Hey everyone, look what's back! So far, I'm keeping with my trend of no breaks in between chapters - which means they're still short, I know. On one hand, it makes updating easier, since I only need to focus on one scene at a time. On the other hand, it means I have to make each one count.

But all in all, I'm glad you're sticking with me and still reading. I'll be back with another update, hopefully soon.

Mr. Hunter never did ask me again about the pictures or anything that had to do with Leon; he was too busy anyway: the "worst nightmare" of a client he shared with Amber had come through the door once again, and he had spent the last of his daily working hours – and his patience – talking to the impossible man over what he wanted. And whenever it was that guy came around to grate on Mr. Hunter and Amber's nerves, it was every man for himself; while Matt grew increasingly frantic over his script, I took off as quietly and quickly as I could before he could cry for help. Served him right anyway, for running this late.

So it was some hours later when I finally got home for the evening, and still I had no idea what I would do… at least, about Leon. Then I found myself distracted by yet another thing that I had no idea how to handle on my own. A very annoying, yapping thing.

"Billie, your dog!" I shouted over the chorus of shrilled yips behind the wooden barrier. "If I open this door and it runs off, I'm not chasing it."

A few seconds later, my sister answered the call of warning. She would not have answered if I was too laden with groceries to even reach the doorbell, but for that mutt she'd do anything.

"Z-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-ack," she called. "Come see Mommy, Zack!"

The yapping stopped, and a clatter of toenails indicated an all-clear for me to go ahead. Only then did I open the door and enter the apartment. Still squatting on the floor, Billie was fussing over the ugly ball of uneven hair, huge rolling eyes and dripping tongue that was her puppy. Those wide, bulging eyes focused on me once again, and the creature wriggled furiously to get at me. I swear, once I find out what on earth I'm doing to motivate that thing to like me this much, I'm putting an end to it.

"Is that our dinner?"

"First thing out of your mouth…" I muttered, but all the same I laid out two packets of food on the table: the usual noodles, but with all vegetables and no meat until that thing stopped begging or jumping for scraps. At the rate the training was going, I might as well become a vegetarian. It didn't seem to bother the girl one bit, and she eagerly pulled out a pair of clean forks from the drawer and proceeded to hand me one. The clueless animal was rolling at her feet in displays of begging, and again there was the whining. Always the whining.

"So how was work?" she asked over the sound, as though it were not there.

"Same as usual," I answered.

"Have the pictures come in yet? You know, from the con."

I had been expecting that question. "They're with me – I'll show you later." – I jabbed my fork in her direction. – "Your turn: how's your homework coming along?"

A shrug. "It's fine."

"You're sure."

"Sure!"

It was my turn to shrug – I'd leave the nagging to our experienced mother when she calls to check on us this weekend, as usual – and then I went back to eating. It was far from a quiet affair, what with the persistent whining and whimpering, but it was otherwise mostly peaceful. We finished in silence, settled who would take the trip to the garbage chute over a round of rock-paper-scissors… all the usual activity that I came home to every evening. It was a welcome distraction from thinking when I needed it.

Of course, it did not last long enough.

"Kid, hands off. Now."

"Pictures!" she insisted in turn.

"Fine, but wash your hands first. You know where they've been."

In the time it took her to obediently trot off with a puppy at her heels to wash up, I got the old clunker that was our computer going, with the added moment of privacy for my password before she came back. And just as I had expected, she wanted to see the photographs she took before Amber's or Matt's.

"You're proud of yourself, aren't you?" I commented lazily in an accusing tone; she merely responded with a pleased hum. "If this were anyway but a convention, you could offend someone."

"Lighten up, will you?" she retorted, leaning in closer to get a better look at one of her admittedly well-taken candid shots. "Do you think that's Leon's real eye color?"

"They're contacts. His eyes are brown."

At once she had turned on me, her eyes so bright that I wondered what I had just done to myself. "You met Leon again?!"

"… Sure, during lunch earlier. He was at the coffeehouse that Mr. Hunter brought me to."

Immediately the girl was on me, demanding details with the speed I thought only possible with a high quantity of sugar in the system. "You met Leon? I-R-L?! What is he like? What does he really look like? Was he wearing a wig or did he change his hair color? Is it still brown? No wait, more importantly – Is he really a he?"

"Okay, okay! Get off!" And after I succeeded in forcing my sister to return my personal space, I answered: "Leon is definitely a boy, and he was wearing a wig during the convention. As for what he actually looks like, you're finding out when and only when you get the chance to meet."

