Hello, peoples of earth! I have arrived on the awesome planet of Planet Earth with a real story this time, not just a two-shot! Surprise, surprise. Warning: I may suck at updating. Just saying. Read on!

Disclaimer that I forgot on Just Say It Back and have to say here: If I owned Maximum Ride, I would have made Fang not leave the Flock, and have Max completely kick his ass in Nevermore. And then I'd get them together. And I'd make Maya the traitor and the person who dies. And Dylan would disappear off the face of the earth. So, do you think I own Maximum Ride? (Hint...I don't...Sob, sob.)

Flashes of bright colors spun through his head. Memories of a brown-haired girl, her eyes, just a shade of warm chocolate, as she chased him in a grassy field, danced across his brain. There was another memory of a pale-skinned, black-haired woman leaning over him…a swirling chandelier of red and purple paper dangling above his head, laughing as she whispered something to him, the baby in the crib. A fuzzy darker-skinned man was smiling protectively at him and the woman.

But the brown-haired girl was most common. Streaks of blond decorated her hair and she was usually scowling. Sometimes a smile decorated her pale lips, and in the summer her golden-ash freckles were more distinct than the times she flew down the snowy sidewalks, the icy wind whipping her curtain of tangled hair into a mess of snarls.

A few memories held snippets of conversation:

Yeah, well, Ms. Banner's being a crappy bitch.

Isn't she always?

Good point. I think she hates me more than you though.

Doubt it.

Oh, I'm sure its…The memory tuned out and became inaudible. And then another memory slunk in, the one where she chased him through the grassy field. It was either late spring or early summer—he wasn't entirely sure which one.

Fang! Get back over here!

Her laugh was sweet and rough at the same time, like gravel and caramel. He was chuckling too, as he paused at a sycamore sapling and watched her fly towards him. He then spun around the tree and darted off in the opposite direction. Her grey jacket slipped off a shoulder as she chased him, black Converse high-tops pounding the brown dirt and emerald grass.

Nope!

Fine, then! I hate you!

I know! He yelled that out as he disappeared into a small grove of cherry trees, and she paused, looking for him, until she spotted him in the shadows, stealthily tiptoeing out towards the field.

Gotcha!

She flew at him, and he made it a couple yards further before purposely slowing down and letting her crash into them, knocking him flat, her body on all fours, lips parted in hysterical laughter. He couldn't help it—he joined in.

But he couldn't remember what happened next…until after a few moments of other choppy memories, he came back to the thoughts of her. She had leaned in, and he had tilted his body up, capturing both of them in a sweet, tender kiss that began to rough up, until her legs were wrapped around his waist and hands tangled in his hair.

You're…amazing…ooh…Fang!

I know.

Ass.

You wanna touch my ass.

Oh, I've done that before.

You were supposed to get grossed out.

Your comebacks are lame. How can I laugh?

Shut up and kiss me.

Gladly.

Max…

Okay, oka—And he roughly shoved his mouth against hers.

There was another memory.

I hate this.

Ditto.

I really, really hate this.

Ditto, again.

I really, really, really, really freakin' hate this!

You've said that before.

Fang! You're supposed to be supportive of your girlfriend, here!

Okay. Whaddya want me to say?

Ugh! You're impossible! I dunno, something like 'You look nice anyways, Max'?

Um…okay. Ugh! You're impossible! I dunno, something like 'You look nice anyways, Max?'

Remind me again why I'm dating you?

Eh. You loooooove me thiiiiiiiiiiiiis much, 'member?

I don't hate prom as much as I hate you.

Pity. Watch out for Maya. She's drunk.

I know. She'll lay a guy tonight…Probably not her date. She called him a nerdy geek.

Poor guy.

Yeah.

…

This is a lame conversation.

Yup.

You're not helping.

Nope.

You wanna dance?

Nope.

Good, 'cause I'd just step on your feet. And we both suck at dancing. Why did we go to prom anyways? To watch the people screwing people in other corners and getting drunk on punch? Who do ya think spiked it?

Iggy.

Stop the monosyllabic stuff!

Nah.

Fine, then. I'll stop it.

How? She then pressed her mouth to his, and he had happily responded, pushing her towards a shadowy corner, all thoughts of keeping an eye on her twin gone. He remembered her gasping afterwards.

Let's go home.

Isn't prom supposed to be, like, a memorable night with friends?

Screw friends. Iggy's screwing Nudge, and Gazzer and Ange aren't here.

Okay. So we can make out more, right?

That's all you think of, huh?

No. I think about getting lucky, too.

You're not getting lucky with me if you keep this up.

Okay, okay. Sorry.

Apology accepted. Now take me home. We can make out in front of the T.V.

And you're thinking of other stuff, right?

Shut up, Fang!

You wanted me to talk earlier.

You're so annoying!

I know.

Fine! Maybe I am thinking of other stuff. But we'll never get to that if we don't go home!

Okay.

How do I love you?

Love you too, Max.

And he remembered other things, too. He flinched and gasped. What was going on? Why couldn't he open his eyes? Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod…

And then he heard it.

"Miss, I'm sorry. He's improving…but not by much. Visiting hours are over."

"No! He's my best friend! You can't do this!"

"Miss. Please. Get out, now. You can visit him at nine o'clock tomorrow."

He wanted to open his eyes so badly…Why wouldn't they open? Why was going on? What had happened? Where was the cold iron of the cell?

"Can I visit him earlier?"

"No. Criminal visiting hours are nine to seven. Please go now, miss."

"It's Max, not miss. And I'm staying here."

"Mi—Max. Please go away, or I'll have to call security."

"Fine! Call security for all I care! I'm staying here."

"You do realize if he wakes up, you're in the same room as a convicted murderer." The doctor's voice was dry and amused. Typical whitecoats.

The words flew into his head, and he was drawn back into his memory trance, thoughts fading into dust.

Why did he call a doctor a whitecoat?

What were whitecoats?

Why were these weird flashbacks going on?

And why couldn't he talk? Why couldn't he respond to anything?

Why were this weird flashbacks going on?

And so the prologue of Hate To Love, Love to Lust is done. I may change the name of it later. I'll see. What's up with Fang? Does it suck? Is it epically awesome? Drop me a review, since you've already read it. BTW, why do authors put RnR at the end, when we've already read it? It confuses me to no end...Oh well.

Fly on (even though I can't, 'cause I'm a penguin),

~Penguin