This ( chokopoppo. tumblr post/ 144881550752/ derplefarglydoop-chokopoppo) is the post that started it all.

Also, there's a good chance that I'll come back and revise every once in a while because I feel like I don't give characters a great voice and I need to improve upon that.

And I'm gonna make a playlist for this thing.

Chapter title is from "Don't Think Twice (It's Alright)" by Bob Dylan

Don't Think Twice, It's Alright (Or Hogarth Wears Himself Out By Getting All Existential On His Rooftop)

Three o'clock in the morning is an awful time to start thinking of one's place in the universe. However, Hogarth Hughes wasn't exactly the greatest example of a person who always made smart decisions.

It was a humid early June in Rockwell, which was about as unusual as it was uncomfortable. Coastal Maine summers tended to be warm and fairly dry, an annual climate characteristic that Hogarth hadn't appreciated until the water in the air began to cling to his skin like Saran Wrap. The heavy humidity had only been around for the past three days, so practically forever for the fifteen-year old. Blue blankets and striped bedsheets were piled unceremoniously on the floor beside the bed. Even with his bedroom window opened, the boy couldn't help but feel like he was melting into his mattress.

With more effort than it should have warranted, he turned on his side to where his clock was standing on his bedside. Its pale face seemed ominous in the dark and its seconds hand ticked by almost accusingly. 1:34, it said. 1:34 on a school night, it said knowingly, in his father's voice oddly enough.

1:34 on a Monday morning during the second to last week of junior year, Hog Hug, Hogarth thought.

And he couldn't sleep.

There was something strange in the air, he felt, and not just the annoying abundance of hot water. His body wasn't shaking with electric anticipation that came from completing yet another year of school. One year closer to whatever and wherever. It was something else. Not that he had any knowledge about whether or not his senses were "up to scratch", as his physics teacher liked to put it, but there was something he just couldn't place.

The house was silent enough, the occasional creaks of the house settling notwithstanding. His mom tended to sleep like the dead when she didn't have a night shift. Cynthia always fell asleep right after dinner and hardly ever woke up during the night. Also, he couldn't hear his step-dad messing around in the barn outside; he was probably long asleep too. This in mind, Hogarth sat up in his bed, shivering as he did so when a sudden cool breeze entered his room. It felt like nothing short of the fingers of Frosty the Snowman himself when he felt the air. Hogarth couldn't understand it. How could the breeze be so cold when every other time it felt like God's hot breath on him every waking hour.

Jeez, he couldn't stand the heat.

His sock-covered feet moved carefully on the ground, slipping every so often on the wooden floor. He reached his dresser and opened the bottom drawer. He pulled out a white t-shirt and tried to ignore the unsavory smell coming off of it. He pulled it on and, afterwards, checked to see if there were any cigarettes in his pockets. Satisfied that they were there, he grabbed his white All Stars and laced them on, double knotted.

Another breeze blew in and the sound of the wind whistled. The hoots of owls came and went and the light of the large half moon produced a muted glow over the foresty landscape.

Hogarth began to open his window further when his left pointer finger snagged on a raised piece of wood. Cursing at the blood that the splinter had formed, his eyes gazed momentarily at the nail holes left by a certain paranoid ginger who no longer worked for the government. Sighing at the memory of years ago, he exited legs first. Swinging his legs over the side of the window, he reached out for the nearest tree branch and he closed his window, using his foot, most of the way, leaving it a crack open. He didn't want to come back to a hot and stuffy room.

Muscle memory guided him, even though his legs were longer and his hands were wider than they were when he was kid. Adapting, he made his way up the tree and then up the side of the house where he knew a rooftop and an endless nighttime sky were waiting for him.

The roof used to be a gable one, but Dean- ever the creative force- wanted to try out one of many things, so the roof was flatter. His mother called it "slightly gambrel". Dean called it "innovation". Hogarth didn't know what to call it. All he knew was that he made a part of the roof flatter since he knew his new step-son had a penchant for stargazing. Built him a telescope and everything.

Finally there, he moved himself into the same position he was on his bed before he decided to pursue this little venture. Back to the burning roof, arms folded across his chest, blue eyes searching whatever was above him. His eyes stopped on the moon. It was bright and covered with craters.

He wondered if humans would ever make it there.

He wondered if anyone had ever made it there.

He remembered something, back before everything had happened, back before the Giant and endless days of government people knocking at his mother's door, pestering Hogarth again and again about any and all possible close encounters he had made since the Giants eventful visit to Rockwell. Heck, even back before he skipped the third grade and dealt with getting pounded day in and day out.

Back then, he had the crazy idea that they weren't alone in the universe. Now, obviously, he knows that he was right, but back then, it was more speculation. His was never a particularly religious family- they just stepped inside the local church during Easter and Christmas and everyone said grace at dinner- and his mom sometimes entertained even his most strange beliefs. So, when he asked if there really were aliens out there, proof be damned, his mom replied with, "Well if God created the world and all that's in it, there's no reason he couldn't have tried his hand at life a few more times" and that satisfied a seven year old Hogarth just fine.