"Aw…" she whined. Then, a little too quickly for my liking, she leered. "You're keeping him all for yourself, aren't you?"

"That is not funny," I protested. "It was cute when you were Yuffie, but you're not Yuffie now. You're Billie, and you will act in a proper dignified manner that is not creepy."

"You're not fun." Quite suddenly she paused, thoughtful for a second. Then she voiced that thought: "Did you tell him your real name? Or better yet, did you get his?"

"Not yet," I admitted, turning back to the computer. "Though, I'm thinking I probably should-"

"NO!"

There was a surprised yelp and skittering at our feet, a clatter of the chair, and quite suddenly I was sprawled over the beanbag chair with a college girl's weight pinning me to it. Her eyes were wide as she yelled at me in a tone that was either panicked or urgent as she grabbed fistfuls of my good shirt.

"Don't tell him! Never tell him!" she cried out, a sharp sound that stabbed at my ears. "And don't let him tell you his name either! That way you can be Leon and Cloud forever! My dream lives on within you!"

I blinked. Very slowly. "… Should I tell Mom that you're getting too much sugar, or too much into Kingdom Hearts? Or maybe it's both?"

She stopped, calming speedily. "You wouldn't."

"Get off me right now, and maybe I'll consider it. I have stuff to do."

Relaxing, realizing my threat was not serious – not really – Billie stuck her tongue out at me childishly before getting off me and retreating to her room. As I pushed off the beanbag chair – about half of the beads inside probably flattened by now – I turned to find that fat lump of puppy was still sitting there with its wide bulging eyes staring at me.

"… What are you looking at?" I asked, if only for the sake of asking. Then, with a dismissing wave of my hand, "go away."

Apparently the only command that dog understood, the mutt skittered and slid over the floor to follow after my sister. At last, my privacy returned to me, did I right the chair and seat myself once more. Reaching into my back pocket, I found the folded napkin with Leon's address written on it. Setting it down in front of me, I typed the address into the right input box to forward the mail in his direction.

No sooner had I done so when the messenger I forgot I was auto-signed in to blinked at me with an alert. One click later.

[There you are.]

I smirked, realizing who it was on the other end. [Hi again.] I answered. [Just sent the pictures your way.]

[Cool. Thanks.] A few seconds passed, and then, sure enough, [Wow. There's a lot of me in there. XD]

[Yeah, I know.] I replied. [My sister's doing.]

[She was Yuffie, right?]

[Yeah.]

[Ah.]

[She's a fanatic over Kingdom Hearts.] I explained. [Especially the Cleon pairing. So, as you can see…]

[That I can. XD] Even without the text emote, I could imagine him beside himself with amusement. [So does she know about me yet?]

[Somewhat.] I admitted. [But she doesn't know what you really look like just yet. She's pretty eager about it, though, so expect an invite for dinner some time.]

[All about the Cleon, isn't it?]

I sensed that last question was rhetorical and did not answer. At least he understood… I hope. It's hard to tell when you can't see the other's face. Still, he was the one to change the subject:

[You know, I'm shooting hoops with Mr. Hunter come Friday. Would you like to join us?]

[Sure, if it's ok.] I answered.

[I'll let him know, and he'll let you know, but we all know he can't say no. XD]

I laughed, both aloud as well as within my typed comment. I could feel myself relaxing, actually looking forward to it. A game of hoops sounded good – what better way to start off as friends?

[Just so you know] I warned him anyway, [I suck at basketball.]

[No worries. So do we.]

Who know how true that comment was, really? Sure, Mr. Hunter did not look like the sort to play basketball, but he did not look like the sort to dress himself in a black coat and wear a long flowing wig of silver either.

Relax, I reminded myself. This is just a casual game between three people, not an international event.

Then, on that note, [Be careful when you ask. He was dealing with a difficult client today, so he might be in a pretty bad mood.]

[The indecisive one from hell?]

[That one.]

[Ah.] A bare few seconds passed before he was typing again. [Hey, I gotta go. I promised my brothers I'd take them down to the store before it gets dark.]

[You have brothers?]

[Two. Remind me to tell you about them next time.]

[Alright. See you, man.]

[You too, Cloud.]

He went offline, and I signed out of my account. As I skimmed over our brief conversation, I realized something with a laugh: not once did he attempt to ask or give a name. It seemed Billie got her wish after all. At least, for now.

As for the game…

"Mind the house, Billie," I called down to her room. "I'm going to the court."

"What for?" she called back.

"Basketball practice."

If I was going to socialize, I refused to embarrass myself.