Mmm, this chapter's shorter than the past couple, but I think you'll see why when you get to the end. :P And I happen to like it.

But gods, I'm such a pervert sometimes... XD

Thanks to ContemplativeJoyce for the review and the alert-sticky-thingy, and thanks to Sammius for yet another review. And Sammius, I like that you're clouding my review pages; it shows that someone reads this all. :) By the way, what English habit do I seem to have picked up (referring to your TOOL review)?

Oh, and before everyone reads this, I just wanted to say: would someone please tell me if parts of this chapter are incoherent? 'Cause I wrote it all late at night (I've been having wicked wanderlust, and I haven't been sleeping much), so it might get kind of sketchy in areas. Thankies!

It was raining, thundering, the sky was exploding, falling in torrents. And I was alone in the house, pacing in front of the large picture windows that faced the beach, watching the rain, wondering where Tuesday had disappeared to. I wondered whether he was caught out in the rain, wondered whether he would come back when the rain stopped. He had to return at some point, right? Because his bags were at my house. And his guitar, that was especially important, right? Then again, his parents were rich, so maybe he would just buy new things.

I chewed at a fingernail, paced first one direction and then the other. Where, where could he have gone off to? Had he been kidnapped? Should I call the police? Something stopped me; I didn't know what, nor did it really matter in the long run, I supposed. What really did matter in the long run? Would being with Tuesday for the entire summer change my life? And even if it did change my life, what did it matter? We're all doomed to die in the end; I knew that.

I turned, paced back the other direction, turned again, paced. I had returned to the house when the clouds had begun to gather late in the afternoon. Now, it was early evening, and the storm was right overhead. A loud clap of thunder; I jumped. Continued pacing. Wondered why I cared so much that Tuesday had left. It would raise some awkward questions from Monica, sure, but I didn't really care what Monica thought. Not that I saw her much anyway. And I could just say he had got bored and returned home. Which he had, hadn't he?

Well, probably not, since his guitar was still there.

Curious, I went into my room and hefted the guitar, carrying it out so I could watch the storm still. I opened the case and lifted out the guitar. It was an acoustic, a nice pale brown one. The name brand meant nothing to me; I liked to listen to music, and I had a strange attraction to musicians, but I wasn't a musician myself. Still, I picked up the guitar and aimlessly stroked the strings, enjoying the warm sound it gave forth.

The sound of the guitar fit Tuesday, really: it was warm, but it held a note of sadness as well, an underlying chord of sorrow at something that could only be guessed at. I wondered whether I would find out what had caused that sadness in Tuesday during that summer. Only Tuesday was gone, wasn't he? He had left me.

Restless, I placed the guitar back in its case and resumed pacing with increased fervour. How many hours had Tuesday been gone for? I had searched the entire wharf for him, searched down the beach for him, called his name as loudly as I could. I had done everything short of putting up missing posters looking for him, done everything short of asking strangers whether they had seen them. And I hadn't even got candy floss.

I scowled out the window. Because a lack of candy floss was definitely the worst of my problems right then.

At least it was Tuesday who was gone. I mean, it sucked that he was gone, but there were so many worse things that could have happened, were Tuesday not the person he was. After writing to him for a year, I was pretty certain I could judge his character with some accuracy, and I didn't think he was a lawbreaker. I didn't think he would run off and deflower a girl (not that there were many virgins around there). I didn't think-

I hadn't thought he would run off so quickly either, though. Which showed how adept I was at judging characters, I supposed.

"Damn it!" I snarled at the ceiling. Because, you know, it was the ceiling's fault he had gone off. For a moment, I was tempted to apologize to the ceiling, because it clearly wasn't the ceiling's fault...and then I realized what I was doing. "I am a fucking idiot!"

Abruptly, the sliding glass door opened, and someone spilled in from the porch. Tuesday. Dripping wet and beaming as though he had just done the most amazing thing ever. I stared incredulously at him as he only smiled at me. "Is there someplace I can dry off?" he asked nonchalantly, as though he hadn't just hared off that afternoon and left me wondering where he had gone.

