His head is fucking pounding.

When he opens his eyes, the only thing he sees are little flashing lights that make his headache worse. When he opens them for a second time, it's to find that he's staring up at the ceiling of his own living room.

Groaning, Cid puts a hand over his eyes, a hand that throbs violently. "Shera!"

"I'm not Shera."

The low, cold voice coming from beside him sends a jolt of electricity through his heart. He attempts to sit up, but a gentle hand touches his arm, urging him to lie back down on the couch.

It takes him a moment to realize what's going on. The moment he connects the dots and realizes that Charlotte Shinra is sitting in his own fucking house, he begins to panic, his heart racing and cold sweat dripping down the back of his aching neck.

"Cigarette," he murmurs gruffly, feeling sick to his stomach, but he isn't sure if that's due to a concussion or due to Charlie's presence.

Charlie hesitates, but picks up the soft pack of cigarettes on the coffee table, pushing aside two hunting rifles to get to a lighter. Placing a cigarette to his lips, she lights it for him, as well, and Cid has to admit that it's a pretty sight to see President Shinra's daughter waiting on him.

"How long've I been out?" he asks, still feeling drunk. Things are starting to come back to him . . . the way Garret had spoken of Charlie, the way he had looked with blood spilling from a freshly broken nose, the way he had looked when he brought down a thick, empty glass on Cid's head.

"A few hours," she answers, still sounding cold. "You were bleeding. I patched you up the best I could, but I'm not a doctor."

He touches his head lightly, feeling a bandage taped to his hairline, and his hair feels slightly sticky, like there's blood in it. "How'd you get me here?"

"Oster helped me carry you. You're heavy."

"You carried me?" Cid asks.

"If it hadn't been raining, I would have left you on the sidewalk outside the bar."

"Goddamn, Lottie—"

"Don't call me that," she says quickly. Her face is stony, serious, beautiful. Whatever warmth she might have felt towards him earlier is completely gone now, and it angers it, angers him because he'd been defending her.

They look at each other for a long time, mouths drawn tight. The only sound is his ragged breathing and the rain pounding against the rooftop. There's something sad about her, he decides, but when she tucks some hair behind her ear, he catches sight of her engagement ring and finally looks away.

"Why did you have to do that, Cid?" she asks, sounding exasperated with him. He feels no older than a kid, caught by his mother with his pants down.

"You should'a heard what he was sayin' 'bout you," he sighs, closing his eyes again and inhaling deep off his cigarette. "He was talkin' 'bout stickin' it in you and . . . he was sayin' stuff 'bout your cunt, Lottie."

He opens his eyes to see her cheeks turn pretty pink. "I don't need you to defend me," she tells him flatly, holding up an ashtray so he's able to ash his cigarette without much effort. "I didn't ask you to do that. I've heard worse while walking through the slums."

Cid frowns, looking around his messy living room. Shera does her best to keep the place clean, but he's never taken much stock in cleanliness. "Sorry 'bout the mess," he says quietly, only more embarrassed when Charlie looks around the room, pale eyes taking in the clothes thrown over his favorite chair and the guns on the table and the empty beer bottles he's yet to clean up. "I know it ain't the fancy fuckin' place you're used to."

"It's fine," she replies, shrugging it off.

"You talk to Shera?"

"No."

"Too good for that?"

"You're on thin ice, Cid."

Cid falters, putting his cigarette out and sitting up slowly. His knuckles are bruising and bright red, and his wrist hurts like a bitch. "That's rich," he scoffs, watching her eyebrows furrow together. "You come here wavin' that fuckin' ring in my face, and I'm not allowed to live with someone?"

"The someone in question sabotaged our rocket launch, in case you've forgotten," Charlie answers, so confident and sure of herself and arrogant. "You're allowed to do whatever you want. I just thought our launch meant more to you than that."

Cid almost whines when she gets to her feet. "Hang on! You're not leavin' yet! I got a head injury . . . you're not gonna let me die here, are you?"

"I'm sure Shera is capable of caring for you," she says with her eyebrows raised, putting her hands on her hips. "Stop being such a baby."

"I don't even get a 'thank you'?"

"No, you don't."

Gritting his teeth as pain swells in his forehead, Cid makes some incoherent noise at her that sounds more like a growl than anything. Charlie stares down at him, bewildered.

