i didn't think i was going to do this... ^^; once upon a time, when i was 13 or 14 years old, i wrote my first sgt. frog fanfiction-based on Bechnokid's steampunk outfit designs-and was SHOCKED by the attention it got. it was the first fic i ever finished, so it was a big point of pride. i got nostalgic recently and went back to it, realized that there were a lot of interesting ideas that i wasn't skilled enough to execute at the time, and decided to just. rewrite the whole thing. it has been *checks wrist* 7~ years since i wrote the first version. i've been doing a lot of art improvement lately so maybe this will show the writing side. idk.
anyway, Bechnokid's human designs are still in play because my brain is hardwired that way now. but yukiki isn't a snowman... i will draw y'all a thing later. ok this note is novel length i'm done.

Winter had set in and Hanana was starting to fear that this would be her last. The cold didn't treat her well. The past few nights she had taken refuge in a wealthy woman's unlocked greenhouse, but if she couldn't climb the wall into her garden, it was no use. The little money she earned selling flowers at the train station wouldn't pay for a hotel and she would rather sleep on the streets than in a poorhouse. The little hothouse was her only haven.

Hanana understood the consequences of trespassing, but no one seemed to have noticed her presence. She made a point never to disturb anything and to clear out before anyone came to check the plants. She did tend to the greenhouse inhabitants from time to time. It was only fair. Hanana's conscience didn't allow her to freeload. She had always been careful not to be seen. The lady of the house had a few neighbors, none of whom had reported her yet.

That night, the temperature plunged below freezing. Hanana shivered and pulled her tattered brown coat tighter around herself. It had snowed earlier in the day. She was up to her ankles in it. Her feet felt like blocks of ice as she made her way down the empty street. She blew on her fingers. She'd heard of people's extremities dropping off, of them dying in the night, their bodies frozen in the gutter. Scaling the wall would be difficult tonight, what with the ice.

After a quick look around to make sure no one was watching, she hurried to the garden wall and tried to pull herself up by the tiny handholds in the bricks. Her arms spasmed. She was too weak. The soles of her boots scraped against the wall a few times before she dropped to the ground again. Hanana hissed in frustration. Most "street rats" like her didn't live to be this old; she was a survivor and refused to die now.

She was about to try again when she heard footsteps in the snow behind her. She whipped around. Who could it be at this hour? The neighborhood was too nice for cutthroats. In the dim light, all she could make out was a tall figure in a hat and coat. He seemed unbothered by the chill. Most people would be hunched over against the cold, but he walked proud and upright along the pavement.

Hanana backed into the shadows, heart pounding. If he was someone who lived here, he didn't need an excuse to call the police. What else would a scrappy young woman like her be doing here if not steal or beg? She would end up in the women's prison, forced to sew shirts in uncomfortable silence until her mind rotted. No sun, no greenery.

The man approached the house across the street—the one that faced the garden—and reached into his pocket for a key. Hanana stood perfectly still. He might go inside without noticing her. She held her breath and waited. The man put the key into the lock and turned it. Then he paused. He turned around. Hanana thought her heart stopped.

He saw her. There was no denying it. His eyes were hard. Shrewd. She wanted to run, but fear held her in place. The man removed his hand from the doorknob. This was it. He was about to chase her off or shout for a policeman to come arrest the suspicious figure creeping around his neighbor's garden.

"Who are you?" he asked. He sounded less accusatory than she'd been expecting.

"No one, sir," Hanana said in a small voice. She had to leave, now. "If you'll excuse me…"

"Wait."

She stopped. It hadn't been an angry "wait." He seemed concerned. When she found the courage to look at his face again, his expression had softened.

"Do you have anywhere to go?" he asked. "You won't last the night without shelter."

"Well, I…" Should she lie? "I was going to sleep in the greenhouse."

The man looked at the garden wall, then back to her. Hanana feared what was about to come next. Would he drag her to the lady's front step and present her there to be arrested? She shuffled an inch away.

Instead of that, the man opened his door. He gestured toward it. "Come in."

Hanana was stunned. No one had ever invited her in before. She didn't know whether to accept the offer. She had heard awful stories of what happened to those that were too trusting. But if she refused, she wouldn't live to see the next sunrise.