I continued to stare at him, and he frowned. "Where the hell have you been?" I finally managed.

If possible, his face became even brighter. "The water around here is brilliant!" he gushed. "And this storm! Amazing, absolutely fucking amazing! Have you been watching it? The thunder, the lightning...it's brilliant, absolutely, wonderfully brilliant."

"You've been swimming?" I shrieked. Yes, shrieked. As in, my voice cracked, and I sounded like a prepubescent child. No, I am not proud of that fact. Shut up. The only people in this world who sound good when they're shrieking are rockstars and people who are imitating cats. And I'm not so sure about that last.

Tuesday blinked at me. "Yes?" He grinned. "The storm brought in these huge, monster waves. It was really cool."

Okay, now I was just pissed. "Wow, thanks for letting me know," I said sarcastically.

Tuesday blushed. "Sorry, but you were in the middle of a conversation, and I didn't want to interrupt, but the water...the water..." His eyes took on a dreamy look. "I love the ocean. It's so..." He sighed. "This would be why I don't write the lyrics for our group." He glanced at his guitar. "Were you messing around with that?" He didn't sound angry, just curious.

"You couldn't wait two minutes," I said (not asked) flatly. Then, I turned and stomped off to my room, slamming the door behind me. Because I'm just that mature. It was only after I had shut the door that I realized it was rather rude to leave him standing out there soaking while I had all of his clothes, and he would probably leave again. Have you ever realized how many relationships just seem to forever go in circles? I was pretty sure my relationship with Tuesday was doomed to that fate.

I chucked some of his clothes out the door and then slammed it again. Let him sleep on the couch that night, the...I couldn't think of what I wanted to call him, and I decided I didn't care. I flopped on my bed, not bothering to undress. Hell, I didn't even bother to turn out the light.

A few minutes later, Tuesday cautiously opened the door and then entered, dressed in dry clothes. His hair was still wet, and it was dripping on the collar of his shirt. "I didn't mean to make you worry," he mumbled sheepishly. He shuffled a bit further into the room and made a face. "I'm kind of an idiot sometimes-you know that; we've been writing to one another for nine months now." He shuffled further into the room and shut the door behind himself. "Look, I'm sorry, all right?"

I rolled over to face the wall. "I wasn't worried," I muttered petulantly.

"All right." He paused. "Have you ever just stood outside during a storm?"

"No."

"Oh." Awkward silence, the bane of my existence. One of them, anyway.

"Weren't you afraid you'd get electrocuted?" I asked finally.

Relief coloured Tuesday's voice; he clearly thought he had been forgiven. Which, I guess, he had. I suck at holding grudges. "I wasn't really thinking about that. Or any of the consequences. It's just-" He stopped, searching for words. "Nature is so beautiful, you know? I just was in the moment, not really thinking about the consequences. I guess that's why I didn't think about telling you, or you worrying," he added sheepishly. "Sorry."

"Whatever." I sounded like an ass, but I was too tired to care. Have you ever realized how much worrying takes out of a person? Jeez, I was exhausted, and it was only six o'clock at night!

"Have you already eaten?" Tuesday asked finally.

Now that he mentioned it, no, I hadn't. Because I was too busy worrying about him. And because it was still early, I guess. Eh, I was too tired to eat then. "Yes," I lied.

"Oh. Want to come with me anyway?" He sounded hopeful. I hoped he was doubting whether he had been forgiven. Even though I couldn't hold a grudge, it would be nice if he thought he could.

"Where are you going?"

"I was going to go into town and just...walk around, get a feel for the place, find something to eat." He paused, and I bet he shrugged. "I thought you might know where to go, since you're a local and all."

"I don't go into town much. And it's raining."

"What, you'll melt if you get wet?" he challenged. "You're a witch or something?"

"Wow, you're really scoring points, calling me that."

"I didn't mean it like that," Tuesday said, sounding flustered. "I just meant-like, you know in the Wizard of Oz-"

"I know what you meant," I interrupted. "I was joking."

"Oh."

