There was a ton of junk in the huge walk-in closet, but none of it was what Felix was looking for. What was once a neat and tidy space now looked like a tornado had blown through it. He was about to decide that he'd thrown the box out by mistake. But he knew he'd never really do that, even on accident.

"Jiminy, jaminy," he said, looking around him at the destruction he'd left. "I've made a mess of things in here." He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his glove.

There were only a couple more boxes left to go through. He pulled a large cardboard box out of the corner and wrestled it open.

His stomach turned with anxiety. Among other things in the box—little junky things he couldn't exactly remember why he'd kept—was a smaller, worn-out shoebox. He'd looked so hard to find it, and he almost didn't even want to open it. He took a breath and removed the lid.

The shoebox was crammed full of mixtapes. The sides of them were labeled FELIX 1, FELIX 2, all the way up to FELIX 18 in loopy, fairly messy handwriting. Felix smiled as he opened the box to FELIX 1, removing the slip of notebook paper tucked inside.

Across the top of the page, Turbo had written "Track List," followed by the names and artists of the songs on each side of the tape. Doodles of flames, arrows, skulls with bleeding eye sockets, and other such things crowded the margins. Turbo might've been the greatest racer ever, but he was definitely the worst artist ever. Felix grinned to himself, refolding the paper and sticking it back in the tape box.

I think I'll bring one of these with me the next time I go to see Turbo, he thought. And I'll see if he remembers them. Surely, he does.

He put the tape back in its place and shut the lid on the box. For now, he left his closet a mess, stepping out of the small room with the box in hand. He might just have to listen to a couple of those tapes. Just for old time's sake.

{*}

Sleep was not Felix's friend that night. Even though he'd found that box full of mixtapes he'd been looking for, it did nothing to quell his mind. But then again, he knew it wouldn't. He still had so many questions to ask Turbo, questions he felt like he needed answers to, but…he didn't know how he'd go about asking them. Or if Turbo would even be willing to answer them. Or—

He reached behind his head and grabbed his pillow. He tossed it to the foot of his bed. Maybe resting his head on the mattress would help; sometimes it did, for him.

Felix couldn't stop playing the day's events over and over again in his head. Turbo had looked the same, that was for sure. He even had that same goofy hairdo. Felix felt his mouth turning up into a smile as he thought about it.

"Did you do that to yourself, or were you coded that way?" he said, running his fingers through the thick mess of a mohawk atop the racer's head.

"Well, coded that way, but don't you love it? I think it looks rad."

"If you say so," Felix laughed.

"Hey," Turbo said, grinning. "At least I don't wear a stupid blue hat with my initials on it." Turbo plucked the hat off of Felix's head and put it on his own.

"Whaddya think? Is this a good look for me?"

"You look nice in a hat," Felix said with honesty.

"Yeah?" Turbo said. He quirked an eyebrow, grinning. "I might just have to keep this, then."

"I've got plenty more at home just like it."

"Nah, I was just kiddin," Turbo said. He put the hat back onto Felix's head. "There."

The memory had seemingly come from nowhere. It was bittersweet. If he would allow himself, he could think up tons of little things like that, things long past, things…things he oftentimes wished he could forget.

It was a strange thing, knowing Turbo was still alive. When Turbo Time was first unplugged, a small part of him had wanted to think Turbo was still out there, somewhere. But those hopes rose from the ashes and died just as quickly on the day Turbo's King Candy persona had been debunked.

He had watched that idiot die twice. And now he was back again.

Felix groaned. "Why can't I just hate him like everybody else?"

An image of Turbo formed in his mind.

Because I get you, babe!

He banged his head against the mattress, as if that would clear the scene in his mind away. It did not.

Felix rubbed at his eyes and tried to shut them, but they popped open of their own accord. He sighed. It was going to be a long night.

{*}

The sound of his cell door opening jarred Turbo out of a hypnotic game of solitaire. He'd be lying if he said he didn't feel a tiny flutter of excitement in his chest. Any kind of interaction with another sentient entity was welcome in such a lonesome place.

Wynchel and Duncan made their way through the door, one with the leg shackles slung over an arm, the other with the handcuffs spinning round and round their index finger. With them they brought in a stirring of air that smelled of cigarettes and strong coffee.

"You know the drill, prisoner," Duncan said. "Up and at 'em."

Turbo feigned surprise, staring at them over his shoulder. "Have I been a bad boy, officers?" He leaned back, resting his back on the cell floor, knees bent.

"Are you here to…teach me a lesson?" He grazed his fingers over his abdomen.

Wynchel and Duncan both grimaced, their facial expressions hovering somewhere between confusion and disgust. It was Wynchel who snapped out of it first. He took his police baton and cracked Turbo across the chest with it. A sickening hollow sound filled the tiny room.

"That actually hurt, you fuck!" Turbo gasped, arms hugged across his chest. "Can'tcha take a joke?"

"We don't get paid to make jokes," Wynchel said in an official tone.

"You don't get paid at all."

That granted him another clout with the police baton, this time by Duncan.

"Now you're just being rude," Turbo said, rubbing at his newly sore shoulder.