"Would you prefer to stay out here?" the man said.

Hanana started and shook her head. She dashed across the street. The man let her in first, then followed and shut the door behind them. As soon as it closed, Hanana realized that it wasn't much warmer inside. The man hung his hat and coat on the nearby hooks. He glanced at Hanana. She shook her head again.

"I'm sorry," he said as he turned on a lamp. "I usually prefer it cold. I won't ask you to hang your coat."

He was an odd-looking man—pale and stern. Though he couldn't be older than thirty, his hair was as white as the snow outside. Hanana wondered what had caused it. He didn't give her long to study him, moving quickly down the darkened hallway. Hanana followed, keeping one hand on the wall. More lamps came on as they went. She was impressed; this man could afford electricity.

They soon came to a sitting room. It was well furnished, but there was an emptiness about it. Hanana got the impression that no one used it except for the owner of the house. Did no one else live here? The man knelt by the fireplace and a few moments later, a few flames started to crackle within.

Hanana crept closer to it. She crouched as well, putting her hands up to warm them. She let out a satisfied sigh as the numbness faded. The winter had almost gotten the better of her.

"Thank you," she said. "This is very kind of you, sir. I promise I won't cause you any trouble."

The man looked away. Hanana wondered how often he had visitors. Judging by the pristine nature of the room, she guessed visitors were rare. How sad, she thought.

"Keep warm. Don't catch your death." With that, the man left. She heard his footsteps on the stairs.

Hanana supposed she preferred this treatment to being run out. And he hadn't laid a hand on her, which was reassuring. She lay down on the sofa, draping her coat over herself as a blanket. So far, her strange benefactor appeared to be a man of few words. She would do her best to repay his kindness when the morning came. Hanana closed her eyes. For the first time in ages, she slept peacefully.

Hanana woke with a start. She was confused for a few seconds before remembering what had happened the night before. It was a relief to know it hadn't been a dream. The fire was out and the room was cold again. Hanana put her coat back on.

There was nothing to re-start the fire with. She tried stoking it with the poker—which was covered with dust—but it was spent. The man had said he preferred it cold, but how could he not use the fireplace? The only explanation she could think of was that the room didn't get much use in the first place.

I shouldn't overstay my welcome, she thought. A part of her wanted to explore, but it seemed rude. She might get accused of looking for something to steal. On the other hand, she wanted to know where her benefactor was. It wasn't so early that he wouldn't be awake. She needed to thank him again before she went on her way.

Hanana left the sitting room and continued down the hall. She thought she heard a kettle. There were only two other rooms on the first floor. One's door was open. She decided to look there first. What lay beyond was a small breakfast room with a table and stove. Morning light streamed through a window on the far wall, illuminating her host.

He was reading the newspaper and smoking. The pipe had three tiers. Hanana had seen similar ones in shop windows. They were a novelty item, designed for those who wanted to show off their faith in technological progress. The man looked up from his newspaper with a surprised expression, as if he'd forgotten she was there.

"Good morning," he said.

"Good morning," Hanana repeated. There was a moment of awkward silence. She was realizing she'd never been alone with a man before. She didn't know what was expected of her. "Well… I just wanted to say that I'm incredibly grateful. I won't impose on your hospitality, so I'll be going." She nodded her head respectfully and turned to leave.

"You're going to leave without eating?"

"Um, it's alright. Don't worry. Thank you so much, Mr…?"

"Yukiki."

"But I have to leave. I'll find a way to repay you for helping me. I promise."

Yukiki looked like he wanted to say something more, but Hanana had already left the room. She hurried to the front door and stepped back into the sharp winter air. At least the daylight wasn't as cold as the night. She must've looked horribly rude, leaving in a rush like that, but Hanana wasn't used to receiving so much charity at once.

She was so hungry. She should have taken up Yukiki's offer of food. He was a strange man with a strange, lonely house, but his kindness had been real. She knew that. Hanana had been afraid of where that kindness ended. It was silly, but she thought of fairy tales she'd been told as a child—Bluebeard and Hansel and Gretel. They'd taught her to be wary of these situations. Yukiki hadn't seemed dangerous, but who knew what really lay in his heart.