"You're mighty fond of that sound."

"Sorry."

I snorted. "For what?"

There was silence. "So, are you coming?" Tuesday asked at last.

I rolled over and studied him for a long moment, propped up on my elbow. "I think we have some umbrellas in the front closet." I stood again, ignoring the fact that my bed was warm and I really would like to go to sleep just then. I went over to my closet and began rifling through the skirts and dresses and girly things, deliberately teasing Tuesday. "Should I wear the green dress or the plaid skirt?" I asked Tuesday, holding both out for him to see.

He looked between me and the clothes, probably wondering whether or not I was kidding. Probably disgusted with me. Probably planning to leave again as soon as he got the chance. Probably-

"The plaid," he said seriously. "The blue matches your eyes."

I stared at him-gaped at him, really. I was surprised my jaw wasn't hitting the floor. I coughed. "Um, right. You know I was joking?"

"Oh." Tuesday shrugged. "I thought you actually wanted my opinion."

"I wasn't really-"

"It's okay if you want to," Tuesday cut in, still freakishly serious. "I'm not going to run away screaming."

"Oh." I was picking up his habits already. I hated to think of what I might be like by the end of his visit. "Um, thanks." I hung the dress and the skirt back in the closet. "But, um, I'm not actually going to...yeah."

Tuesday shrugged. "Whatever you prefer." He paused. "So, is there anywhere around here where we can get a cheap, edible dinner?"

"Not too picky, are you? Wait a minute, I already said I've eaten!"

"You really suck at lying," Tuesday informed me. "Plus, I'm not going to just let you sit there and watch me eat."

I pouted. "Then I'll stay here." Tuesday rolled his eyes and crossed the room to grab my arm. He proceeded to drag me out to the front hall and out the door. I shrieked. "Umbrellas!"

Tuesday grinned sidelong at me. "Pansy. What's a little water going to hurt?"

"Me?" I asked. Seriously, I hated getting wet. Despised it. Loathed it with every corner of my being. Loathed it with every non-corner of my being. Absolutely detested it. It's just...eww. Wet. Cold. Drippy. I mean, swimming is bad enough, but rain just...eww. "Mango wants an umbrella," I pouted.

Tuesday raised an eyebrow at me. "You refer to yourself in the third person when you're annoyed?"

"When I'm tired," I corrected. "And only sometimes." I jutted out my lower lip and tried to look cute and pleading. "Please can I get umbrellas?"

"You look constipated," Tuesday let me know. Bastard. "I know I am." Oops, I hadn't meant to say that one out loud. "Come on, I spent all afternoon in the rain, and I'm fine, aren't I?"

"Tuesday," I whined.

"The faster you move, the quicker we'll get to the dinner place, and the quicker we'll be inside," Tuesday reasoned. "Move it; I'm hungry."

"I'm wet."

"It's raining." Tuesday dragged me further away from the house.

I hated him. Why had he come back? Why had I wanted him to come back? I hated him. Why had I agreed to this? Now, I was cold and wet and tired and hungry and wet. I hated him. I hated him, I hated him, I hated-

"Which way?" Tuesday asked as we reached the end of the driveway.

I sighed, resigned to the fact that I wouldn't be getting an umbrella. "Left." I hoped my hair didn't turn all frizzy. With my luck, it would. I hated rain.

"No, no, like this," Tuesday said, leaning over and taking the paper straw wrapper out of my hands, his fingers lightly brushing my knuckles and causing me to shiver. Fucking sex god. Fucking tease. He had been doing things like that all evening, and I was almost to the point where I would lean over the table and ravish him, even if he was straight. God damn him. He took the straw wrapper and carefully and precisely crumpled it up. Then, he took his straw and dripped water on the end of the paper, causing the wrapper to unfold and wriggle across the table like a paper snake.

I sighed, watching his fingers and wishing they were touching something besides the wrapper. Like, I don't know, me? I sighed again. "I'm hopeless."

