TRIGGER WARNING

-DOMESTIC ABUSE/VIOLENCE-

Our hearts go out to all of those affected by the tragic course of events this morning. We at INN dedicate this upcoming song as tribute to all of your years of providing the finest in music A.I. technology. To every developer, and especially to Monsieur Ducretet — an oldie but goldie to the bitter end. We thank you for your years of reviving ancient musical talents endangered to the tides of time. Because of you, these timeless melodies can live on in not only the comfort of our homes, but in our hearts.

Piano keys in B major began playing over the speakers as Léon stared blankly at the road in front of him, both paying attention to traffic and silently getting swept away in the emotions evoked by the music. From the screen, a projected hologram of a woman displayed the singer in a music video onto the car's console at a mere 12 inches tall. Joliet's eyes wandered over to the tuneful, glitchy image impassively before she returned to braiding a section of her synthetic hair out of sheer boredom.

She seemed fine, unbothered by the first stanza. But in the depths of Léon's mind, the cogs of painful reminders were twisting and turning. Playing back his memories like a rediscovered video that had gathered dust in the darkest banks of thought.


July 27, 3087. Léon was sitting at the kitchen table, smiling ear to ear as his mother walked in from the living room holding a small pan of ice cream cake. She was in tune, singing the happy birthday song to him while five-year-old Sherry rushed over to the table, giggling in excitement.

"Yay! Caaaaake!"

Two, blandly colored candles burned over the whipped cream as a marker for eleven rather than two. Sadly, it was all his mother had to work with at the last minute, as the cake itself took most of her earnings, leaving her with barely 100 currents to her name. The feeling of gratitude for all the hard work his mother sank into making his cake made him feel elated, his smile revealing large, gangly front teeth in desperate need of braces.

In the middle of his mother's song, another child strolled up to the table, wrapping an arm around Léon's neck as they sang along to the happy birthday song in a loud, chipper tone. His cheeks flushed a deep red, his lips sank in, and his eyes widened in anxiety as they shifted over, viewing the girl by his side.

Neck-length, bleach blonde hair was combed back and punctuated by a pastel blue headband with a bow to complete the look. Black leggings clung to her legs, trailing down below the knee. Her green and black, long sleeve flannel seemed much too large for her, which matched her high-top sneakers all too perfectly as far as color schemes were concerned. On the wrist of the arm wrapped around Léon's neck were several thin, black plastic bracelets in which there were normally eight, but were now down to seven due to giving one away to Léon; her best friend.

It was evident whilst sitting there at the kitchen table, with his arms resting over it, he still wore it after just a few months of receiving the gift. And though he'd never admit it to her in her fit of lighthearted teasing, he did think the world of her, and refused to take it off because of how special their friendship had grown on him.

Everyone finished the song, with Sherry adding her own rendition at the end. "...you look like a donkey!" she lyricized in a sing-songy manner.

"Look who's talking…" he murmured back.

"Make a wish, Léon!" his mother said.

He snapped out of his mild trance, his nervous gaze still locked on the girl beside him. "Huh? Oh, right!" Wax dripped down the candle sticks, forming a hardened glob over the icing.

What do I wish for?

His short spell of brain wracking was interrupted when a roomba wheeled beneath the table, bumping into his bare feet and making him jolt. Glancing under it and realizing what it was, he let out a yelp and scrambled to pick his feet up off the floor. He sat crouched in the chair, eyes following the roomba as it carried on.

"Stupid machine! Go cut off someone else's feet why don'tcha!"

Laughter filled the kitchen.

"Hey, what? Why are you guys laughing?!"

Four fingers graced over the giggling smile of the girl beside him, making him blush even more. His feet returned to the floor and his arms to the table. Seeing the girl he liked giggling made him swell with pride for having made her laugh. Although, he was serious about one thing: the roomba just had to be plotting to kill him in his sleep. It had to have secret attachments they were all unaware of. Kinda disappointing that everyone seemed dismissive of his claims, but whatever. He'd prove it sooner or later.