Hanana decided that before she left, she should check on the plants. She probably wouldn't be able to return, now that Yukiki knew her face. Revived by a full night's sleep in a warm room, Hanana climbed the garden wall. Her arms and legs still protested, but she made it up and over. She landed in the garden with a thump.

Her heart dropped through her stomach. There was a heavy padlock securing the door of the greenhouse. She wouldn't be able to break it or pull it off. Nothing but its key would allow her inside. Hanana felt a lump rise in her throat. Her favorite shelter was gone and she wouldn't go back to Yukiki for help. Even though it was a lost cause, she tugged on the lock and rattled the door until she ran out of strength and sat heavily in the snow.

Tears rolled down her cheeks. Last night had reminded her of the goodness of man, but that had been a dream. The cold light of morning was a grim reminder that the city—maybe even the world—gave no thought to her. She had always believed in being kind, so as not to grow bitter and despondent. Right now, she was hopeless. She didn't know where she would go when night fell.

"Why are you crying?"

Hanana's head snapped up. There were two men sitting on the wall. One was dressed in black, the other in paint-stained clothes. Their faces were twin portraits of concern. Neither one looked like they belonged in this neighborhood.

"I…" Hanana swallowed. "I don't know what I'm going to do."

The colorful, paint-stained man tilted his head. "About what?"

"I have nowhere to go. I had somewhere but I… I couldn't stay."

The men exchanged a glance. The darkly dressed man hopped down from the wall. He knelt at Hanana's side, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Poor thing," he murmured, taking a handkerchief from his vest pocket. "Is there anything we can do?"

Hanana accepted it. It was dingy, but someone had taken pains to monogram it with an "M." She dabbed at her eyes. "I don't want to be a burden. I'll… I'll figure something out on my own."

"Don't say that. I was in the same situation once and I can guarantee you I wouldn't be where I am today if I didn't accept help when I needed it."

Hanana studied him. He wasn't a rich man. His clothes were old and colored to absorb coal dust. He could clearly afford to feed himself, but his eyepatch spoke of harder times. If Hanana had to guess, he was working class. A step above herself and miles below someone like Yukiki.

There was a crunch as the paint-stained man landed in the garden as well. Hanana felt a little warier towards him. She didn't know many tattooed men and the ones she'd had run-ins with weren't pleasant. However, those men had been bulging with muscle, and the paint-stained man was as wiry as they came.

"Why were you trying to get in there?" he asked, nodding towards the greenhouse.

"Oh. It was where I slept."

He laughed. "I see. When we saw you climb the wall, we thought you were trying to break in to the house."

Hanana must've made a horrified face, because the darkly dressed man quickly said, "We wouldn't have called the police. They're no friends of ours."

"That said, we shouldn't hang around," the paint-stained man said. "The lady of the house isn't as forgiving. Let's get you something to warm you up." He held out his hand to Hanana.

Hanana hesitated. Their comment about the police worried her. The law wasn't her friend either, but she'd gotten this far by not getting mixed up with criminals. If she wasn't in such a desperate position, she would have refused.

"You won't take me to the poorhouse?" she asked.

"Never."

Hanana took the offered hand. She was comforted by the roughness of the man's fingers. She could trust workmen more easily than the rich. They were easier to understand. Even so, they were still strange men and it wasn't smart to linger in their company.

The paint-stained man pulled her to her feet. "There we go. What's your name, dear?"

"Hanana."

"Nice to meet you, Hanana. I'm Putata and that's Mekeke."

Mekeke tipped the brim of his hat. "You're lucky we happened along. I hate to think of someone else catching you here."

Hanana wondered if she should mention Yukiki. It didn't seem relevant. "Can I ask why you're here?"

"We had some business in the neighborhood," Putata said. He released her hand and turned to the wall. "A little help, Mekeke?"

Hanana watched as Mekeke gave Putata boost onto the wall. He was strong. The sleeves of his coat were pull taught over his upper arms. His touch had been gentle, so she doubted he'd use that strength to hurt her. Maybe he was a boxer.

"Now you," Mekeke said, forming a basket with his hands.