He pulled himself off the floor and did as he did the time before—facing the wall, hands behind his back, feet together. He soon felt himself being cuffed and shackled, which was something he figured he'd never get used to. Loss of control was something Turbo was not fond of.

"We'll tell your visitor he can come in now," Wynchel said.

"I heard," piped Felix, peeking his head into the cell. He smiled sheepishly. "Ah…thank you."

The donut guards departed, but they didn't go far; they plopped down into two metal chairs sitting opposite each other, just outside Turbo's cell. As soon as they were seated they began talking about something or other, and Felix and Turbo were forgotten by the pair.

Which was just fine by them.

"Um," Felix said, hand on the back of his neck. "How…how've you been since I last dropped by?"

Turbo shuffled over as well as he could in leg shackles and sat on the edge of his wafer bunk. "Well, I did win five games of solitaire in a row, that was pretty exciting," he said dryly. He motioned his head to the space beside him. "Sit."

"Oh, no, I couldn't impose. I'm fine standing. Really."

"You're so crazy," Turbo grinned. He scooted over to give Felix a little more room. "Siddown. You're making me uncomfortable standing there like that."

Felix gave in. He sat gingerly on the wafer bunk. It was a lot stronger than it looked, he discovered.

"I didn't know you smoked," Turbo said.

"What? I do not smoke cigarettes, that's a very filthy habit," Felix said.

"Then what's that you got in your pocket, if it's not a pack of cigs?" Turbo quirked an eyebrow.

"Oh!" Felix laughed. "It's not—definitely not what you're thinking." His hand rested on the rectangular shape in his pocket. "You...you wanna see what it is?" Felix asked.

"Now you've got me curious, Mistah Fix-it," Turbo said, smirking.

"I think you'll like this," Felix said. He had caught Turbo's contagious smile. "It's a real trip down memory lane, let me tell you."

Felix reached into his pocket and fished out the object in question. It was one of the mixtapes Turbo had given him long ago—FELIX 1.

Turbo flinched. "That's not—is that one of the mixtapes I made you?" His hands made a move to touch it, but, of course, they were cuffed. He'd temporarily forgotten about that little detail.

"It's the first one you ever made me, see?" He showed him the label.

"I just can't believe you kept it this long," Turbo said, baffled. He shook his head. "You've held on to it this whole time, huh?"

"I've got all of them, actually," Felix said proudly. "In a shoebox at home. I just brought this to show it to you. So you definitely remember it, then, I'm guessing."

"Hell yeah I remember," Turbo said, still shaking his head in disbelief. "Wow. You're so cool for hanging on to those."

Felix laughed, opening up the box. "And look at this track list." He held the paper up to Turbo's line of vision.

"There's like six songs by The Smiths on here," Turbo said, unable to bite back his smile. "I bet those guys aren't even around anymore."

"They didn't even make it into the 90s, actually."

"No way."

"Morrissey went solo after that."

"Bet that sucked ass."

Felix shrugged. "It was alright, I guess."

Turbo sighed. "I bet I missed a lot of good music."

"You did," Felix nodded. "I hear a lot of things and I know you'll just love it." He leaned back. "You'll have to go through my music collection when you…"

"When I get outta the slammer?" Turbo finished.

"Well…yes," Felix admitted, his cheeks reddening. "But you know how you said CDs would never catch on?"

"Yeah?"

"They still make CDs, even now, they do."

"Nuh-uh."

Felix nodded. "Yep."

"Let's see that track list again," Turbo said, shuffling closer, trying and failing to fight back a smile.

They laughed about the old songs they liked, and the piece of ancient history in Felix's lap—that dusty old tape.

"Y'know, I never would admit it to ya, but I actually worked four hours on that thing," Turbo said, inclining his head toward the mixtape.

"Did you really?" Felix said. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't touched. "That's…that was so nice of you."

"Nah, not really," Turbo said. "The mixtape was just some bait, to get you to ride in my kart with me."

"Oh, it was not," Felix said, shoving Turbo's arm. "We took these tapes everywhere with us, not just your kart."

"Remember that huge boom box you had?"

"I still have it, I found it in my closet when I was looking for these."

"No way."

"Yes way."

Turbo laughed at a memory in his head. "Remember when Rally thought he broke it?"

"I made him cry! And he did break it. But he forgot I can…well…fix pretty much anything."

The mention of Felix's old boom box started an onslaught of memories for both of them. Most of them were funny, and they laughed until tears pricked their eyes and their stomach muscles strained. Some were bittersweet, which caused a lot of mumbling and nervous squirming. But it was great for the both of them to talk about everything again.

Felix looked down at his lap. "Do you remember the night you gave this to me?"

"That's the very first one I ever gave you?"

"Mmhmm."

"Not…no, not really," Turbo confessed.

"You gave this to me…" Felix took a breath. "You gave this to me the night we…"

"That night we first kissed," Turbo finished quietly.

Felix chewed his lower lip.

"Yep," he mumbled.

And then it seemed like some kind of magnetism brought the two closer to one another, their noses almost touching. Turbo felt Felix's breath on his face. He parted his lips slightly, as if he were mildly surprised about something. He felt his eyelids slip closed.