"The money I won from you," she says, gesturing with her thumb over her shoulder, pointing towards the kitchen, "I left it in a bag on the kitchen table for you."

"I don't want your fuckin' blood money," he spits, and the venom in his voice is enough to make her soften, just slightly.

"Fine," she replies, fussing with her ring, twisting it on her finger. "Then give it to someone else."

The fact that she doesn't leave right away gives him some small shred of hope. He doesn't quite know what he wants from her. He wants to talk to her, sure, and it would be a dream to touch her again, to feel such soft skin beneath his rough fingers one more time.

"I saw that speech you gave," he blurts out, knowing that it will likely only lead to another argument, but he can't help it. He's been waiting years to give Charlotte Shinra a piece of his mind, but now that she's standing here right in front of him, his courage seems to fail him. "Execute anyone yet?"

He's done it now and he knows it. He's made her real angry, if she hadn't been angry before. "I should have left you on the street," she hisses at him, looking prepared to throw something else at his head. "Does it feel good to sit up on your patched up sofa of self-righteousness?"

Cid blushes furiously. "Why can't you just leave me the fuck alone, huh?" he asks, hoping that she doesn't take him at his word, hoping that she doesn't walk out that door. "It's been almost five years and I still can't seem to get away from Shinra."

"You should be thanking me for dragging you out of that bar."

"Thank you," he says flatly, wondering if Shera can hear their argument from her bedroom. "You happy now? We gonna have an adult conversation now that doesn't involve arguin'?"

Charlie seems conflicted, dancing back and forth in the threshold of the living room before settling on staying, if only for a little longer. Cid checks the clock hanging on the wall above the television, surprised that it's nearing two in the morning.

She walks back over to him, kneeling at his side and reaching up to touch him. Cid flinches wildly, causing her to pause, wide-eyed. "Stop," she insists, touching the bandage on his forehead. "You're bleeding through your bandage."

"I can take care of myself."

"Just five minutes ago you were acting like a baby."

"That was just the concussion talkin'."

For the first time since he's come to, Charlie smiles. It's a weak smile and a tired one, but it's a smile nonetheless. She pulls back the bandage and tape, taking some of his hair with it, and when she sets it down on the table, Cid sees that it's stained scarlet. She fusses around in the first-aid kit on the floor, pulling out some gauze.

"Hold that to your head, would you?" she asks, holding it out for him to take. Cid does as she says, ignoring the pulsing he feels underneath the pressure he applies. "You could have been seriously hurt."

"Don't tell me now that you care 'bout what happens to me," he mutters, pulling his hand away as she tapes another bandage to his forehead. Cid's eyes flutter closed, her fingers gentle and soft and warm against his skin. When her fingers are lifted, his eyes snap open again.

"Maybe I'm not as callous as you want to believe I am."

"You've given me plenty of reasons to believe you're just like your old man."

"Like what?" she asks, seemingly amused.

"Like orderin' me to sacrifice Shera."

Charlie gives him a look that clearly says she's annoyed with him. It's endearing, familiar, and sort of cute. "I'm not going to apologize for giving you that order. You should be apologizing to me for not obeying it."

He doesn't know what he had expected. Did he really think she was going to apologize? Maybe. Did he want to believe she would be sorry? Yes. But he should have known that wouldn't be the case.

She closes the first-aid kit and puts the bloody bandage into a bag, holding it between her fingertips before sealing it and tossing it back onto the table. All the while, he watches the way the light catches her diamond ring, mocking him with its obvious beauty.

"You don't really wanna marry him, do you?" Cid asks softly, his voice cracking. That must be the concussion, too. "You don't actually wanna marry that fuckin' goon, do you?"

Charlie gives him a level stare, betraying nothing in her tired face. "Yes," she answers, just as quiet, "I do."

"C'mon, Lottie, that ain't you. Look at what he is . . . he's just some prick on your father's payroll, makin' money off your father's crimes—"

"Reeve isn't like that," she interrupts him, her voice firm. "He's different."

He scoffs, rolling his eyes and irritating her further. "Famous last words."

"I think I know him a little better than you do."

"I thought you were different," he says again.

Charlie shrugs, at a loss. "Then maybe you didn't really know me as well as you thought you did."

