There aren't any fairytale endings, you said. You're jaded, corrupted, lost. Beaten, broken, tossed around every corner of the world, thrown under the bus for other people's personal gain.

Struggling actor, starving artist, unaccomplished Trainer. Weakest of four. Overshadowed, undistinguished, unimpressive.

Today you remembered that you wanted to be in movies. You realized you became a cheap peep show act for lecherous underlings at the world's least glamorous vaudeville—which doesn't even deserve that title, such a cultural, almost prestigious title. It messed with your already fragile mind—being Psychic was always a chore—and you lost the battle today. More shame on your part.

Today you lost touch. You stood there after the battle, not giving your usual encouraging speech afterwards. You just let that kid walk all over you, pass through the doors. You wasted your life being the loser of the group.

Today you realized you've never had a love life. You've been used more times than you can count. Strangers and people who called themselves your friends ruined what little bit of good you thought you could salvage. When you became "Elite," a term that has lost its integrity over the years, no one knew. All they saw was a smiling kid who talked nonsensical actor's jargon that nobody knew how to respond to, but they supported you every step of the way. You never took them into consideration because of your self-loathing.

Today you ran out of your job and cried. You found an abandoned building a few miles outside of Blackthorn City and curled up behind it, sobbing. During the course of the day, all these things hit you all at once. They always do. But today was different. Today felt like it was tugging the end of the rope, hoisting you up higher and higher until your breath escaped and your mind went dark. Everyone in the League looked in your direction, calling your name—your real name which you hate so much. They showed genuine concern, but what did you know? Care isn't exactly something you've been brought up with.

Right now you are behind the abandoned little shack, reevaluating your life. It's miserable. It's not the commercial, star-studded life you dreamed of. Everything was just ripped from right underneath you. And there's nobody to hear your cries because nobody cares.

"…Will?"

The soft voices that carried off with the wind, your soft weeping blocking the noise from hitting your ears.

"Will? Will, are you okay?"

From commanding masculinity to smooth, velvety femininity, these voices caressed you. A pause was held in your sobs, causing you to look up. It's the League members.

Your colleagues.

Koga? Bruno?

What in the world were these two hard-headed ruffians doing, concerned with your whereabouts? Isn't that peculiar, being so strong and tough, but trying to find this weak little boy with willpower as breakable as glass?

Karen? Lance?

No, not them. One is too cold for human emotion, the other has their head so far up their ass there couldn't be a rational explanation as to why they're here, other than to perhaps kick further down into the dirt for personal entertainment.

But no. No, no, this isn't some kind of gathering for the burning. You see Karen's hand, drifting to the side of your face, her blue eyes coming into focus through your tears. They're sympathetic, beautiful. She smiles at you. Karen? Smiling at you? That couldn't be…

"Why're you out here all by your lonesome, Kid? You shouldn't be too far away from us!" The discipline in Koga's voice was firm, but with traces of fondness. Bruno silently agreed.

"Oh, sweet cheeks, we were so worried. You've been so depressed recently and today you just broke down. We tried finding you was well as we could, but these knuckleheads don't take kindly to my ideas." Karen cooed, her voice mature, womanly, a smoky twang of motherly love glossed from her lips. How have you not noticed how your own workers speak?

The female helps you to your feet, helping wipe away those tears. A rough hand falls on your shoulder and your head whips to the owner.

"Come on, Will," Lance, fearless, high-spirited leader that you didn't think could ever be sympathetic, "Let's go home. You can talk to us. That's why you work with us. It's not like we're there to be statues, kid."

And then you started to cry again. It was the best thing you had ever heard in your life.

Someone is here for you.

Today you found something better than self-deprecation.

Today you found friendship.

Today you found potential.

You walked back with your comrades, Karen chuckling, telling you to cheer up. You've ever heard a warmer tone.

Today you found solace.

Today you found comfort.

You realize your life didn't go to waste—it's just taking a different direction to stardom.

Today you found a different kind of love.

Today you found a reason.


This is dedicated to you, my honeybee. Now I really must be getting back to my incomplete fictions before I miss deadlines, but I hope you enjoyed it. To my reason, my hope, my all of my love.

CC