"Yup," Tuesday affirmed. "You're bunching it up too tightly." Okay, I definitely hadn't been talking about making the paper snakes. Here's to things that are out of context that make sense in context, just not in the sense that you...wanted them to make sense. Wow, brain pain. Ooh, a rhyme! Brain pain, brain pain, brain pain! I must have said that out loud, because Tuesday gave me an odd look, but he didn't comment. I had a feeling I said things that didn't make sense a lot, and he was used to my random outbursts already.

"So, my turn to ask a question," I said around a yawn. All evening, we had gone back and forth asking one another questions. Thus far, I had learned that Tuesday's favourite food was Jell-O, his favourite amusement park ride was the teacups, he was deathly terrified of fireworks (he had exploded one in his face once, apparently), his favourite word was 'loopy,' and his favourite accessory for a member of the opposite sex was a collar. (Note to self: go out and buy a collar for self soon. I wouldn't mind having Tuesday lead me around...)

"Okay, okay, I got one," I said finally, after much thought. "If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?"

Tuesday raised both eyebrows in surprise. "I do believe that is the most serious question you have asked all evening."

I shrugged and yawned. "I think the sugar's wearing off." To combat this, I tore open yet another pack of that sugar that people are supposed to put in their coffees or whatever. I, myself, like to eat it plain. I downed the packet, grinning at Tuesday's look of revulsion. He didn't like the stuff, he claimed. I was shocked: whipped cream, sugar...what was wrong with this kid? Did he have something against sugar, of all things? "Your answer?"

Tuesday steepled his hands in front of his face and leaned lightly against them. "If I could have anything in the world..." He paused. "I would like to have a fun summer," he said at last. "The past couple of summers have been no fun for me. I was grounded, and then I was sent to band camp, and then I was...jeez, I don't even remember all the things that went wrong last summer. So, yeah, I want to have fun this summer."

"Boring," I said, faking a yawn (which turned into a real yawn halfway through).

"Well, what would you want?" Tuesday challenged.

"To be a ninja," I said simply, not even having to think it over. "To be able to wear black all the time and just kick ass."

"You can wear black all the time," Tuesday pointed out.

I shook my head. "Nuh huh. Monica would have a fit. She's into pastels and neons and gaudy, overwhelming, terrifying colours. And anyway, even if I could, I still can't kick ass."

"That's 'cause you're a pansy," Tuesday teased.

"Duh." I glanced at the clock over the diner's counter and yawned. Nearly midnight. We had been sitting there, making paper snakes and drinking milk shakes (snakes and shakes-it sounds like some demented board game) for three and a half hours. Luckily, it wasn't busy, so the diner people weren't yelling at us to get a move on. However, I knew they would be closing at midnight. I slurped up the rest of my chocolate milkshake and stood. "Come on, we'd better pay and get out of here," I said around a yawn. "They close soon."

"Aww, is it past ickle Mango's bedtime?" Tuesday cooed.

I scowled at him, ignoring the fact that, yes, I did usually go to sleep before midnight. Then again, I was justified, because I usually woke around four or five in the morning. I wondered whether I would alter my schedule while Tuesday was there. Probably, if that night was any indication. I headed over to the counter and mutely accepted our bill from the waitress. Tuesday snatched it out from between my fingers. "I'm paying," I said stubbornly. "You're my guest."

Tuesday rolled his eyes. "But the man always pays."

I blinked at him. "That doesn't really narrow it down. And that's when people are dating. Why don't we both just pay for ourselves?"

"And how do you suggest paying for the milkshakes we shared? Or the fries we shared?" Tuesday challenged. "Besides, it does narrow it down, because I clearly am the one wearing the pants in this relationship. If, you know, we had a relationship."

I scowled. "Who said that I'm-"

"Mango, dear, you have skirts hanging in your closest," Tuesday said sweetly.

I looked between him and the waitress, who was clearly trying not to giggle. Then, I did the only sensible thing I could do: I pantsed Tuesday. "Now you're not wearing the pants!" I exclaimed triumphantly. Before I actually looked down at him. And realized he wasn't wearing boxers.

Mmm, half naked Tuesday.