Update! But, I have some bad news, guys. It seems like I have upset the Dialogue Faerie--she didn't come visit for this chapter... at all. Dx

Well, I hope it's alright, anyways... Next chapter should be TONS more chatty, I swear. It's just so hard to come up with lots of dialogue when you're writing for Vaughn. I mean, come on, the man hardly talks at all! Oh well, I'll just do better next time. I hope you enjoy this chapter anyways, and even though it looks shorter than the others, it's actually about the same word count--there's just not a lot of new paragraphs Dx

And, a little note as to why neither this nor my original fiction have really been worked on: I have this weird lump thing in my throat and I've been at the hospital pretty much every day this break for scans and an ultrasound and all that fun stuff. So I have an excuse. I think. xP

Enjoy :3

The room was silent and nearly pitch-black. The only light that could be seen came from a small digital clock's reading: 4:00 A.M.

A loud beeping suddenly blared from said clock, jolting the sleeping man next to it awake. He rolled over, slapping his hand down on the snooze bar. But he wasn't planning on snoozing, oh no. It was time to get to work.

Flopping himself off the side of his futon, he rubbed some of the sleep out of his eyes and trudged to the bathroom. He cringed away from the light as he first turned it on and then splashed his face with cold water from the sink. He dried off his face, looking at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes narrowed some and he sighed.

He'd dreamt about her again. It had been five nights since he'd met her on that island, and three of those nights had cursed him with that girl in his subconscious mind. It'd always start off the same—he'd wake up on that island and go out for work—but then it'd change a little. One time in the dream she'd been talking at him in the animal shop. Another time she'd run up to him and given him a bowl of porridge. And then this last night they had been walking in the forest together in silence.

Now, none of these seem like very odd scenarios. They all seem like things that could very well happen in real life. The thing that made this series of dreams weird was that Vaughn never dreamed about other people. Hell, he barely even had dreams about himself—so why on earth should he be dreaming about this annoying farmer girl?

Scowling, he trudged out of the bathroom and into his dimly-lit apartment. It was one room, not including the bathroom, with the north wall turned into the designated kitchen area. The rest of the room was filled with a futon—his bed and his couch all in one—and an old reclining chair that he never used, along with some mismatch side tables and an ancient television that hadn't been turned on in weeks. He switched his small coffeepot on and opened up his refrigerator, scanning for any leftovers that could possibly still be edible. His search was futile. Giving up, he walked over to the worn dresser against the far wall and pulled out his attire or the day to change.

After he got most of his outfit on, he poured himself a cup of steaming coffee and took a sip, burning his mouth. He grimaced and tugged his gloves on, wishing there were some way to cool coffee down to the perfect temperature ASAP. Upon thinking on it further, he realized that he actually didn't care, and took another scalding sip.

He glanced at his clock and let out a curse—he was late. The boat for Flowerbud Village was leaving in ten short minutes. He downed the rest of the hot, bitter caffeine and tugged on his boots. He'd just got his hat on his head as he speed-walked out the door and down the hall. He took the stairs down the two flights to the ground floor and hurried out onto the dark, empty sidewalk. He cherished this time he had alone, walking to the pier. It was the same with most of his boat rides—and his job involved quite a few of them. He rather disliked being on the job in places like Flowerbud Village, where he often had to speak to people on a regular basis.

The thing that mainly got to him when it came to talking to people was how fake they seemed. None of them ever really wanted to talk to him. It was just their instinct of common courtesy that had them greeting him whenever they walked by, or whenever he sold to them. It seemed like it'd been years since someone had genuinely cared about how he was doing when they asked…

Vaughn boarded the boat just before it set off to sea for the six-hour passage to Flowerbud. He took his usual seat on the top deck and stared out at the dark waves, reconstructing his hard mask for yet another day's wear.

* * *

A small thread of weak light shown through the window and onto her eyelids. Feeling the warmth, she rolled over in her messy bed, her tattered quilt tangled in her legs and spilling onto the floor. She slowly opened her eyes before bringing her hands up to her face to rub away the grogginess. Sighing, she flipped into her back and stretched out her limbs, smiling faintly as a few of her bones popped nicely.

She pushed herself up and into a sitting position, wiping the corner of her mouth self-consciously—her mother had told her a while back that she drooled adorably in her sleep. Yawning, she stood up and stretched out her back. She grabbed her brush off her nightstand and pulled it through her chestnut hair, frowning as she yanked out some of the tougher knots. She switched the brush back out for her bandana and tied it on her head before changing out of her nightshirt and into her shorts and her yellow and orange shirts. She tugged on her red rubber boots and grabbed one of Wednesday night's biscuits from her table. It was getting stale, which was something she should have been expecting—after all, it had been made five days ago.

Chelsea frowned thoughtfully as she sat and nibbled on her food. Wednesday… she'd met Vaughn five days ago, and five days ago he'd surprised her and accepted the bottle of milk. Of course, he completely ignored her on Thursday when she came into the animal shop to say hello to Mirabelle and Julia, and she'd been to afraid to go up to him to start a conversation.

No… Afraid wasn't the right word. Intimidated, maybe, but she knew she wasn't afraid of that cowboy. He was cold, and she had realized back on Friday that she would get nowhere with him if she was waiting from him to talk to her. She'd have to gather up her courage and come up with something to talk about if she wanted to be his friend. The question was, what was she supposed to talk to him about?

Slumping her shoulders, she stood up and grabbed her rucksack, preparing to head out for another day's work. Her stomach wasn't anywhere near full, but she'd learned to get used to it—she'd also noticed some edible herbs growing around the town, so she'd started scavenging in the afternoons after her work was finished.

One way or another, she was going to get by.

Ugh, I had a better ending planned, but then I realized it would box me in and couldn't do it ;-;

I want to write the next chapter tomorrow, but I can't. I get to go see a specialist for my thyroid! HOO-RAH. _

I do hope you'll all stick around for the next chapter, which should be significantly more interesting than this. I'm planning on it coming soon! Review and tell me what you think Vaughn's weird dreams mean! What's that? They MEAN something? Yes, yes they do! :O