Author's Note: To those who have read this before, you will notice that this is NOT the same version. I went back over this chapter and saw that basically it sucked and that this needed to be rectified. So, I edited it and here's the new version! 8D Hopefully I will have part III finished and up soon. Sorry for the wait, I'm sure most of you are ready to kill me now. ^^;;;

ENJOY!

Seven years, two months, and ten days since that fateful, unlucky school day, Makoto found herself in front of the old railroad crossing once again. As much as she had passed by the familiar shopping area in the past few years on the way to see her aunt, Makoto still couldn't help the shiver that ran down her spine. If she concentrated hard enough, she could still remember the feeling of weightlessness as she flew through the air, the noise of the train as it made its way towards her. She gripped the handlebars of her bike tightly, the rough, worn rubber biting into the palm of her hand. The scent of the peaches secured safely in the bike basket in front of her filled her senses and she swore that if she closed her eyes, she'd be her younger, selfish fifteen year old self again.

A bit of red flashed by in the corner of her eye and Makoto quickly turned her head and hoped that maybe, just maybe it would be him this time. That maybe he had found a way to come back to this time. To her. However, she was met with nothing but the glare of the red flashing lights meant to signal that a train was coming soon. She puffed out the breath she had been holding and turned back to face the tracks, the hope that had swelled in her chest, deflated and her head bowed in defeat.

Makoto sighed and let out a small mirthless laugh. Stop it. It's been seven years, he's not coming back. You're older now. Get over it. she told herself. In the distance, the clock struck three and Makoto could practically hear the gears whirring as the small elves prepared to hit the first bell in the old and familiar chime sequence. The shrill whistle of the train echoed throughout the plaza and she did her best to ignore the feeling of dread that twisted in her stomach.

The trains began to come around the corner and Makoto let out a frustrated sigh, "I knew I should've taken the train today. Professor Yamaguchi is going to kill me if I don't get that paper done by tomorrow and I've still got to go by Kosuke's." Her hand rose subconsciously to the chain around her neck and gripped the small ball that hung above her chest. She rolled the device between her fingers, running over the familiar dips and ridges of the well worn metal. An old habit she had picked up a few years back. It was all she had left of her time jumping days besides her memories. More importantly the only thing she had left of him.

Leaning over the familiar black and yellow-striped railing, Makoto tried to judge how much longer before the trains passed. "Come on, come on. Pleeeeaaaseeee, hurry up," she mumbled anxiously as she tucked her shoulder-length brown hair behind her ear to keep it from blowing in her face.

"Ya know, people die doing that," a voice whispered in her ear.

Makoto froze and slowly straightened up, the vertebrae of her spine locking into place. Shock shot throughout her body and pooled in the pit of her stomach but she didn't turn around. She didn't need to. His voice was different now, deeper and serious, but there was no mistaking it. "… What are you doing here?"

His clothing rustled and she didn't have to turn around to know that he was shrugging, "I came to check on the painting." Makoto knew he was putting up his old barrier again, using indifference to protect his true intentions and feelings. The same one she had seen that day on his bike so long ago.

The train shot in front of her, windows and steel flying past. Her skirt whipped around her ankles and the fabric bit into her calves as it rushed by.

Makoto felt him lean forward and then the gentle flutter of his lips against the shell of her ear. "By the way, you look good."

She gasped and turned around, a blush (she didn't know if it was out of anger or the feeling of how his body had molded to hers) making its way across her face, but he was gone. Leaving no trace of his presence but the feeling of warmth lingering on her back and the blush staining her cheeks.