It's better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.

Chapter IV- Warning

                There they lie, both cuddling under the sheets, cupping each other's hands, and sharing the warmth of their hearts. They were both grinning and giggling at every story they could tell. And while Hanna would speak of hers, Tyler would listen intently. He'd admire her eyes, still. Everytime he catches a glimpse of those icy eyes, he falls in love again.

                 Hanna's sudden change of expression caught Tyler off guard. She displayed a look of utter worry. She looked down, then back up at Tyler. "How's the nightmares?" She said. Tyler pulled her in closer to him. He caressed her hair and turned slightly to kiss her forehead.

                 "You know what? I read this incredible book." He explained. "One of my favorite lines are from this boy. He said..." He looked at her and continued. " 'My nightmares are usually about losing you.' It was Peeta Mellark in The Hunger Games." He smiled when Hanna cuddled closer and shut her eyes. He whisperred, "My case here is the same. So as long as I'm assured you'll be with me FOREVER, things like nightmares are..." His expression dropped in despair for a moment. He dripped a tear while Hanna wasn't looking. "...non-existent."

                 Then they said no more.

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                 The next morning Tyler had woken up with the girl he loved on his arms, replaced by a note instead.

Dear Tylie,

         Pancakes in the oven, syrup's in the fridge. Moi, on the other hand, is off to work. Meet at 5.

                   P.S. I love you!         :-*

                            P.P.S. Happy 5th Anniversary!!!!

-Love, HannaBanana! xD

                  Tyler laughed. 'HannaBanana' is what Tyler teased her with when they went channel surfing and saw this commercial of a kid singing 'Anna Banana.' Since then, he'd occasionally call her HannaBanana.

                   It struck him. 'It's time...' He thought. It was their Anniversary day. The day they found each other at that park. The day he took her home, and fell in love with her. But this day marked something else, and the man, who he anticipated was about to knock the door, knows all too well what that something was. Tyler faced the door and counted down, '5...4...3...2...1,' he opened the door just before McGuirre could move his raised hand. The black man with the ridiculous white beard showed no surprise of the act. He looked rather blank. "Well, Tyler, today is the day. As you know." McGuirre explained as he welcomed himself inside and onto the couch. His cane thumped at every step. Tyler glared at him.

                 "Time for what?" He said while sippin' on his coffee nonchalantly. The man stared at him. He pulled out a gun. Click!

                 "Does this ring a bell?" McGuirre says as he waved his polished shotgun in the air. Tyler didn't even bat an eyelash at the man. McGuirre sighed. "Quit playing me, Tyler. I don't have time for this." Tyler laughed sarcastically.

                 "You, of all people, don't have time?" His face hardened. "Who's playing with who now?" He spat out.

                  "I'm old, Tyler. I'm tired!" McGuirre gave in. "I'm old and tired, is what I'm telling you. So, please, I beg. You've had enough of this. Stop it... or I'll stop it for you." His white brows crumpled over his eyes as he stood up.

                   Smirk. "Stop it how, exactly?" Quick, for an old-timer, was McGuirre's hand to pick up his gun, load it, aim it, and shoot.

                     Tyler's eyes jerked open in shock. His heart skipped a beat as he fell on his knees. He breathed hard as he took in what just happened. He shot a hateful killing intent to him. "Bastard! You almost hit me."

                     "Exactly." McGuirre kept his gun, walked over to the door and clutched the knob. "That would be my last warning." He looked over to the photo of Hanna hung behind Tyler's head. "Leave her." He shut it close.

                      He stood back up and turned around. He stared straight with fearful eyes. With shaking hands, he slowly reached out his tensed arms, took the picture frame, and clutched it desperately. He fell on his knees again, shaking his head in disbelief. With tears welling up in his eyes, he cursed at the skies. "Never!" He clutched onto the frame, crushing it, making his soft hands bleed.

"...never." He whimperred.