The La's
••• There She Goes •••
there she goes
there she goes again
she calls my name, pulls my train
no one else could heal my pain
•••••
happy Valentine's Day i claim you all to be my valentines
Also quick note can y'all avoid posting spoilers in the comments because there are new people reading this and they're getting spoiled bskdkdjd or if you do, post a comment saying spoiler and then say what you want to in the reply thread. Thanks!!
TW: accidental harm (vehicle edition)
I was a person that liked learning things.
I craved knowledge like how a lap dog craved affection, or a cat craved independence. It was essential to my well-being and growth. It was the on the base in my hierarchy of needs. It was my jam-on-toast breakfasts in the mornings, my toothbrush and hair routine, it was just as much a necessity to me in the same way as food, air and water were.
I was curious to a fault, but naturally, there were still so many questions that mystified me, that eluded my grabby little hands and nose for knowledge. I couldn't know everything in the world and sometimes that just downright bothered me.
For example, if the universe is always expanding, then what kind of space is it expanding into? Did we invent math or discover it? Is it possible to know what it truly good and what is truly evil? Is the earth in itself, alive?
It was questions like those that would render me immobile and frustrated in my bed, staring at the ceiling as my brain ticked ever onwards and yet my weary body demanded sleep. It was what made me have all-nighters watching documentaries on YouTube about a single fact that'll never have any purpose in my life whatsoever; like that Dr. Seuss invented the word 'nerd.'
Dad once said that my imagination and thirst for knowledge was too active for me to handle, sometimes. It was too much, too big for my little-in-comparison body ever since I was a young girl, and it was chasing me straight into adulthood. I was inclined to believe him.
There were existential questions that were unanswerable - either no one was there to record it or it was just frankly impossible to discern - and there would always be debates, always be theories about it, always be me withering in agony because I wasn't able to know steadfast; actual answers with solid evidence? No way. At least, not to my knowledge. And I knew.
There was no doubt that science had come a long, long way since the Stone Age, but it still couldn't quite keep up to speed with a brain. Not all the questions in the world could be answered, and sometimes I had to force myself to remember that during my late, insomniac nights.
However, mind-breaking questions like what was at the bottom of a black hole couldn't put a flame next to the biggest question that had ever mystified me since that first day of summer;
What was it about this guy's hoody smelling nice?
Okay. It was a lie, I do kind of know why.
Humans are animals, right? So despite being an evolved species, basic animal instincts do still have quite a hold over us - it was what told us to run or fight when there's danger, it was what told us what's good to eat or not. It was all about survival and it all depended on our senses: touch, sight, hearing, taste, and, the one that was currently kicking me upside the head; smell.
It was no secret that romantic partners liked the smell of each other's clothes. In fact, it was so common that scientists even conducted multiple studies on it. It was all about classical conditioning and familiarity and all that good stuff. Our nose was telling us that this was safe, this was secure and then all of our happy endorphins would get released.
But this dude was a stranger. I didn't have the classical conditioning to his scent. I'd never even met the guy.
Which brought me to my next theory that intruded my brain while I walked down the streets of Ninjago City; he had a conflicting Major Histocompatibility Complex from my own.
I'd learnt about it in biology back when I was still at Jamanakai Girls, and I was so engrossed by the proven biological study that it'd stuck with me ever since; hence the... scientific ramble my brain had fallen into on my walk home.
Maybe I was just trying to distract myself from being upset I was sent home. Anyway.
The MHC was directly related to the immune system and basically acted as a bloodhound for compatible partners. When two people had a conflicting MHC, it meant that they each had natural immunity to different diseases than each other, which in turn provided genetic advantage in their children. It also meant that they smelt really, really nice to one another. It was kinda like soulmates, but biology.
Because; animal instincts. Hurray. We all cheer.
I acknowledged this train of thought with a distant feeling of disturbance at myself; I shouldn't be smelling a stranger's hoody and thinking about our genetic compatibility. I shouldn't be thinking about how this was basically five billion years of biology yelling at me about how he would make the perfect partner because I thought he smelt nice.
But the hoody was tucked under my arm as I walked and I couldn't avoid the natural scent that was slowly wafting past the stretch of hot chocolate and to my nose (I mean, seriously, whose body odour smelt like springtime? Was this guy even real?). It was like an assault - a mouth-watering, almost intoxicating assault. A punch to the nose, even. A pleasant one.
The more I thought about it, the more I hated myself for thinking it. Could I press charges on an item of clothing?
I pushed my thoughts to the side with a shudder. I was beginning to weird myself out beyond anything forgivable.