Hanana was thankful for the help. She didn't think she could scale the wall on her own again. She'd tired herself out wrestling with the padlock. As Mekeke lifted her, Putata gave her a hand up.

"Thank you," she said with a smile.

Putata smiled back. "It's nothing. Wait here." He jumped to the pavement and turned around, arms out. "I'll catch you."

"I'm fine," Hanana assured him. She pushed herself off. And she was fine, despite stumbling a bit on the landing. Putata steadied her.

"You seem a little weak," he said. "When did you last eat?"

Hanana tried to remember. "Um, I had some bread yesterday morning."

"That won't do." Mekeke made a perfect landing on their side. "We'll get you some breakfast. How about it?"

"Oh, I couldn't—!"

"Don't be modest," Putata said. "You should take food and shelter whenever you can get it. Let's go to that café near the theater, Mekeke."

A café? There was no way she'd be let into any sort of eating establishment, looking the way she did. "You don't have to go to all that trouble."

Mekeke held out his arm. "It's no trouble at all. We have the means."

"If it's really alright with you…" Hanana placed a cautious hand on Mekeke's arm. She relaxed when he didn't try to pull her closer. They weren't going to take advantage of her.

Putata sidled up to her other side. He lifted his elbow as well. "Just so we don't lose each other," he said.

Hanana tucked her free hand into his crooked arm. She actually felt safer between them. They allowed her enough space to walk comfortably. If she needed to, she'd be able to slip away. Yet she wasn't sure she wanted to. So far, they were being incredibly generous, and not in a way that seemed to expect anything of her.

"No need to worry," Mekeke said. He patted her hand. "As long as you're with us, there's nothing to fear."

The city woke up around them. Carriages and people started to fill the streets, especially as they moved away from the quiet neighborhood. Young boys scurried here and there, selling newspapers. A fruit salesman tried to get her attention with some oranges. It startled her. Most street salesmen shooed her off after one look at her threadbare clothes. Even if she had money.

It must have been Putata and Mekeke. They weren't completely respectable, but they weren't from the gutter, and being with them made her seem reputable. She let herself hold onto them tighter. As more people flooded the streets, the danger of getting swept away grew. It reminded her of when a new train arrived at the station.

She should have been there now. It was good to arrive before the other match girls and flower sellers set up camp. Honestly, she was enjoying herself more now than she would be if she'd gone straight there. Mekeke and Putata guided her through the crowd with confidence. Hanana tried to lift herself up and pretend she wasn't as self-conscious as she felt.

"Here we are," Mekeke announced. They'd just arrived at a dingy café called Comédie et Tragédie. A quick glimpse through the window revealed a lack of upper-class diners. It was still better than Hanana could afford on her own, but she doubted she'd be thrown out for her frayed skirt.

It was warm inside. Hanana instantly felt better. The chatter reminded her of when she'd lived with a group of beggars and they'd all come to together for meals. She, Putata, and Mekeke found an empty table away from the window. It was so crowded it was a wonder that anyone could navigate without bumping into someone's chair.

Putata signaled for a waiter. "Order whatever you want. It's our treat."

Mekeke handed her a yellowed menu card. Hanana tried not to look overwhelmed by it. They served coffee and tea, as well as a few simple sandwiches and soups. None of it was familiar. The last cup of tea she'd had might as well have been brown water. As for food, a lady who worked for a charitable organization had served her a bowl of watery soup that hadn't done much to fill her up.

"How about some coffee and scones?" Mekeke suggested after a few minutes of silence.

Hanana nodded with relief. At this point she would eat anything they put in front of her.

"So," Putata said after they ordered. He balanced his chin in his hand. "If you sleep in the greenhouse, why were you trying to go in during the day?"

"I, um, it's silly."

"You can tell us. We promise not to laugh."

Hanana looked down at her lap. "I wanted to make sure the plants were alright."

"I'm sure they were fine. They're in the greenhouse, right?"

"Yes, but if there was a leak, then they could be damaged by the frost. And you won't believe how many people just leave their plants without proper care or water."

"Hmm," Mekeke said. "Are you good with plants?"

"People have told me that." Hanana blushed. "I used to try and find gardening work where I could, but most turned me away."