Realizing the wax was melting into the cake, Léon stood up and leaned over the table, forcing a thought of what he wanted to wish for to cross his mind. Looking down at the candles sternly with furled brows and a curled lip, he fought tirelessly to land on a specific choice.

Come on, come on! What do I wish for? This shouldn't be that hard! Wincing his eyes shut, he hoped for the answer to appear in his mind's eye like the answer to a prayer. What do I wish for more than anything in the world?

Then, after much deliberated thinking, the answer came to him in the form of a meek voice interrupting him, accompanied by a gentle jostle of his shoulder. "Léon, what're you waiting for? Blow out your candles."

It was her . The blonde-haired girl of his dreams, Roxette. He smiled at her, understanding now exactly what it was he wanted. He inhaled deeply, puffed out his chest, and puckered his lips, giving a strong, audible blow. His breath extinguished the flames of the candles and soon, his mother, Roxette, and Sherry were cheering and clapping.

"What did you wish for?" Sherry came over and asked excitedly.

"I'm not supposed to tell, dorkus, or else it won't come true." He flicked her forehead.

Sherry sputtered up a disappointed raspberry and scowled with her chin against the table. "Awww…" As his mother began to cut the cake with a butterknife, Sherry's requests buzzed in her ear. "I want that one, it's bigger."

"They're all the same size, cherie. " she replied, chuckling.

Amidst them talking, Roxette pulled up a chair next to Léon. She tapped him on the shoulder and held up a tablet for him to look at. Pointing to the screen, she asked, "Want to play Neuromancer with me?"

His eyes lit up. "Yeah, sure, but… aren't you going to eat any cake?"

"In a minute." The screen of her tablet projected an interactive image in front of her face, giving her a hands-on approach. She swiped a face-paint option over her customizable avatar, a man with a god-awful outfit the likes of them wouldn't be caught dead in: white pants with thin, fluorescent lights along the trim that glowed like he was attending a rave party. He wore a bright pink clown collar with a green band around his forehead, and an orange spaghetti-strap halter top. His shoes were gladiator sandals with violet socks covering his feet. To top it all off, Roxette had chosen a peculiar option for his hair.

"Hehehe! Look, JC."

Léon leaned over, his face scrunching up as he beheld the avatar's ghastly appearance. He stared at a hot-orange monk's tonsure; nevermind the evil clown's makeup she just added. "What the…?!" Roxette slipped into a fit of laughter at his reaction. " That's your character?"

"No," she giggled, "it's yours."

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait…" he scooted closer and tried to tamper with the character creation module.

Roxette looked at him, mildly offended. "Hey! JC!"

"I am not running around on the server with my name over this thing, I'll get laughed at."

"No one's gonna laugh at you, bestie. If they do, I'll use my adept level buzzsaw arm to cut their heads off and take everything they got. Hehe!"

Before he could make a comment to her remark, Léon's mother served him his piece of cake and cleared her throat. "Time to put the games away, kids. Léon, you know not to play games at the table."

Léon groaned. "Yes, maman …" When she wasn't looking, he sneakily resumed fooling around with the character settings, while Roxette let out breathy mischievous laughter, watching over his shoulder.

"There, it's fixed." The character's face had jet black eye makeup and his ponytail was silver, just like his. The pants were replaced at random with a pair of black jeans. His choices would have been more carefully thought out and executed, but he'd gladly settle on anything with the little time he had, and not on whatever the abomination Roxette created for him. Clearly as a joke. He'd get her back for that one way or another when she wasn't looking. To that, he shot her an impish smirk.

"You know you liked my creativity. Don't even try to hide it." Roxette whispered into his ear to tease him, as she turned off the game. Of course, she would use his avatar as a lighthearted insult.

"Did not." he returned with a light shove to the shoulder.

"Did too."

"Did not."