Cid feels a lump form in his throat. It wasn't enough that, over four years ago, the woman he loved dismissed him from the best job he'd ever had and never spoke to him afterwards, but now she has to be here, defending some Shinra prick to his face. He'll never escape Charlie, it seems, and it's equal parts terrifying and infuriating and humiliating.

"Then what're you doin' here, in Rocket Town?" he asks her, turning his head to look right into her face. She looks like she could sleep for days, blinking slowly at him.

To his surprise, his question seems to make Charlie nervous. She smiles a small smile at him, unable to find proper words for a few moments. "Research."

"Research, my ass." His head is swimming. "You're such a fuckin' liar, Charlie."

"You think I came here for you?"

"I won't pretend I didn't hope that was the case." He turns away from her, looking directly at the rough fabric of his couch. "Should'a known better, I guess. You ain't the same person I thought you were four years ago. I know that now."

"You think that I was just pretending to be someone else around you? All those years ago?"

"I dunno what to think anymore."

"Cid," she begins breathlessly, and the sound of his name rolling off her tongue like that makes him warm around the collar, "I . . ."

When she doesn't continue, Cid presses her, needing to know what she's thinking. "What?" He feels bad suddenly, when he notices how close she looks to crying. Sitting up on the couch, he moves his legs, making room for her. "Here, you ain't gotta sit on that hard floor."

Charlie pauses, but eventually takes him up on his offer, sitting down on the couch, trying to keep as much distance between them as possible. Cid regrets it; her face had been so close to his while she sat on the floor, and now she feels a million miles away.

"Lottie, what's goin' on?"

She doesn't correct him again. That's a good sign.

Charlie shakes her head. "I'm not going to bother you with my own problems. You should probably get some rest. I need to get back to the inn." She gets to her feet again, wringing her hands together in front of her. Maybe it's not only him that's nervous. "Do you really not want the money?"

Of course he wants the money, but he can't look weak right now. "No."

"Well . . . I'll leave it there. You can give it away if you really don't want it." Charlie holds her hands behind her back as she turns in the threshold again, looking at him with what seems like pity. "I hope you don't mind if I ask to see the rocket again sometime this week?"

Cid nods slowly. After what she did for him tonight, it's the least he can do for her, especially after what she said about the Tiny Bronco.

Before she leaves, she stops again, looking over her shoulder at him. "For what it's worth," she sighs, "I wasn't going to give that speech, but I . . ." She wraps her arms around herself. "I guess I'm not as brave as I thought I was."

"Scared of your daddy's reaction?" he asks gently. "Is he the angry type?"

"No, it's not that, really," she replies with a sad smile. "I guess I just wanted him to be proud of me."

"Who the fuck cares what he thinks 'bout anythin'?"

"I do," she says sharply. "He's still my father."

Cid exhales loudly, lighting up another smoke as he hears the front door open and close, the rumbling of a truck's engine cutting through the soft pitter-patter of the rain.

She's always been a Shinra, you fucking moron, he thinks to himself, still able to smell the flowery scent of her perfume. No matter what she says, she'll always be a Shinra.

One minute she had been on the phone with Pia, rescheduling a meeting with a caterer, and the next minute she had heard the cracking of a broken nose and she was screaming his name.

Oster had been sweet, helping Charlie and the bartender lift an unconscious Cid into the backseat of the truck she had rented, shoving him inside unceremoniously, the three of them all grumbling about how stupid he had been. It was only on the way back to Cid's house that Oster had told her what exactly caused Cid to do what he did, which only made Charlie angrier.

When Shera had opened the door, bleary-eyed and in a horrible-looking plaid nightgown that Charlie would never be caught dead in, to find Oster supporting Cid underneath his arms and Charlotte Shinra holding onto his legs, she had let them in without a word.

Thankfully, Oster had explained everything to Shera. The only words Charlie and Shera had exchanged were a polite offering and refusal of tea, and then Shera had moseyed back down a hallway towards the back of the house.

"Do you know where I might find a first-aid kit?" Charlie had asked, and Oster had fetched one from beneath the kitchen sink, placed it on the coffee table, and thanked her for the money she had returned to him before leaving, walking back to his own house with one of Cid's old and ragged umbrellas.

She can't deny that the hours spent in silence were awkward. Cid had moaned and groaned a little bit while she was working on his head, but he hadn't been able to form any proper words, and she remembers that his breath had smelled strongly of alcohol, his lips chapped and his skin dry and leathery from the sun.