"You're a garden fairy," Putata said with a dreamy smile. "What do you do when you get turned away?"

"I sell flowers. Not real ones, obviously." Hanana plucked the flower she kept behind her ear out of her hair. "Like this. It's just dyed fabric, but people prefer blooms that don't wilt." She sighed. "I suppose it's good enough. I like the real thing better."

"What a shame." Mekeke carefully replaced the flower. "Your talent is wasted here."

"I wouldn't say I have a talent. An affinity, maybe."

Putata tapped his chin. "You're pretty well spoken for a flower girl."

"A charity man taught me to read and write. He believed the best way to help the poor was give them an education. I tried to work as a secretary, too," Hanana admitted. "They wouldn't have me there either."

Putata and Mekeke shared another glance. Hanana got the impression that they were speaking without words. She opened her mouth to ask them what they planned to do with her, but the coffee arrived, cutting her off.

Hanana couldn't help tearing up at her first bite of scone. As far as she was concerned, it was the best she'd ever tasted. The coffee was bitter, but she didn't mind. It warmed her from the inside out and chased away the last dregs of sleep. While she ate, Putata and Mekeke spoke quietly to each other. Hanana strained to hear them over the automatic piano and clinking cutlery.

"…it's the least we could do," Mekeke said.

"It's up to her. Do you want to ask, or should I?"

"I'll do it. You come on too strong."

Putata rolled his eyes and sipped his coffee. Mekeke turned to Hanana. She swallowed her mouthful of scone. What were they going to ask? They couldn't be offering her a job.

"Hanana," Mekeke said, "what if we told you we have an extra room in our flat?"

It took a minute to sink in. Hanana's eyes widened. "Are you saying… you want me to have it?"

"We can't just leave you to fend for yourself. I know it's sudden, but we don't have a use for it and I wouldn't be able to sleep at night knowing we could've helped and didn't."

Hanana looked from one to the other in total astonishment. This couldn't be happening. Not only had a gentleman allowed her to stay under his roof last night, but now she was being given a permanent shelter. I must be dreaming. They couldn't be offering out of the goodness of their hearts.

"What do you want from me?" she asked.

They stared blankly at her.

"You have to want something. Rent or work or…or…" Hanana had read stories about young women being swept off their feet by a kind gentleman and elevated into high society, but those were fantasies. What could she possibly give these two in return?

Mekeke shook his head. "Rent isn't a problem. We already split it between the two of us."

"And we don't need a maid, since the flat is so small anyway," Putata added. "All we'd expect is for you to help us keep it in shape so our landlady doesn't yell at us."

"Oh, she'll yell at us for living with an unmarried woman anyway," Mekeke said with a sheepish grin. "But we can handle that. We'll feed you, too. You'll never have to sell fake flowers again."

Hanana twisted her fingers. "I can't. It's too much. Besides, I've only just met you."

"We would never do anything to degrade or harm you in any way," Putata said. His tone had grown much more serious. "You deserve better than living on the streets. Better than the poorhouse for sure." He took her hand and squeezed it. "Please, Hanana. We want to help."

Hanana still wasn't sure whether she could trust them. There was something they weren't telling her. Yet, at the same time, she didn't have much of a choice. Either she could go with Mekeke and Putata, or go back to the streets. Unless she found another unlocked shelter by tonight, she wouldn't last the winter. (And she doubted she'd get a third charitable offer.)

She looked closely at her two companions. "Who are you?"

"Just a pair of humble craftsmen who remember what it was like to live without," Mekeke said.

They weren't lying to her. They weren't telling the whole truth, but they hadn't lied. Hanana gently extricated her hand from Putata's grasp.

"I'll go with you," she said. "As long as you're sure I won't be a burden."

They shook their heads in unison. Mekeke's good eye was brimming with warmth. "What are friends for?"

Friends. The tears Hanana had desperately been trying to hold back spilled over. She fumbled for a napkin. As she tried to hide her face, she felt Putata and Mekeke's hands on her shoulders.

"There, there, dear," Putata said. "It'll be alright."

"Thank you," Hanana gasped. She was trembling. "Thank you so much."