The two laughed as they playfully exchanged hand swatting. "Alright, I know how to settle this." Léon pressed his elbow into the table with his hand open expectantly. "Loser has to give up their most coolest spine attachment in the game."

"What?! No way, I just got that vertebral chainsaw thingy yesterday!"

Léon wiggled his fingers as a way to say: Come on.

"Ugh. Fine. You're on!"

As Roxette's hand clasped around his, Léon's mother's voice boomed from the other end of the table. Her fierce gaze striking fear into their core. "Jean-Claude Léon Polnareff! Take your elbows off the table right now! Act like you have some manners, please."

Sheepishly, he complied with her order. " D'accord. Je suis désolé... "

Roxette, having done the same, giggled and whispered, " J'aurais gagné ."

"As if..." he whispered back, flexing his arm muscle, "...I'm way stronger than you."

Abruptly, the apartment door swung open, the doorknob smashing into the dent that had been made in the wall each time it'd been opened with such force. A tall man in a brown jacket staggered into the kitchen, over the black and white checkered tiles, with an almost-empty beer bottle in his hand. His hair was dark brown and receding, his five o'clock shadow was stubby, and his brown eyes were glazed over. He stumbled into the room, causing Léon's mother to stand from her seat immediately upon his entrance.

"Ramone, you're back! I-I-I just cut the birthday cake. Would you…?"

He sipped the remaining liquid down to the last drop and slung the beer bottle towards the trash can, missing the chance to ring it. The bottle bumped the edge and sent it toppling over, spilling the garbage into the floor. Though, he cared little for the mess and just kicked things out of the way like the lazy bastard he was, dirtying the kitchen more as he made his way over to the table where everyone was gathered.

Not wasting any time to talk or, at the very least, wish Léon a happy birthday, he took the spatula, scooping out three pieces of cake in a sloppy fashion, giving no thought to them being cut in precise portions. He scoured the table for a plate and grumbled when he noticed there were none, laying the spatula in the pan. Uttering a low growl, he clomped over to the kitchen sink. The dish drain was all but empty, containing only a few utensils and some pots and pans.

"Why the hell aren't there any clean plates?" his voice slurred.

"Wait, I can explain —" Léon's mother stammered, extending a hand to him in a panic, as she reluctantly approached him.

"You slackin' on washin' dishes now?! God dammit, woman, what're you good for?!"

"I planned on washing the rest after we finished eating, but it's okay!" She trembled, stepping over to the kitchen counter where he was standing with his palms pressed to the sink. "I can wash one up for you real quick, I just wasn't expecting you to get ba —"

Ramone swiftly spun around, back-handing her across the face. She collided into the table, knocking over Sherry's glass of chocolate milk. All the young faces looked on in horror, shaking immensely from the fear at the display of Ramone's wrath. He stormed over to Léon's mom and yanked her up by her hair. Her screams of agony and pleas for him to stop meant nothing to him. They never did. The sound of his booming voice echoed throughout the room as he yelled degrading words in her face and slammed her head against the table's surface.

Sherry was frozen with terror in her chair, on the verge of weeping. As he watched the show of violence towards his mother, Léon's astonishment rapidly began to transform, and soon a searing hate coursed through his veins. His shaky fist clenched around his metal fork, and his jaw tightened. Roxette urged Sherry out of her chair and they retreated against the wall in a tight embrace.

"It's going to be okay." she spoke softly to her, hoping her soothing touch was enough.

Ramone had his rough, sizable hands clenched tightly around Léon's mother's throat, bearing her bloodied face into the surface of the table. "If you'll just give me a second," she cried, "I can wash you a —"

"I shouldn't have to wait for you to wash me a plate, should I?!" he shouted. "It should be cleaned and put away before I get home, but your lazy ass would rather invite a bunch of horny pricks over here when I'm not around! Don't think I've forgotten about that!"

Léon swallowed his fear of the disgusting man in front of him and slowly rose from his chair, glaring at him with the fork still in hand. He couldn't help but feel he'd regret it. "L-leave my mom alone."