I lifted my chin and continued my walk down the streets of Ninjago City. The summer sun was still hot and beating, the breeze still gentle and pleasant, the crickets and cicadas continued their duets. My internal crisis was exactly that - internal.
Nothing had outwardly changed from that early morning when I'd gotten out of bed and marvelled at the big city, and yet it felt as if the entirety of my axis had been shifted. Not a lot, per say, but enough for it to throw me off balance and out of whack. My hand gripped the hoodie tighter and I subtly grimaced at the sticky remains of my sweet drink.
This was too weird.
... and I was thinking about his smell again, dammit.
It threw me back to early springtime in the countryside, the sun on your face, the old and fading winter oxygen in your lungs. Of fresh strands of grass sprouting from the moist earth, of new buds of wheat rustling through rolling fields, bubbling streams and the smell of wet rocks. Forests in early summer, the feeling of new life and rejuvenation but still the same, steady world that had been here for millions of years.
It was so vast. It made my head spin.
He smelt like life, I'd concluded. New beginnings of it and the remains of thousands of decades. A boy that traversed beyond time.
I was pretty sure that I smelt like pasta.
It was such an odd scent for someone to have. Subconsciously, we're always smelling people. It was natural, it was how we breathed. But something about green hoodie's scent had me halting in my tracks and becoming more keenly aware of this sense that I'd previously ignored.
It was just...
so unusual.
What did Claire call him? Lloyd... something? Lloyd, anyway. Lloyd.
He suited the name Lloyd. Shaggy blond hair and green eyes that were so vibrant that I was surprised they weren't the first thing I'd noticed from across the cafe. Lloyd.
It was a soft name. Soft, but it ended hard. It fell like a dip, felt like a slide, with an ending that curved back up. It felt like a skateboarding bowl.
Lloyd. Lloyd. Like a flying fox with an end that had you stopping suddenly and tossed almost vertically against the sky. Lloyd.
A tug on my stomach had my absent-minded steps faltering. It felt as I had been hauled back an inch. And now, suddenly aware of the feeling of this tie around my stomach that was physically, gently pulling me back, I realised that it had been there ever since I met Lloyd. Not heavy, not overtly conspicuous - subtle, only noticeable if you knew that it was there.
Okay. Weird. Was it weirder than liking his smell? Probably not.
Maybe I was going crazy. Maybe I caught something and was getting sick.
I weighed all these life-changing but also not really life-changing factors as I walked down the suburban street to what was my new home. Old cottages lined either side of the wide tarmac, dotted with cars and trucks of various models. Peach blossom trees flanked the sidewalk.
From what I had discerned so far of my new suburb, it may as well have been a retirement home considering the ages of the residents. I was pretty sure that even my mum was younger than the rest of our neighbours by a good couple of decades. It was a very peaceful, very quiet street.
My new home sat a few sections down from an intersection that lead to the farmlands that bordered the outskirts of the city. A little bit to the west was the massive desert, the Sea of Sand, where Jamanakai lived just beyond. To our north-east was the Wailing Alps and a gargantuan, sprawling forest that spanned for miles.
The house itself was an old cottage from the sixties, one with a front porch and a white banister that you'd see on one of those slice-of-life shows that would play on my grandparents' boxy old TV that they refused to replace. One part of the roof was completely flat and the previous occupants must've realised its potential, as a ladder was installed to the roof beside my new bedroom window.
There was even space for a garden, too - not that my mum and I would ever use it. We would've been the only ones in the street that didn't have a million colourful flowers lining our driveway.
"Hello?" I called as I opened the front door and slid off my shoes. The place was a chaotic mess of cardboard boxes and crumpled newspaper, a result of moving cities.
"In the kitchen!" Mum's voice replied from down the long hallway.
If there was any question that I knew the answer to, it was this; as similar as my mother and I looked, we couldn't have been any more different from one another.
She was determined and hardy and brave. My mum could put up a fight when needed to, and was protective to a fault. But despite all that, she was kind, and she loved me fiercely. She was cool and confident and super successful despite having me at seventeen. She still managed to get her degree while wrangling a young child - and was now the lead psychologist in the Ninjago City branch of the company she worked for: another promotion, hence the move back after a decade.
I, on the other hand, was meek and unsure. I was still finding my feet in the world and would rather follow a leader than stand up for myself. I tried my best to be kind to everyone, but with Mum, it just seemed to come so effortlessly.
She was my favourite person in the world.
"What happened to helping me unpack?" mum chided from the boxes she was kneeling before when I entered the kitchen. I wilted with a guilty laugh and rubbed at the back of my neck. I probably should've told her that I was heading out before I disappeared that morning.
