...and the tweaking continues...much love.

By the time the boy stopped running, Chihiro was gasping for breath, her lungs painfully empty and her hand aching from the force of his grip. Disoriented and dizzy, she would have collapsed, had he not been holding onto her. As it was, she slumped to her knees; feeling the extra weight, the boy finally released her, and she fell gratefully to the damp grass. She was never a runner to begin with, so having to keep up with a sprinter of unnatural speed had been exhausting.

The boy, having surveyed the inky sky above them, turned around to face Chihiro, his pewter-green eyes seeming to bore straight into her skin. She imagined it would be very difficult to have to lie to him, and hoped it would never be necessary.

"Do you remember how to survive here?" the boy asked briskly; she could tell, from his clipped tone, that he fully predicted her answer to be "no". Frustrated already, Chihiro found it rather easy to slip into anger.

"Do not patronize me," she snapped. "You know I don't remember a damned thing." She glared heatedly at him, daring him to refute her statement.

The boy arched an eyebrow at her. "I see you've expanded your vocabulary," he remarked mildly. Chihiro scowled.

"You do realize that being condescending does absolutely nothing in the way of helping me?"

The boy only smiled with what looked suspiciously like amusement, and offered her a smooth-palmed hand. She stared at it for a moment, before deciding to swallow her pride; her legs hadn't quite recovered from their trek, and she doubted it would be extremely easy to get to her feet on her own. Warily she grasped the proffered hand, and with his help, stood up again, her head finally beginning to feel as though it had stopped spinning on her shoulders.

The boy didn't release her hand immediately; instead, he brought his other hand to her shoulder, and Chihiro could clearly feel its warm strength through the thin material of her T-shirt.

"Listen to me, Chihiro."

Chihiro blinked, still not used to hearing her name issue from the lips of this unfamiliar boy. Realizing that he had paused to wait for some sign of assent, Chihiro nodded for him to continue.

"I'll help you across the bridge. But you cannot breathe while you're crossing."

Even the tiniest breath will break the spell.

Ignoring the whisper, Chihiro attempted to clarify exactly what he meant. "You mean...I have to hold my breath the whole time?"

He nodded. "Exactly." A wry smile flitted briefly across his lips. "You were lucky last time."

Chihiro bit back a frustrated sigh, not remembering the "last time" to what the boy was referring. "I...I understand," she replied haltingly. "No breathing. Got it."

"Then, you must make your way along the outside of the bathhouse; there is a set of stairs to follow. At their end, you will find the boiler-room." He paused. "With me so far?"

Chihiro swallowed hard. "Yeah."

"You'll have to demand a job of the man who works there. His name is Kamaji." The boy paused thoughtfully. "He very well might recognize you...though even if he doesn't, he'll know exactly who you are once you tell him your name."

As he uttered these words, his expression darkened, and his eyes became stony. "You must remember your name, Chihiro. You must. Yubaba will try to take it from you, and you must do everything in your power to keep from forgetting."

He brought his hand to her other shoulder, so that he now had an unbearably tight hold on her. "Do you understand me?"

A small gasp escaped her lips, as his hands clenched into her flesh. "Yes!"

"Are you certain?" His eyes narrowed, his grip becoming painful.

Chihiro winced, inhaling sharply. "You're hurting me."

His hands immediately went slack, and she took the opportunity to wrench herself free. "And yes, I understand, as I have an intelligence level slightly higher than a toadstool, thank you," she said acidly.

The boy look stunned, and took a step back from her. The hardness had gone from his face; he now appeared vulnerable as he studied her.

"I don't understand how you were able to come back, Chihiro," he murmured, and something intense and nameless burned suddenly in his eyes.

"It wasn't entirely my doing," she said softly, averting her gaze.

The boy took a slow, deep breath, but didn't respond. Chihiro continued to stare at her shoes, until, a moment later, he grabbed her hand.

"Are you ready to go back?" he asked, giving Chihiro a long, scrutinizing look. She jerked her head and said nothing, not trusting herself to speak; the seriousness of the situation had begun to sink in.

"I know you'll be all right," he said firmly, his hand tightening around hers.

Chihiro tried to smile, but her heart wasn't in it. "I certainly hope so," she managed to say.

The boy gave her a surprisingly warm smile that reached to his eyes, and began running, an astonishing burst of speed that took Chihiro's breath away as he pulled her with him.

Whipping past expanses of shadowy grass, and the eerily glowing restaurants, Chihiro tried to ignore the wispy black shapes that seemed to crop up everywhere she looked.

Soon enough, the run was over, and Chihiro didn't feel quite as tired as she had before. They halted at the seam where the wooden bridge met the stone walkway. Now that she saw it again, the bridge looked impossibly long, when measured in seconds her lungs could recycle one breath of air.

It doesn't matter, you'll do all right, she told herself. Even he thinks so, and he certainly doesn't strike me as an overwhelmingly positive character. She glanced over at him, noticing that his jaw was set tightly and his eyes were fixed on the bathhouse, close yet far. So mysterious...

Making up her mind, Chihiro tugged on the boy's arm, turning him to face her. His eyes were once again shuttered and blank, but she knew that he was nervous for her, and for some reason, the thought was strengthening.

"You know my name. What's yours?" she asked abruptly, training her gaze on his face.

He wore no expression, but his gaze had the same strange intensity as before.

"My name is Haku," he replied, after a moment of apparent indecision; his voice caught slightly on the name.

"Now, take the deepest breath you possibly can."