Hogarth pulled out cigarette and used his lighter to set the tip aflame. Breathing in the smoke and blowing it out, he watched as the wisps of smoke appeared to reflect the dim moonlight.

It was the second to last week of school, the second to last week of him being a junior in high school. One year closer to a world of even more uncertainty than one of a sleepy town that had a close encounter with a giant metal man. And he hadn't a clue what he wanted to do in his life.

Sure, he could go for a trade or work in service like his mom. Or do whatever it was the hell it was that Dean did.

The thing was, he didn't want to find himself thirty years in a profession that made him not want to wake up in the morning, something Calvin O'Keeffe in his Woodworking class said was what his dad is going through. Hogarth also didn't see himself as a "people-person" like his mom was, able to pull a smile and a hearty tip from even the most stoic of customers. Lastly, while Hogarth had a creative bone or two in his body, he was pretty sure that illustrators were a dime a dozen and he knew for a fact that Dean had to be doing something on the side in order to provide for them. Not that he had any idea what it was. But Hogarth was more than certain that sculptures of two-headed dragons, among other things, didn't always sell that well. His line of work couldn't possibly be stable all on its own, but what did he know?

And to hell with working for the government. He overheard it being suggested to his mom by men in black suits and black fedoras when no one knew he was eavesdropping.

He imagined himself in the hands of the Giant as he flew through the air. Forget about needing to find a job here in the real world. Forget about silly stuff like needing to breathe oxygen. They'd soar past the stratosphere, past the troposphere. They'd be surrounded by stars and head for the moon.

"Look out your window and I'll be gone," Hogarth muttered to himself as he watched the stars twinkle above. He silently decided to stay up here until he saw the sun rise. He figured he could sleep in class. He got all As anyway.

"Hogarth?"

"..."

"Hogarth?"

"..."

"C'mon, Hogarth. This paper ain't gonna write itself."

Hogarth blinked open his eyes and his eyes adjusted to the harsh yellow light of the cafeteria. The jarring sound of high school chatter, a sound he'd somehow been able to tune out by just simply closing his eyes, attacked his ears all at once. In front of him, he saw the bespectacled face of Kimo Pelekai, his friend since freshman year. The boy sat across from him at the lunch table the two were sitting at. His large ears stuck out and his mouth was open, as if he was about to say something again. He was from Hawai'i and, when his dad got a job offer on the mainland, had transferred to Rockwell's own Anderson S. Stanfield High School, an establishment lovingly nicknamed ASS by the local youth. The school had the nickname coming, in Hogarth's opinion.

Kimo was an interesting character, second only to Hogarth in interest in space. But where Hogarth enjoyed art and spent a lot of his time sketching out various things in his imagination, Kimo was more interested in science and at any given afternoon, you could hear the sound of him tinkering away in his family's garage. Additionally, once you got Kimo going on a certain subject, he wouldn't stop chattering about it for hours. So, while Hogarth couldn't pinpoint the exact moment his first year of high school when they became friends, it was no surprise to anyone that they would become almost inseparable.

Hell, the guy even skipped a grade too.

Oddballs attract oddballs, he figured.

"Aw, cool it, Kimo," Hogarth said, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Blinking some more, he reached his fingers behind his neck and started scratching there. "You know I use lunch to sleep."

"Uh, no," replied Kimo, speaking around the food in his mouth. Corn, probably. "Lunch is for eatin'. Plus, I know this already. You prob'ly stayed up all night stargazin' and gettin' your head goin' 100 miles an hour. But that doesn't matter. We've got this." Seemingly out of nowhere, or maybe Hogarth was just tired, the boy pulled out a paper. A paper covered in words, words that meant something, obviously. He was just too tired to read what it said.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Rules for the final paper," answered Kimo. He wiped the table with the sleeve of his jacket before placing the paper down, right side up facing Hogarth. "The instructions and guidelines about what ideas are allowed."

"Oh," was Hogarth's response. The final science paper of junior year. He remembered his science teacher, Dr. Shelnutt, talking about it in class. In the process of Kimo and Hogarth graduating to the eleventh grade, the school had given Dr. Shelnutt reign over the sophomore and junior physical science classes, so the boys had him two years in a row. Thing is, it was a sort of catch 22. The two greatly enjoyed the teacher's company and would frequently talk to him about concepts outside of class, but the teacher also had the idea that the boys were headed for greatness, a belief that had them being called on in class all the time, despite the raised hands of other students. Hogarth could never get away with sleeping in that class, the first class of the day. Dr. Shelnutt wanted to "Push them to their limits" as he liked to say. Hogarth didn't care for the sentiment. Just because he did the stupid homework didn't mean he wanted to be teacher's pet.

Sure, talking to the man all the time about this and that sure didn't help, but still.