Ramone's attention snapped up to the skinny boy at the other end of the table. "...the fuck you say to me?"

Inhaling through his nose, Léon mustered up the courage to face him, having never done so a day in his life. "I said… leave my mom alone."

" Fils de putain …" Ramone's grasp relented from the mother's neck and he stomped over to Léon with fury roiling in his gaze. "What, you want another beating?! I'll give you one, you son of a…!"

He unfastened his belt, folding it and swinging it across Léon's arm and back repeatedly. He hollered out in pain, tears forming in his ducts and streaming down his face. The floor met his form, as he fell helplessly, curling into a ball at the mercy of his stepfather — listening to him shout hateful words incessantly at him.

Roxette flinched with each ear-popping slap. The tile beneath him was cold and hard. Leather stung his skin, leaving large welts. Sherry burrowed her face into Roxette, screaming. Roxette had shut her eyes, trying her hardest not to let a single tear roll down her face. She had to be strong for Léon's sister.

"Stop it, please!" Léon's mother wailed. "You can't do this to him, he's just a child!" She ran to Léon's rescue, prying Ramone away as best she could, when she was met with a forceful shove, sending her into the table. This time, breaking one of the unsound legs.

Everything atop its surface clattered to the floor with a resounding crash. The ice cream cake toppled out of the pan and made a splat over the floor. Ruined. Léon's eleventh birthday party was officially over.

Ramone heaved the studded belt back over his head, readying it for a damning strike. "I don't know where you get the gall to backtalk me, you annoying little prick! Since your useless mother can't show you manners, I'll just do it myself!"

Whether it was the pain fueling his anger, or the violent actions Ramone had made against his mother, Léon's face burned hot with rage. Of all the times Ramone had wronged them, hurt them, and made them feel less than human, all Léon could think to do was cower in his presence.

Guilt and fear were his only companions as he watched his mother be mistreated. Of all the times he did dare to speak out on her behalf, it was always met with a belt across the face, arms, legs, and back. Crying on top of that never helped as it would only douse fuel on Ramone's rage, and earn him more severe beatings.

When was someone going to come and save them, he always asked himself. When would a man better than Ramone step in and slay the monstrosity making their life a living hell? Several years of coping with the pain eventually made him realize: nobody was coming. It was in his hands now — stand up for his mother by any means necessary, or allow things to continue before the unthinkable befell his family. In that moment, a revelation dawned on him…

… he was the hero she and his sister needed.

Clasping the fork tightly before Ramone could deliver another harsh blow, Léon shot up and drove the fork's prongs into his lower leg. Ramone's eyes widened at the immense pain shooting through his calf muscle, and he let out a boisterous wail.

" God dammit! "

Léon wouldn't relent. He pried the fork from the wound and stood up, ready to face him.

"If you ever put your hands on my mother again, I swear I'll kill you! "

"Do it again, punk, you don't got the balls!"

His hands shook spastically, the fork loosening in his grasp. What if Ramone was right? What if he didn't have what it took to strike him again? What if he was making a huge mistake by standing up to him?

Ramone firmly grabbed his wrist, causing the fork to fall to the floor with a clang as he twisted it. Léon winced, howling. "I don't know who you think you are… trying to be a man and stand up to me. Aww, what? You gonna cry now? What sort of man does that , huh?!"

A small voice piped up behind them, unafraid of the towering drunkard. "Leave him alone!" The metal pan with remains of ice cream cake flung across the room and made a pong against his cranium. Ramone looked over his shoulder, shooting a hate filled gaze at the offender, who stood fearlessly in front of Léon's mom and sister. Sherry's mother had rushed over to her for security. Roxette had her legs spread apart with her fists on her hips, and a scowl for good measure.

"You're one to talk! Real men don't go around hurting kids! Not like you, you big, dumb idiot!"