And yet, while Charlie had spent most of her time flipping through the magazines on the coffee table (flipping over the one with her face on it), she had taken the time to get a good look at him while she was able, half afraid that his eyes would snap open as she was examining his face.

The bridge of his nose had been slightly crooked, like it had been broken before and never quite healed right. The hair at his temples had been lighter than the rest, slightly grayer at his hairline. Charlie had stopped herself before touching his exposed collar bone, fingers hovering above his skin, wondering what it would feel like to touch him there, smooth and soft and warm.

His lips had been slightly parted, drawing in ragged breaths loudly. And just as Charlie had been about to leave him, sleeping soundly on the sofa, she had heard it—so soft that she hadn't believed it at first.

"Charlotte," he'd mumbled, the next few words soft and incoherent.

"Don't worry," she had whispered to him, settling onto the floor beside him. "I'm here."

The gesture had been sweet, she'll admit. Despite Cid's overreaction, the idea of him springing to action at all to defend her causes something long tucked away to stir within her. To think, after all this time, after all these years, after everything that happened . . . to think that Cid might still hold some regard for her . . .

Not that it matters. She hadn't come here for Cid, and she hopes he understands that. She hadn't come here for her rocket either. She had come to Rocket Town to seek something she doesn't quite understand, to see if she could, in some way, find a piece of herself she feels she's been missing since the day of the launch.

Perhaps she's searching for a thrill, for a new adventure, something to break the tediously dull cycle of her life, even just for a few days. Maybe she just wants to be herself again, to step away from the life of puppetry she's been leading, to distance herself from her work, from the company, from Shinra, just for a little bit.

She thought she would find it among the stars, her former self, but that hadn't quite been the case.

She had only found that thrill while sitting in Cid Highwind's living room, remembering how he had once made her feel, remembering how it had felt to be someone other than President Shinra's daughter, remembering how it had felt to be excited and hopeful, remembering how it felt to kiss a pilot in an open field on a starry night without immediately worrying about consequences.

President Shinra had been right.

Cid is fun, and exciting. He's spontaneous and doesn't take himself too seriously. He does what he wants without having to report to someone above him. He hasn't lost sight of himself like Charlie has, still the same man he had been four years ago, but bitter and jealous and . . .

Unable to move past the rocket launch, just like her.

It's history now to everyone at Shinra Inc. So much time has passed and so many other projects have been developed and planned that Charlie's failure seems forgotten now. It had just been a very small piece of Shinra's history, now tucked away in the archives for anyone who's curious enough to go snooping.

She's about to lie down and go to sleep when her phone pings! through the darkness. Charlie opens her text to find it's from Cid, short and sweet and to the point.

My place, noon tomorrow.

Charlie hesitates. She hasn't seen Cid's name come through on her phone for a long time. Regardless, she types up a simple reply, sending it through before going to sleep.

OK.

"Need a man's help?"

"Nope. I think—I've—" Charlie grunts and there's a loud clank! that makes Cid slightly nervous. "Got it!"

"What was that noise?" he asks shrilly, moving around the Tiny Bronco to make sure Charlie hasn't fucked up the engine too bad. He shouldn't have doubted her for a second, however, for the engine looks picture perfect, just the way he left it. "Shit, good job, Lottie."

"You want to double-check before we start it?"

"Huh?"

Charlie wipes her greasy hands on the front of her white (now stained gray and black) t-shirt, a light jacket thrown over her shoulders, the same one she had been wearing last night at the bar, the one with the Shinra patch on the sleeve. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail, some loose strands falling on either side of her face, tucked back behind her ears every so often. She had taken her engagement ring off when it was clear she was going to be getting dirty, and Cid's rather glad to see her finger bare again.

She taps the wrench in her left hand against the palm of her right hand, looking down to admire her work as Cid lingers on the other side, eyes drawn to her chest. As she bends down to place the wrench on top of his toolbox in the grass, he's gifted a wonderful sight, a pretty little sight of cleavage that he hasn't been afforded in a long time.

"I said, do you want to double-check it?"

Cid blinks at her, snapping out of whatever trance she put him under. "Do I need to?"