A very dry and cracked pair of lips touched his own, cautiously, an almost nonexistent feeling. As soon as the initial shock of it was over, Turbo regained enough of his sense to return the favor.

He could taste copper on Felix's bottom lip. It was split badly down the middle. But, he remembered, Felix's lips were always like that. He sighed a contented sigh into Felix's mouth.

Felix took that as an opportunity to slip his tongue through Turbo's teeth.

All his life, Turbo had heard that, if you had a great kiss, you should see and hear fireworks in your head. But when he kissed Felix, for whatever reason, he always saw snow. Big, fat flakes of snow were falling from the sky in his mind's eye, he could feel it on his face and his hands. There'd be enough to make a snowman soon. Felix had forgotten his jacket, of course, and he was standing there shivering like an idiot. They'd have to ride back to the house and fetch one for him or he'd freeze his ass off—

"Mmh—" Turbo protested as Felix pulled away, their mouths making a squelching sound as they were rudely disconnected from one another. The snow in Turbo's head melted and disappeared, evaporating as quickly as it had fallen.

"I'm sorry," Felix said.

"Don't be sorry, that was awesome," Turbo mumbled. He was still in a haze, his eyes half-lidded and sleepy.

"I-I suppose that was improper of me, I don't know what I was thinking."

Turbo swallowed the excess saliva in his mouth. For once in his life, he was at a loss for words. His chest swelled with some kind of emotion he couldn't describe.

It had been so long since he'd kissed Felix. So, so long. He'd forgotten so many things…that touch of cologne Felix always dabbed behind his ear, the feel of the handyman's breath tickling his upper lip, how their noses didn't quite fit together and were always squished at an odd angle. It all came screeching to the forefront of his mind. Take that, and his utter starvation for attention and contact, and you get some major sensory overload.

"No, no, don't be sorry, that was so, no, don't be sorry, I'm the one who—well, I just don't want you to—hmh—"

Felix was kissing him again, quick hard little pecks, then something that lingered a little more, and then a hurried tongue dipped into his mouth. Turbo kissed back as well as he could, which was garnering him an E for Effort at best. It was very, very difficult to concentrate. It was hard enough to tell himself to keep breathing.

This time, Felix pulled away slower, and the shock of it wasn't nearly as bad as it was just a moment before. Felix planted a chaste kiss at the corner of the racer's mouth before looking him in the eye.

"I—I don't know what to say right now," Felix stammered.

"Then don't say anything."

Felix looked down at his lap. He slipped the mixtape back into his pocket.

"What?" Turbo said, furrowing his eyebrows.

Felix stared straight ahead. "I…I think I have to go." He slid off the wafer bed, standing up.

"What?" Turbo repeated, shaking his head. "Wait, why? I don't get it, what—"

"I just…" Felix muttered, his eyes locked on the door.

"Yes?" Turbo said.

"I can't explain it to you, I just—"

"No, no no no," Turbo said, scrambling to his feet. If Felix wouldn't look at him, he'd walk into his line of vision, damn it. "Whassa matter? You won't even look at me."

Felix stared at his shoes. "I know, I just—we shouldn't have…"

"'Shouldn't have'?" Turbo said. He couldn't cover the hurt in his voice. His bravado was wearing off, and quickly.

Felix flicked his eyes up at Turbo for a fleeting moment. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Well, that's what it sounded like," Turbo said bitterly.

"I'm sorry, I really am. I just—I really have to go." He brushed past Turbo, exiting the cell without so much as a goodbye.

Turbo stood there, dumbfounded. What had just happened? One minute they were swapping spit, and the next thing he knew, Felix was bolting out the door, acting all guilty.

Wait a second, Turbo thought, his eyes widening.

Guilty.

"Oh, that little shit!" he yelled. He curled his cuffed hands into fists. "He's got a boyfriend—girlfriend, whatever he's got."

He sighed. "Just when I think things are lookin up for ol Turbo, something stupid like this happens."

Wynchel and Duncan bumbled their way into the cell. "Alright, play time's over, face the—"

"Yeah, yeah, against the wall, I got it," Turbo said, slamming himself against the chocolate bark-covered wall. He shifted around impatiently as his restraints were removed.

"There ya go. You're a free man," Duncan said. There was a pause, and Wynchel and Duncan both busted out laughing at the "joke."

Turbo smiled with his teeth. "You irritate me."

The donut cops were still chortling as they locked Turbo's cell door good and tight.

One minute Turbo was having a wonderful reconection with a man from his past, and the next, he was ready to scratch some eyes out. It seemed like every time Felix breezed through here, he brought with him a shitstorm of emotions that Turbo could do just fine without.

But then again, Turbo mused, it was better than days upon days of feeling nothing but boredom.

Or was it?

Turbo rubbed at his face. He had a headache now.

Author's Note: What was Felix thinking about when he ran out of the room...? Hmmm...HMMM...

(Yall aren't idiots, I know you get where I'm going with this. Winkwinkwink.)

Anyway, I had a rare day off work, so I was able to update pretty quickly! I'm already hard at work on the next chapter, too, so that's good.