"Well," Hogarth yawned. "You got an idea?" He remembered that they were allowed to be in groups of two or three for the project.

"I'm not really sure. Maybe about the solar eclipse in July." Kimo started peeling his orange while he explained. "Remember that?"

"Yeah, I remember," Hogarth responded. "The one in July." He smiled as he stirred his mashed potatoes around in his tray with his plastic spoon. "Won't be for another sixty years, man."

"Bitchin'", said Kimo while Hogarth nodded in agreement.

"How long does it have to be," Hogarth asked, stifling a yawn. "I don't remember what he said about it, but I hope it's not that much."

"Uh," Kimo pushed his glasses up his nose while he looked over the paper. His fingers ran down the page searching for where the answer was located. "Um, about ten pages?"

Hogarth's eyes widened in surprise. He ran his hand through his hair in distress. "How the hell are we gonna talk about a solar eclipse for ten whole pages?" Eyeing the paper, he grabbed for it. "Gimme that." He quickly scanned the paper saying where the ten-page rule was. "Ten pages, my ass," he muttered to himself.

"Well," Kimo drew out the word. "It's more like ten pages maximum. But!" he held out his hand when Hogarth opened his mouth in order to voice his complaints. "It's extra credit if we do the maximum. And you know how tough of a grader Shelnutt is."

"Yeah," Hogarth said, frustration still thick in his voice. "He's like jerky. Tell me something I don't know." He used his fork to point at Kimo. "Still. We're not doing ten whole pages, Kimo." He moved to the left so he could avoid what seemed to be a flying apple poorly aimed at the trashcan behind him. "There's brown-nosing and then there's just plain obnoxious." On account of Kimo's glasses fogging up from the steam of his mashed potatoes, Hogarth couldn't discern what the other's face looked like. "Seven pages," he finished.

"Nine pages," Kimo countered.

"Eight pages," Hogarth said. "Else you're gonna need to find a new writing partner."

Kimo gave a little shurg and began shoveling green peas in his mouth.

"Hey, Kimo?"

"Yeah?" A few peas fell out of his mouth and Kimo cursed softly.

"You're always gonna be Shelnutt's favorite student, you know that right?" Hogarth might not notice everything, but he noticed a lot of things about Kimo. Namely about the way he presented himself. He was the new kid, always the new kid. Even when there were newer kids, Kimo always stuck out. He was the only kid who wasn't white in the entire school and there was no end in sight for all the mean-spirited comments that would eventually come his way. He wanted to, at the very least, be a good student, even a favorite one. Hogarth remembered Kimo telling him that he didn't want to be remembered as the only Hawaiian kid who ever lived in Rockwell, however cool that might be. He wanted to be remembered for what he did and he wanted people to like him, not just the Hughes-McCoppin household. So, whenever Kimo was able to pull a smile or a compliment out of Dr. Shelnutt, it was an accomplishment he never took lightly.

Kimo shrugged as a smile pulled at the corner of his lips. "Yeah, ok. Now, back to the solar eclipse. It's in a little over a month and we're gonna need some way to view even, after the paper."

"Dean'll fix me up something," Hogarth said, referencing his step-dad. "He's more an arts and crafts guy, but he did make me that telescope that one time, so I'm sure it's right up his alley one way or another."

"We could use arts and crafts," Kimo said thoughtfully. "Imagine how cool it'd be if we had a visual."

"You wanna present it to the class, huh," Hogarth said, not really asking.

"I absolutely wanna present it to the class."

"Gosh, Kimo. You know no one else is gonna do it in front of the class."

"Think about," Kimo said. "It'll stick out. I'll negotiate some extra credit points out of it."

As lunch went on, the two boys discussed how the project would be. What would be the ins and outs of the essay? What would be the best books to use for research? However, at the back of his mind, the same thoughts that had kept Hogarth awake in the morning found a way back to the front of his mind. So as the clock hand traveled closer to the time they would have to leave the cafeteria, and while Kimo was still going on about the logistics of a light box eclipse project, if that was the route they wanted to go on, Hogarth heard the words leave his mouth unprompted.

"Do you ever think about what you're gonna do in the future?"

"Yeah, sometimes," Kimo answered. "It's a loaded question though. Ask anyone here, but I don't know if anyone's gonna give you a straight answer to that."

"Figured," Hogarth answered.

"Probably something cool, though."

"What?"

"In the future, I'm probably gonna do something cool. Like be a spy or something. Take out villains." Kimo finger-gunned at Hogarth. "Get paid. Get chased by beautiful women."

"Shut up, Kimo," Hogarth laughed.

"But honestly, we've got another year to figure that out." And with that, Kimo stood up and picked up his lunch tray. "And you'll probably do some cool stuff too. Not as cool as me, but near there."

Hogarth rolled his eyes in response and followed Kimo to the back of the cafeteria to throw away his trash. Maybe he was right. There was nothing to worry about.