Ramone thrust Léon's hand away, making him stumble, as he stormed over to the intrepid girl whose feet remained planted, and her scowl moreso. No, not her. Anyone but her. Léon's eyes widened. Ramone grabbed Roxette by the arm and yanked her. "Disrespectful brat… your daddy obviously doesn't beat your ass enough." He raised the belt in the air. Roxette's bravery faltered, the reflection of the leather strap in her eyes. She tightly shut them, fearfully awaiting what was to come.

But it never did. The sound of glass smashing made her recoil.

Peeking one eye open, she glimpsed the reason why. Roxette's eyes then went wide and she let out a gasp as she beheld her hero pointing Ramone's broken, discarded beer bottle at him. There was a ferociously darkened expression on Léon's face, one she'd never seen him make before. It was as if Léon himself was controlled by a malevolent being.

"Put one mark on her," he warned, "and it'll be the last time you see daylight ever again."

"Heh! Look at this puny asshole. Why don't you put that down before you hurt yourself."

Léon fumed. "You'd like that, wouldn't you…" he murmured, "...I don't care what you do to me. You're not my father, you're not my worst enemy, either — you're garbage."

"...listen here, you little —"

"And you won't hurt her, because if you do…" he inched the jagged points of the bottle against his torso, nearly breaking the skin to make his point, "...I won't hesitate to kill you, and that's a promise."

Léon's mother held his little sister tightly against her chest, broad teary eyes staring at him in disbelief. "Léon…"

"Leave," he hissed at Ramone, "and don't you ever come back."

Ramone staggered back, narrowing his drunken gaze at the little boy with a newfound valor. The sound of police sirens wailing in the distance alerted him, making him lose his nerve immediately. Echoing from down the apartment halls came the triumphant voice of an old woman.

"Aaaaahahahaha! The calvary's arriiiived! Better run while you caaaan!"

He shot a disdainful glare at Léon, stumbling back towards the door. "You think you're hot shit, don't you…" he snarled, "...mark my words, you'll regret this. I'll make sure of it." He didn't bother to shut the door behind him as he departed, staggering in a jagged line all the way to the staircase that brought him tumbling down the steps. A slam against the wall at the bottom put an end to his escape.

Madame Laveau's frail form appeared in the doorway, calling back to the drunkard over her shoulder. "Oop! Watch your step, I hear it's a doozy! Hahahaaa!" Her over ecstatic demeanor altered into sympathy as she entered Léon's apartment and frowned at the garbage littered across the floor. Then, Léon, Roxette, Sherry, and her mother.

"Oh, what a mess." She shook her head in dismay and extended her arms outward to Léon and Roxette. "It's alright, dearies, he can't hurt you now. I overheard and called the policiers; everything's going to be alright, don't you worry. Come to granny."

While the comfort of an old family friend gave solace, Ramone's words held true. A year later, he had come crawling back after serving much deserved time in the local jail, begging for Léon's mother to forgive him. He'd change, he promised. He'd self-reflected on his actions, he assured.

Although she told him time after time that she'd think about it, the bills spoke for themselves — she needed help paying off her debts, and sadly, Léon wasn't of age to take that matter into his own hands. Knowing this, she caved and allowed that scumbag back into their lives, stripping away any and all joy they had in the year of his absence. Good memories were made, some sad, too. But after his return, it was all downhill from there.

Later that night, after the police had showed up, Léon and Roxette sat on the steps of his apartment together, away from the flashing red and blue lights, and the conversation his mother was having with the prefects. They crammed his shitty, arrested stepfather into the backseat of the transport. Léon couldn't help but look hurt after all that transpired. His birthday was ruined; he'd barely touched his cake his mother worked so hard to get the money for. Such a waste. With a quivering lip, he looked away from the scene.

All he wanted was to have an actual good birthday with his mom and sister for once. Roxette's father even agreed to let her come over and celebrate with him. The one night he looked forward to had been shot to shit. He should've seen it coming, Ramone was bound to ruin everything. Why did he ever think he could do something fun? A tear escaped his eye, streaming down his cheek as he sniffled a few times.