"Sorry," I apologised. "I'll make you a coffee."
"You're forgiven," she said immediately. "What's that?"
I glanced down at the green hoodie in my grasp. "A hoodie."
"Yes, I know that, genius," Mum said dryly as she continued to unwrap our dishes from the newspaper. "I meant whose is it?"
"Oh," I said, definitely stalling as I stepped over the boxes, placed the hoodie onto the bench and began making mum a coffee (the coffee machine was the first thing to be unpacked, of course). "Um... I think his name was Lloyd?"
Her head turned over her shoulder. Eyes the same colour as mine bored through me. "A boy?"
"Yes, mum," I said as I watched the coffee fill the mug while the machine loudly chugged. My cheeks flushed pink - I didn't like this type of attention. "Lloyd is generally a boy's name. But, you know, times are changing. You could be right."
"Alright, smartass," Mum said as she threw a waded up ball of newspaper at my leg. I flinched, giggling. "That's the last time we watch Deadpool for Friday night movies."
"But his sarcasm is part of his charm!" I lightheartedly defended as I stepped over the boxes and handed mum her coffee. She took a sip and sighed with relief.
"Ah, thank you," she said in blissful rhapsody as I began pulling out the forks and piling them into one compartment of the utensil tray. "You're my favourite child."
I sent her a smirk. "I'm your only child."
"And thus it still counts," she airily replied. I rolled my eyes good-naturedly. "So why do you have this boy's hoodie? And-" she scrunched her nose "-why does it smell like chocolate?"
"Heh..." I half-laughed nervously as I slowly unwrapped the teaspoons. "I kinda, uh... broke my skateboard over his head."
Mum dropped the mug she was unwrapping. It landed in her lap before rolling onto the ground, thankfully unharmed.
"You what?" she questioned with a bewildered guffaw. Her lips were pulled into a massive, amused smile and I groaned in embarrassment. "Tell me everything!"
I stared at her expectant grin and sighed. I closed the utensil draw and got started on pulling out the appliances from their boxes.
"He scared me," I said as shame and guilt built a castle out of stone on my shoulders. "I used my skateboard in self-defence. And it broke in two."
"How did he scare you?"
"I left my drink at a bench and he came to return it, hence the hot chocolate covered hoodie," I answered as my cheeks began to blaze. I just realised how romantic and out-of-the-ordinary it sounded - aside the whole concussion thing, of course.
"Aw," Mum gushed. "That's sweet! And you took it home to wash?"
I nodded.
"Was he cute?"
"Mom!" I exclaimed in embarrassed horror.
"What?" she laughed in defence. "I just want to know!"
"Yeah, I guess he's cute," I grumbled. "He had a nice smile."
My mum gasped and childishly pointed at me. "You have a crush!"
I gave her a strange look. "Me saying that someone has a nice smile constitutes me having a crush?"
"If it's you, then yes."
I sent the wall a bland look before returning to my task of unpacking the forks.
"Where's your board?" Mum asked.
"He has it."
"Why?"
"So he can fix it," I answered.
"Why?"
"I guess having someone hit him in the head with a skateboard constitutes him fixing it," I said sarcastically.
"But why?" Mum repeated again. "It wasn't his fault."
"That's what I tried to say, too," I said with a shrug. "He wasn't having a bar of it."
She hummed. "Strange."
"Very," I agreed. "Someone being nice? We should call the cops."
Mum scoffed. "You didn't get your sense of humour from me, that's for sure. Why'd you go to the park, anyway? Assuming that's where you went with your board."
"Oh." My chest sunk a little. "I was meeting up with my friends."
Mum's smile faded. She glanced to the clock on the wall and looked back at me.
"... and you're back before twelve?"
My expression melted into something unsure and I busied myself in plugging in the toaster. "Uh... yeah."
"Why are you back before twelve, Y/n." It wasn't phrased as a question.
I meekly shrugged, pretending to be invested in testing that the toaster was working. I couldn't look at her - she was a top psychologist, she'd be able to see the hurt in my eyes as easy as picking out a tree in an otherwise empty meadow.
"My board broke," I reminded, as if that was a plausible enough reason. "Claire thought it'd be best if I went home. There's no fun in watching them skate and not being able to join in."
"Are those Claire's words?"
"They're mine," I murmured, lying.
"Y/n."
I never was a good liar. Mum was sending me a pitiful look and it was making my spine prickle with unease.
"Can we change the topic?"
"I never liked that Claire," Mum sniffed as she unpacked the unbreakables with more force than necessary. "She's so..."
