uchiha Sasuke."

"Uchiha Sasuke…?" I blink, confused. The name brings back a memory – yelling, a staircase – falling –

"Oh. Oh." My face is aflame as I realize I've just been calling my boss a rapist. That can't bode well for my job.

But wait a minute. Why would Uchiha Sasuke kiss me?

"Okay, I know you feel sorry about making me fall down the stairs, but really, you don't have to kiss me for that," I say, utterly embarrassed as I turn my gaze towards the floor.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he responds blankly. My eyes snapping back to his face – which I still can't make out clearly, but judging by the voice, it is him – I see that he's still looking at me as though he thinks I'm mentally challenged.

"Yeah, you know," I respond patiently. God, I knew that Uchiha-san was anal, but really, I didn't know that he had a mental illness. I guess that no matter how much of a genius you are, you can still have some faults. I actually feel sorry for him now. "About making me fall down the stairs. My head feels as though it's been split open, but it still doesn't mean you can kiss me. I mean, Sai might not look like much of a fighter, but trust me, he has a black belt in karate. And besides, I don't really appreciate you… kissing me."

Although, somehow, some part of me doubts that he'd actually use those black belt karate skills to beat up a guy who randomly kissed me.

Well, he should, shouldn't he? I mean, we love each other… don't we? And isn't that what guys who're in love do when random guys kiss their girlfriends?

"I've no idea why you're spouting utter nonsense, Sakura," Uchiha-san snaps, now angry. "But concerning the kissing, you sure didn't not appreciate it when I did so a couple of days ago."

God, what a crab. And here I thought only women got PMS.

"Okay, listen, Uchiha-san," I begin, my patience beginning to run out. I don't care. He can be deranged, but he doesn't have to sound like such an ass, as though I'm the one who has gone nuts. "I don't know what you're talking about. I've never kissed you, and up until just now, you've never kissed me. I realize that Naruto's always droning on about keeping personal relations with their colleagues, but let's not keep it too personal, yeah? I've a boyfriend. And I love him."

I think, the mental addition slips into my mind before I can filter away the doubt.

Uchiha-san opens his mouth, obviously to protest, but is cut short by the door opening. A guy I definitely don't recognize – all I can make out is that it's a guy with a ponytail in a suit – steps in, and regards us both questioningly. "Is everything alright? I heard Sakura scream something about a rapist."

He sounds a lot like Uchiha-san, though. With a bit softer voice.

"Yes, she was having a bad dream," Uchiha-san supplies tonelessly, as though he's comparing the weather in Malaysia with the weather in Texas.

"Oh. Alright." The Uchiha-san hearalike pauses, and then takes a step towards me, a tentative smile on his face. It almost looks fake somehow – sort of like the smile a dentist flashes right before they start drilling your teeth. "Sakura. Are you perfectly fine? Does your head hurt?"

My head previously felt like I had grown several heads instead of one, and that somebody was using a gigantic hammer to play xylophone with them, but now it has only faded into a throbbing pain.

Here's a miracle cure for the apothecaries – if you've a killer headache, just awake said person from her sleep with passionate kissing from her asshole boss. That should do the trick.

The mere thought of having been passionately kissed by Uchiha Sasuke almost makes me want to flush. (Or, well, flush is the understatement of the year – I probably look like a tomato with pink hair right now.)

"Uh… yeah. Sure," I answer him.

"Do you need water? Food? Something to read, perhaps? I know you've always enjoyed reading in your spare time. I can go fetch the pair of glasses that you wear at home." He sounds amused at the last part for some strange reason.

How the hell does he know that? He just walked right in through the door. I've heard I'm a totally transparent person, but I can't be that see-through, can I? "Uh… water would be great, please."

"Water. I'll fetch that. Anything else?" he prods, but I'm barely aware of what he's saying. Who is he? A male nurse? A doctor? He sure doesn't look like one, what with his outfit which totally has a "I mean business" vibe about it.

A visitor? But do I know somebody like that?

"Is something wrong?" he spoke up with a clinical kindness, once again like a dentist speaking to a child, still with the smile on his face as I, unabashed, gaze at his face until it dawns on me that I'm still staring, coloring me scarlet again.

"Um… I'm sorry. I just… I think… I don't really know who you are," I finish lamely.

The dentist Uchiha-san lookalike stares at me in utter astonishment, as though I wondered whether or not Tokyo was the capital of Japan. "I'm Uchiha Itachi. Your fiancé."

Hoo-kay, this is just a little something I whipped up in about 20 minutes or so when I was in Croatia and it was raining as hell. (Yeah, trust me to bring rain wherever I go. I'm not kidding. I'm not Miss Sunshine, I'm Miss Rainshower. Again, no kidding.) And don't worry, I'm working on chapter 7 of The Boyfriend Test, and I'm going to be done pretty soon.

...Unless all of my friends stop being such bores and suddenly get energy out of nowhere after long days at work or just come back home from their vacations already. (Sorry for the whining, but I'm PISSED. I've spent almost half the frickin' summer with my parents, which is just as boring as it can get what with my mother finding something to complain about every hour; my friends in Sweden are working -- and I, sadly, am not, since I'm not 16 yet -- and the rest are scattered across Europe with their other friends and families, partying their asses off. And when my friends FINALLY decide to stop being bores at home after work 'cause they're too tired to go anywhere else, even though they PROMISED me they'd find time off for me, guess what happens? OH, IT STARTS RAINING.)

Okay. I solemnly and whole-heartedly swear I'm not going to whine anymore. (At least not to you guys. My DEAR friends, however, is an entirely different case. I HATE when people break their promises.)

And therefore, I promise you a new chapter very soon. Hopefully a new chapter in this fic, too.

Now let me now what you think. n.n Review, please?