Squee and Devi sat in the living room for the next few hours, talking and watching movies. Turned out Johnny was something of a film buff. They were halfway through a black-and-white drama (French with English subtitles) when they realized Nny had disappeared somewhere. Quite frankly, neither of them cared to go looking for him.

Without warning, there came a knock at the door. Squee jumped, falling off of the couch. Devi turned off the DVD player and got up to see who was there.

"Hi. I think we misplaced somebody," slurred a bearded man, leaning heavily on the doorframe.

"Um. Hi." Devi glanced back into the house. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"I think…uh…who'd we leave again?" The man turned to an unseen person. "Honey, who'd we—"

"Some kid," called a female voice. "Real short and screams a lot."

"Oh. You're Squee's parents," sighed Devi. "You sure you want him to go home now?"

"Huh? Oh. Yeah, I think."

Squee hid behind Devi, just barely peeking through the crook of her arm. His father spotted him and made a clumsy lunge for him. Squee squeaked in terror and fled into the living room.

"What's going on?" snapped Johnny, appearing in time to barely avoid colliding with Squee. "Why's he so—what the hell are they doing here?"

"Apparently, they'd like their son back," sighed Devi. "But they look kind of unstable. Think we should release him into their custody?"

Johnny surveyed Squee's parents with open disdain.

"Let him go with them? I might be crazy, but I'm not stupid."

And with that parting statement, Nny kicked the door closed.

"Thank you," mumbled Squee after his father quit pounding on the door. "Are they gone now?"

Devi peered through an opening in the boarded-up window.

"Yeah, they're gone," she snorted. "Your dad just ran into the mailbox."

Squee giggled in spite of himself. He caught Nny out of the corner of his eye giving a small grin. Devi laughed loudly at some new idiocy that Squee's parents committed, and Squee's spirits lifted instantly.

"Now what do we do?" asked Nny, leaning against the door.

"I vote we go watch more movies," Devi announced, moving toward the living room.

"What do you think, Squee?" Johnny glanced at him. "Movies?"

"Sounds good."

-Z?-

Johnny stared intently at the clock on the wall. Its ancient pendulum swung creakily back and forth, counting the seconds very audibly. Eleven-thirty pm. Only half an hour left to Valentines Day. A strange feeling of relief mixed with regret washed over him, and he hugged his knees to his chest as if to block it out.

So much had happened since Squee's parents left. Twenty minutes had elapsed, but it seemed like longer. Squee somehow found an unpopped bag of popcorn and prepared it. Devi dug out Nny's copy of Edward Scissorhands, and the subsequent argument put another hole in the wall above the television.

They ended up watching the movie, by the way. Still staring at the clock, Johnny missed Edward's rather unfortunate introduction to the character of Kim. He actually tuned out the screaming until Devi poked him and brought his attention back to the screen.

Devi. Why did she chase him so? The very idea of her being so…aggressive with him warranted a fair amount of concern. Perhaps she was going through that "midlife crisis" thing a bit early and felt like she needed to make amends with people.

Or something to that effect.

"Nny, pay attention!" Devi poked him harder.

Johnny resisted the urge to disembowel Devi. Instead, he hugged his knees to his chest, fingernails cutting through the fabric covering his legs. Devi didn't notice—or just didn't care—as her gaze was focused once more on the television.

Eleven forty-five.

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A/N: again, sorry about the shortness of the chappie. >. i havent had too much time to write lately. i promise things will finish up soon. after all, theres only 15 minutes left of v-day. lol.

(btw, im starting a lot of new writing--serious writing, though, so i wont be posting it here--so i may not be able to update for a bit. one of my new friends is giving me many ideas--though most are unintentional, i imagine. sigh ah, the curse of the writer...)