"Mum, please."
"Okay, okay," she soothed, raising her palms in a placating manner. "Shouldn't you get that thing washed? Don't want that hot chocolate staining it."
I glanced over at the hoodie on the bench. I'd forgotten about it, honestly. I gave a nod and grabbed the hoodie, ignoring the sweet scent of spring that wafted from the garment.
"Is the washing machine set up?"
"Yeah, I did it this morning when my home associate was supposed to be helping me."
"I'm sorrrryyyy," I groaned as I walked down the hall.
After peeking through some doorways, I finally found where the laundry was half-set up. I threw the hoodie into the washing machine and watched as it began to spin in the soapy water.
The green was the same as Lloyd's eyes, wasn't it? I wondered if he chose it because of that. Maybe somebody else chose it for him.
Maybe his partner did. He must get around, surely, given the blue-haired barista's reaction upon seeing him in the cafe. She had to have been an ex. He was pretty enough to have had a string of lovers. Sweet enough, too.
My cheeks warmed at the reminder of him putting his number into my phone. He was smooth, too. A true triple threat.
God. It was only the first day back in Ninjago City and I was already feeling thrown off the rails. The sooner I could get his hoodie back to him and never think about our conflicting Major Histocompatibility Complexes again, the better.
"Your father called," Mum said as soon as I stepped back into the kitchen to continue unpacking the appliances. I brightened.
"Really?" I gasped. "What did he say?"
"He said that he hates us and is never visiting again," Mum said simply. I scoffed at her attempt at a joke - and she called me the unfunny one. "He said that he's hoping the move's going well that he'll be down in two month's time."
I felt my chest sink. "Two months?"
Mum stopped her unpacking and sent me a sympathetic smile. I could tell that she missed him a lot too, as strong as she was trying to be.
"I'm sorry, chickadee," she said softly. "With all the recent upsurge of ninja sightings and that weird Anacondri war the other month, the military's been going full force. He can barely get time to sleep, let alone travel down to Ninjago City."
"He's the sergeant major," I muttered forlornly. "He should be able to leave whenever he wants."
"It doesn't work like that, sweetheart."
"I know," I murmured, but it still felt right to say. We fell into silence.
And then, just like that, Mum changed the subject;
"I'm not sure if Claire's such a good influence on you, Y/n," Mum scorned, and it seemed as though she hadn't yet gotten it out of her system. I buried the irritated feeling into the bottom of my stomach - I didn't want to snap at her for continuing to talk about Claire. "She just appears out of nowhere a few years ago and suddenly she's the queen of the town? She's been spoilt too much by her parents, I'll tell you that. Spoiled too much and lacks the social awareness to recognise her privileges."
"Can we please not talk about this?" I begged. "She's just a bit prickly. If she really had a problem, she'd tell me. Give her the benefit of the doubt. She's still my friend."
The loaded sigh told me that Mum was dropping the conversation but still didn't agree. She turned to where she was adjusting the position of the kitchen's clock and tilted her head thoughtfully.
"What's the boy's name again?" she asked while putting up the clock an inch. I hummed as I pulled out the toastie pie machine and looked through the cupboards under the bench for a permanent home.
"I think it's Lloyd?" I said unsurely. "Lloyd... something. It starts with a 'G.' It sounded old."
"Old?" Mum echoed as she straightened. "Old and rich?"
"Mum," I admonished with an unimpressed frown. "No. It sounded traditional."
"Traditional means rich."
"Mum."
"Lighten up," she groaned. "I'm just pulling your leg. Traditional, huh? Maybe his family belongs to one of the old village heads."
"Maybe?" I questioned as I closed the cupboard door behind the toastie pie machine. Now, onto the kettle. "He gave me his number. Maybe he put his name in my phone?"
"He gave you his number?!" Mum exclaimed, making me startle and almost drop the kettle onto my feet. I sent her an annoyed look over my shoulder. "Oh, my god, Y/n! Why didn't you start with that?"
"Because you'd react like this?" I mumbled stroppily. "It's not a big deal. It's just so we have a way to contact each other to exchange items."
"Oh, my poor girl," my mum sighed. "I didn't give you my smarts, did I? He likes you."
"No, he doesn't," I replied with the same emphasis my mum used. She pouted. I slammed the kettle onto the bench and dubbed it home.
"Can you at least look for what his name is?"
I grumpily sighed and pulled out my phone. "Fine." I was curious myself, anyway.
I scrolled through my admittedly short list of contacts to find one that was unfamiliar. My brows raised in subdued amusement when I found his contact and showed her the screen.