Roxette looked over at him, her concern punctuated with a frown. "JC?"

Léon wiped his eye, hoping to a god above the tears wouldn't be noticeable. He forced a normal tone as he turned his attention to her. "Yeah?"

"Don't cry," she said, smiling warmly as she took hold of his hand, "it's going to be okay."

"I'm not crying." he lied.

"Yes, you are, I can hear you. It's okay to cry." Her hand tightened around his. "Everyone does."

He responded with hurt in his voice, "Well, not me. Men don't cry. At least the tough ones don't."

The inner corners of Roxette's brows turned up.

"Ramone says… real men never cry, because if they do, then they're just cowards admitting defeat. They're weak. That's not me. I'm not going to be weak anymore. If people see how weak I am, they'll laugh at me."

Roxette shifted, turning towards him. "No, they won't. I'm not laughing at you."

"That's because you're too nice. You won't admit it because you're afraid you'll hurt my feelings."

"Stop, that's not —"

Léon shot up from sitting on the steps and gazed up at the broken windows in the building across the street. The flashing lights of the police cars highlighted his face in a rapidly changing shade of blue and red.

"Face it, Roxette, you'll never see me cry. Not now, not when I'm older, not ever. No matter what bad stuff happens, I'll keep it all inside. I'll never let Ramone see the hurt he causes me ever again. Maybe then that jerk will realize I'm not weak anymore."

Roxette took something from the pocket of her flannel shirt and placed it in Léon's hand. He held it up, looking down at the pendant she'd placed there. It was a red half-broken heart. Realization hit him like a truck.

"What?! Why are you giving me this? This is from the friendship bracelet you made! I already have the other half."

She stood up, meeting his bemused gaze with a smile. "I want you to have it."

"But why?"

"Because."

He raised a brow expectantly. "Because…?"

"Well, I know your mom said she couldn't afford any gifts for your birthday this year. I gave you half of my heart last time, and now, I'm giving you the other half. Now you have my whole heart. And as long as you have that, you'll never be weak, because I'll be with you. When you need to cry, and I'm not there, just hold on to that and think of me, okay? Think of me as…" she hummed in thought, looking up.

"What, as a… as a girlfriend?!"

"Whaaat?! No way! I mean as a… a butterfly!"

"Huh? A butterfly?" Léon scratched his head. "Uhh, you're not making any sense…"

"Don't worry about it." She closed his fingers over the half-heart pendant. "It's yours now. Happy birthday, JC." Without warning, she leaned in with her lips puckered and her eyes closed. Léon's brows raised and he leaned away anxiously, not sure what to make of this.

"Uhhh…!"

She planted a small peck on his cheek and pulled away, holding her hands behind her back and rolling the toe of her shoe on the concrete step. Léon's reddened face made her giggle. He'd never been kissed by a girl before. Looking as if he was frozen in time with his eyes wide and jaw slack, his hand slowly graced his cheek, not believing what had just happened.

No way…! My wish came true. She likes me back.

A man called out to Roxette from the police cars, waving a hand in the air to signal her. "Come on, it's getting late!"

Roxette looked back, and responded, "Okay!" She averted her gaze back to Léon, smiling warmly and taking hold of his hand again. "I gotta go home, but I'll talk to you later, okay?" She gently squeezed his hands as she began to softly sway side-to-side.

Returning a smile, he chuckled. Not only at her words, but the silly movement they were doing. She twirled under his arms, making the sorrow he was feeling moments ago melt away.

"Don't listen to what Ramone tells you," she added, "it's okay to cry. It just means you're human."

"I'll try to remember that." Léon promised.

Their hands slipped away as she parted from him and ran back to her father, making sure she gave Léon a wave goodbye as she went. He waved back, still unaware that his cheeks were flushed and his eyes staring back at her in a dreamy state.

