Wow...Bet you never thought you'd see this fic again, huh? Well, I've been going over all of my old fics and uploading/archiving them on AO3, and I found this again...So I am rewriting it for the third (and hopefully final) time on AO3. Once it's back up and running, you can find it there under my username, susabei :)

This is the first chapter of the rewrite...Definitely a change in tone as well as various plot points (Elle has changed in a few ways over the years as my character), including an important one: Elle is definitely going to have a lil crush on Kid. I think I tired myself out on the one-sided romances. Haha.

I am also still set on writing something from Kid's POV, even if it's going to be outdated by Opposites Attack standards. Just because it's unfinished business, hehe.

Finally, if you decide to end your journey with this story and its characters: thanks so much! I appreciate all the love and support for this fic that I've received over the years! I've grown a lot as a writer, and I hope those who stick around and migrate over to AO3 enjoy what comes next!

without futher ado, that is all :)

It is an upmost mistake to be here. A rabbit willingly climbing into the den of a fox, even prying its maw apart to settle down into it. Do you understand? A chick peeping and skipping towards its own grave in the farmer's oven, without having really grown.

My morbidity is only hushed and cooled by the promise of reunification. Of escaping this half-life with any semblance of stability.

Stability…

Having discovered her powers first, Rachel dove headfirst into the snake pit: not alone, mind you, but that fact isn't enough to stop the nerves. The worrying. The thought that maybe if I twist the curtains in the house just so and slip my shoes on and off three times in a row and turn clockwise and clap twelve times that maybe she will come back to me, safe, every day.

It's been working so far, and I'm too far gone to risk it not being on account of my rituals. The others understand, despite everything. I need this. The familiar. The dangerous. The tip-toeing on the edge, the balancing over a tightrope. Being medication free has afforded me a new degree of clarity that's paid for threefold by my increase in anxiety. In being delusional, Carla told me on a particularly mean streak she was on. She's not wrong, but the idea of delusional being a synonym for paranoid sows resentment in me. Carla understands but she doesn't understand. What her words do, what her actions say.

Is it my fault if I don't communicate when she hurts me?

Thankfully, the bakery is a lovely distraction: a place of peace and quiet, and just on the edge of town, as far away as possible to that horrid school. Just the sound of the place fills me with dread, and drives me further and further into my work. Kneading the dough, mixing the batter, cleaning flour out of my apron. All of this is routine. Distraction. A soothing balm on what feels like an amputated limb.

For the time I've been working here, I've been in the back. Creating the delicious pastries and eats that delight customers–This is by choice. By design. The rules of this world blend in with the rules of the past, and I cannot risk just being seen with my friends in the front. What would happen if one of those…those meisters walked in and knew. Knew the moment they saw us that we did not belong, not in the way that matters. It's best to be out of sight, out of mind in this area.

Of course, my luck continues to be shit.

I am alone at the front today. The shop is empty, this time of day, this time of the week–Usually. But that does not stop my mind from wandering… From going to the worst case scenario, even making up the most ridiculous, fantastical scenes within my imagination in order to somehow prove my paranoia correct and just. It's soothing, you see? A balm that also burns. What's familiar to me is the fear. The panic. The circling around the same space over and over until my heels bleed like a stepsister.

I am alone at the front today, so if the worst walks in, I cannot be detected. I am alone today, so if the worst walks in, I will be facing it alone.

No, stop. I am not going down this cycle of doom and gloom. I am a positive person! I believe in love and truth and justice! Like that cartoon Rachel was watching the other day with Lucia, the one with the high school harem and long lost mother who had her baby at fourteen–No wait, that was something else.

Ah, what a mood whiplash–Rachel would tease me about it if she knew. How easily my brain can go from the deepest depths of despair to something absurd. My therapist must have been driven insane by it, G-d…

I sigh. How pissed would Carla be at me if I just…closed down the bakery for a little bit. Just an hour. Or two. Just to relax and calm myself down. For a nap! Or maybe a quick crossword. I'd love to take a walk outside, even, to feel the fresh air. If it weren't for the fact that there are people out there, as well as the blistering, upsettingly creepy sun. The radio tells me it's one-hundred and ten degrees, and I have no idea what that means because I use Celcius like every other sane person in the world.

Not that anyone's really ever considered me sane.

Sanity is relative, Rachel's words echo in my thoughts. I think us being koo-koo-kachoo makes us more interesting, yeah?

It certainly makes us more something.

My thumbs twiddle, I try not to think about insanity. I try not to think about Rachel. About being alone in the bakery. About how long my nails were getting (0.2 millimeters more, and I'll need to cut them…) And lo! The perfect distraction, coming in through the french doors in the form of a young man.

He's handsome. Classically, maybe, but also in a way that perhaps appeals only to me. Neat and clean, pristine. Like a polished action figure on display at a shop or the beautiful china that sat undisturbed in my mother's cabinet. It's all…dampened by his strange outfit, reminding me of a cosplay convention. That's not even touching his…unusual hair. What's wrong with it? What's wrong with him?

It's so silly, so stupid, because judging someone by their appearance has only ever led to ruin and displeasure. Because I am more than just someone who shuns others based on how much I want to hold them down to the ground with a bottle of a hair dye–Isn't that so stupid? What kind of person has a thought like that?

"...Symmetrical."

I blink, "Sorry?"

He brings his hands to his face, cradling his cheeks in what looks to be disbelief. "You're perfectly symmetrical."

What.

"Oh…Sorry?"

His knees hit the floor, he leans over, mumbling in despair. Or maybe incredulity. "She…even speaks in perfect symmetry."

"Ah…Sir?"

"...Yes?"

"...Can you let go of my leg?"