Charlie raises her eyebrows, smiling as she wipes her hands off on an old hand towel. He blushes, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, unable to look away from her. "What's wrong?" she asks him, so fucking innocently, touching her cheeks with long, thin fingers. "Is there something on my face?"

He clears his throat. "No," he answers. "No, it's fine. Let's start her up."

"If it doesn't work this time, I'll scream."

Cid laughs, hopping up into the pilot's seat of the Tiny Bronco just as the sun is beginning to set.

She had shown up to his house five minutes early, texting him to let him know she had arrived. It hasn't surprised him in the slightest—he's certain she only avoided knocking to avoid seeing Shera's face.

He had taken Charlie around back to take a look at his plane. The wing had needed some repairs, so they had done that first, and Charlie did everything he asked of her, and did it well. That had taken them hours, but the engine had been quicker, especially with the two of them working together, falling back into a routine like the last four years hadn't even happened.

Sometimes she would reach up high, and Cid would catch a tiny sliver of her pale skin as her shirt began to ride up. Her cheeks would get flushed the longer they worked, and conversation came so naturally, even when he would drift off into his own fucking world where the only people who existed were him and Lottie.

The afternoon had gone by too quickly, and the both of them had only taken a short break to stuff their faces with sandwiches and drinking a single

bottle of beer before moving on.

He doesn't want it to end.

Charlie takes a few steps back, crossing her arms over her chest as he starts up the Tiny Bronco. The first time, the propeller tries, but Charlie encourages him to start it again, and the second time the engine roars to life, the propeller spinning quick, quickly, quicker.

She throws a fist in the air and smiles, reminiscent of the nineteen-year-old girl he used to know. "We did it!" she shouts over the loud rumbling of the plane.

Cid takes a chance, for the first time in a long time. "Wanna go for a test fly?"

Charlie's face lights up, her smile widening with her eyes. The setting sun shines down on her like a spotlight, and something in him softens at the sight of her looking so fucking normal, so excited and happy at the prospect of a flight around town in his plane.

Without answering, Charlie climbs up into the seat behind him, buckling herself in and accepting the extra pair of goggles from him. She looks goofy with them on, made goofier by the toothy smile she flashes at him.

"Are you ready?" he shouts at her, glancing over his shoulder to see her nod.

The moment the Tiny Bronco takes off into the cool autumn air, Charlie screams. It startles him, and he turns around best he can to see what's wrong, but nothing's wrong, nothing at all. Her arms are spread wide as if hoping to embrace the clouds, and she's laughing with her mouth open wide, cheeks bright pink and ponytail whipped around by the wind.

Cid turns back around, facing forward, his heart beating fast, a smile growing on his face. He hasn't flown the Tiny Bronco in about a year, not since a storm had fucked up the plane's wing real bad. He could have asked Shera to help, but she's so goddamn slow about things, and the last thing he wanted was to accidentally erupt on her for fucking something up even though she just wanted to help.

He flies Charlie around Rocket Town, a beautiful sight as the village darkens and lights begin to flicker on inside the buildings to create, on high, the perfect picture for a postcard. He lands shortly afterwards, not wanting to exhaust his little biplane so shortly after fixing it, and wanting to see if he has the courage to take one more chance.

As Charlie removes her goggles, rubbing at the imprints the material has left against her smooth and unblemished skin, Cid cracks his knuckles in an attempt to distract himself from the sight of her pulling her ponytail out, shaking her head and running a hand through her wavy hair.

"Listen, Lottie," he begins slowly, and she smiles at him encouragingly, not at all the cold and frigid Charlotte he had spoken to just last night. "You did me a big solid, helpin' me fix the Tiny Bronco."

"Oh, I didn't mind at all," she replies, zipping up her jacket. "Thanks for giving me a ride. It was exhilarating."

He swells with pride. "I was thinkin' . . . y'know, we've got four or so years to catch up on. I might have some leftovers in the kitchen we can take up to the rocket or somethin'."

"The rocket?"

"Yeah, it's—sometimes I like to sit up there, you know?"

"And look at the stars?"

He nods, shrugging his shoulders. "Yeah, you know me."

Charlie considers him for a long time, trying to stifle a smile, but failing miserably. She bites down on her lower lip, worrying it between perfect teeth. "I have a lot of work to do," she says, and Cid can feel his stomach twist and his heart drops. "But ask me again tomorrow, okay?"