Since then, he had kept Roxette's words close to his heart, choosing to believe they had meaning. Within the year of Ramone's god-sent absence, Léon made it a point to seek the opportunity to spend time with Roxette, even if that meant phoning her residence and conjuring up an occasion for the sake of inviting her. Whether her father and his mother had plans or not.

Léon would purposely fill the kiddy pool behind the apartment building full of water every single day as a means to invite her over to go swimming with him and Sherry. And this was done, despite the size not being able to contain all three of them at once.

Eventually, her father caught on to his antics and the pool parties gradually began to cease over time. During the time they attended the local school together, things gradually began to change. Roxette hung around the popular crowd more and more, making Léon — the outcast — feel as though she'd somehow forgotten about him. His loneliness would be staved off now and then, however, when she'd spontaneously show up at his all but deserted lunch area, opting to sit beside him and chat about Neuromancer, among other things.

Being in her presence uplifted his spirits, making him forget he was ever lonely in the first place. But when she left him again to converse with the popular crowd, that same feeling of being abandoned swamped over him.

Although he denied it at first, Roxette was gradually beginning to spend less and less time with him, spawning the worry that their friendship was dwindling and there was nothing he could do about it.

He respected her choices to cavort with whomever she pleased, and refused to impose upon her friend selection. Clearly, Roxette was growing up and it didn't matter what she chose to do with her life, or who she allowed to be a part of it, so long as she was happy. That was his chief concern first and foremost. And if that meant moving on, then so be it.

Upon the chance he'd occasionally run into her, to his surprise, she never acted indifferent and carried the same caring attitude she'd expressed to him in the past. It was as though nothing about their relationship had changed at all. When she revealed through their brief interaction that she was dating someone, however, his heart sank at the revelation. Soon after processing a great deal of pain and disappointment, Léon came to the conclusion that it was time for him to move forward, just as she had.

And though they went their separate ways, going about their lives in search of themselves, and their goals for the future, the two always managed to bump into each other again. Somehow rekindling old feelings that Léon believed had been extinguished long ago. He especially never thought he'd see her again after serving time in juvenile hall. Yet there they were, catching up and sharing experiences both had had in each other's absence. But just as the sun rose and set, their meetings would come and go. Each reunion with Roxette brought a newfound hope in Léon: this time it would work out.

And much to his ever recurring dismay, she was gone again. Like a fleeting dream one would forget upon waking the next morning. For once, he wished the sun would never set, that her smile would be the first and only thing he'd wake up to every day, filling him with the motivation to keep persevering through his struggles. This reality would never come for him. For, each and every day was the same — he'd wake up alone, staring at the wall adjacent to him with his heart torn two ways. Empty, yet full.

In his solitude, when those emotions would build up within him, tormenting him to no end, he'd bite back the urge to cry. Like hell he'd ever do a thing like that, even when he was alone. He'd sit at the edge of his old, discolored mattress, staring at the half-heart pendants he'd fastened to a chain on his palm. A chain he'd wear hooked to his belt loop and pocket of his pants all the time. The seventeen-year-old stared at them and revisited fond memories of Roxette's words to him.

And as long as you have that, you'll never be weak, because I'll be with you. When you need to cry, and I'm not there, just hold on to that and think of me, okay?

Don't listen to what Ramone tells you. It's okay to cry, it just means you're human.

His fingers closed tightly around the pendants, mashing them into the creases of his hand. His chest quaked, and airy weeping shuddered on his breath as he hung his head in despair. "See," he said, choking on his words, "what you don't realize… is that you may have given me your whole heart…" he sniffled, wiping his nose on his wrist and capping off his emotions to the best of his ability, "but what you didn't know… is that I gave you mine from the very beginning."

Standing up with the pendants tightly grasped, he sauntered over to the window and gazed longingly at the array of colorful lights on the buildings in the distance. He pressed a palm to the window and inhaled through his nose. "So… you hold onto that for me, okay? I'm not going anywhere. Whatever time it is, day or night, I'm here when you need me… ma papillon ."