He nods slowly, recovering his dignity. "Okay."

She allows herself a genuine smile, then. Her eyes crinkle up at the corners and there's a shallow dimple on her left cheek. "How's your head feeling?"

"Pretty sure my brain's a little rattled," he jokes, only half-serious, "but I think I'll live. Thanks, doc."

"Good to know you've still got your wits about you, at least."

Cid laughs, exhaling through his nose. "Thanks for not leavin' me on the sidewalk, Lottie."

"What can I say?" she shrugs, looking pleased with herself in a way that makes him laugh again. It's like she's a different person now than the one he sees on television, different even from the woman who had dragged him back home last night. "I see a poor man in distress and my heart just aches for him."

Placing a hand over his head, Cid replies, "My hero."

Charlie seems to think it's funny, but he catches sight of something sad in her face. Up close, she always seems to look sad. "What time tomorrow?"

"For what?"

"What time should I meet you?"

"I ain't even asked you yet," he says, putting his hands on his hips. "What if I changed my mind?" He expects her to answer with some witty comeback, something to keep him on his toes, but she says nothing at all, looking down at her the boots on her feet. "I was just kiddin', Lottie. I didn't mean to—" hurt your feelings? what do i care about her feelings, she ain't nothing to me—

Charlie lifts her eyes to cock an eyebrow at him. "You didn't mean to what?"

"Huh?"

This makes her laugh again, so soft and sweet and just for him. "Don't you ever listen?"

"What do you mean?" He knows what she means. Half the time he's too busy thinking his own thoughts to realize she's started talking. "I'm just thinkin', that's all."

"Are you going to tell me what you're thinking?" she asks, holding her hands behind her back and raising both eyebrows.

"Tell my deep dark secrets to a Shinra?" he teases, and his joke seems to fall slightly flat. If he hadn't hurt her feelings before, it certainly seems like he has now. The smile vanishes from her face, and she has the grace to look ashamed. "I'm fuckin' it all up, ain't I?"

Charlie shakes her head. "No, I don't think so."

"Then let me at least walk you back to your truck."

"It's only on the other side of the house."

But Cid insists, walking her around the house, not through, back to the army green truck sitting out front. He even opens the door for her, but she lingers just outside it, chewing anxiously on her lip. He's glad for it—he isn't quite ready to say good-bye, either, especially after spending all day without once arguing, without bringing up their nasty history.

"I have something to ask you," she whispers, as if there might be people listening close by. Cid's sure she's used to Headquarters, where the walls likely have eyes and ears.

"What is it?"

She looks over her shoulder towards his house, the television light flickering in the living room window. "Why do you live with her?"

"She keeps the house tidy."

Charlie doesn't laugh. She nods reluctantly, climbing into the truck and digging the key out of her pants pocket. She makes to close the door, but Cid catches it, strong enough to hold it open even as she attempts to shut herself in.

"She ain't got nowhere else to go, Lottie," he tells her, and it's only half a lie. "She just wants to make up for what she did." Cid grunts as Charlie tries to slam the door shut again, nearly shutting it on his arm. "Stop doin' that! You're gonna hurt me!"

"Then move your arm so I can shut the door." The engine roars to life as she turns the key in the ignition.

"Tell me you're gonna meet me tomorrow evenin'."

Charlie turns her head to look at him, thoroughly annoyed with him, it seems. "We'll see."

Cid allows her to close the door, the window still down. He places a hand on the blunt edge of it, watching her put the truck in gear rather moodily. "Put your damn seatbelt on, Lottie, 'fore you go flyin' out the windshield and give me a heart attack. I ain't gonna be the one to tell your daddy you died out here."

He fully expects another annoyed look from her, but the look she gives him then is one that's slightly more endearing, and she puts her seatbelt on like he says. He smiles and takes a few steps backwards as she rolls the window up, looking a little more at ease now.

The engine sputters once, but she makes her exit as gracefully as one can while in a beat up truck that leaves behind black clouds, polluting the air of Rocket Town like she's back in Midgar.

Regardless of what that fucking truck exhales into the clean air, Cid can't deny that it had been real nice to hear her laugh again, to see her smile from the back of his Tiny Bronco, to look at him with an expression that was so familiar, so loving and friendly and warm.

Fuck her, he thinks. She makes it so fucking hard to hate her.