"His name is the skateboard emoji," I said.
"Creative," Mum mused. "I wonder how his parents picked that name. How do you think you pronounce it? Is it still 'Skateboard?'"
"Shut up," I snickered. She pulled into a grin and, kitchen unpacking forgotten, leant her elbow on an unopened cardboard box. It was gossip time.
"What did he look like?"
I shrugged, feigning disinterest as though he hadn't been the very visage imprinted into the backs of my eyes. "Blond. Green eyes. Athletic, I guess, maybe does a sport or something. He's probably around my age."
"Naw." Mum dropped her chin onto her hand with a content smile. "He sounds cute."
"He was sweet," I agreed with a pleasant nod as I placed the cutting boards into their new location. "I think the kitchen's done. Should we move to the living room?"
"That sounds good, home associate," Mum said.
🍃🍂🍁🍂🍃
It was just hitting the evening when we finally finished unpacking the house.
I collapsed back onto the couch with a tired sigh, watching as Mum did the finishing touches - angle a photo frame here, fluff a couch cushion there. Just small things that you wouldn't really ever notice, but she did. She always did.
Halfway through the day, the washing machine finished. Skateboard-slash-Lloyd's hoodie hung outside on the line for the rest of the afternoon before being brought back in for the night with the rest of my washing. It sat, neatly folded, at the foot of my bed where it would remain until the day it'd be returned to its owner.
"Alright," Mum huffed as she turned to me and planted her hands on her hips. "I'm feeling noodles."
I raised my brows from where I was lounging on the couch. "Noodles?"
"Noodles," she repeated with a firm nod. "And I'm feeling that you're the one who's picking them up. Naomi's mother was telling me about this great noodle house on twenty-third ave and I've been craving noodles ever since. Besides, there's nothing in the fridge."
I sat up with a sigh. "Alright. You order and pay, I'll pick it up."
"You're the best, love you!" Mum called as I dragged my feet to my bedroom and grabbed my favourite big, fluffy cardigan. It paired well with my fat pants and slides. I was a true fashion icon.
I caught a yawn with my hand as I snatched the car keys and bid a quick farewell from afar to Mum. Stepping out onto the porch, I shivered at the unexpected chill and pulled my cardigan tighter around myself. I supposed it was summer, but not truly summer-summer yet. If that made sense.
Mum's car was a classy little thing that she just began to trust me enough to start driving on my own. It was quaint and modest, not like the big massive trucks that my dad liked to drive. It made me feel mature.
Pulling out onto the street, I drove the way back into the city from the outskirts. Slowly, to take it all in during the evening sun as it coated everything in a dusky, rose gold. The soft music playing from the radio made the drive all the more serene. Luckily, we were in the quiet sector, so the streets weren't too busy. Nothing scared me more than angry, impatient city traffic.
The noodle house Mum was raving about was called Skylor's, and it was located on the outer rings of city centre. Once I got our food and (nervously) drove back out of the bustling city hub, I relaxed upon finding the near-desolate roads once again.
It was darker on the way back home. It'd gone full night, and the gloom gave me a new take on the city as the lights illuminated the evening sky. I spaced, staring at the pretty lights while the old pop station played in the background. I was thankful that mine was the only car on the road back to my new home.
Unfortunately, I didn't account for things on the street that were not cars.
I was too busy marvelling at the massive neon cat sign for a sushi place that towered over the rooftops of neighbouring buildings to see the figure in dark clothing run out onto the road, even with him frantically waving his arms in the air. And then it all happened so quickly.
I peeled my eyes from the neon cat (it was just so cute!) when my stomach did that same strange tug, and I finally noticed the human illuminated by my headlights on the road right before me. I screamed, hit the break a smidge too late, and the person landed on the hood with a boyish yelp and a loud, metallic BONK.
I sat perfectly still in horror, staring as the person slowly stood back up from the bent hood, staggered like a drunk man, and then fell down onto his ass on the tarmac. I couldn't breathe. I heard a faint groan.
"Shit!" was the first thing I managed to yell in panic as I yanked my seatbelt off and stumbled out of the car. He sat on the road with a dazed look in his eyes. "I'm so sorry! I didn't see you - god, are you okay? Are you alive?!"
"Part of me wishes I weren't," the figure on the ground dryly chuckled.
"Don't be dead, god, please don't be dead!" I gasped. "I'm too young and scared for jail-!"
I cut myself off when he held up a hand. I sucked in my lips with wide eyes.
"A little less shouting, please," the masked figure murmured. He cradled his head with a grimace.
I knelt beside him, hands nervously fretting and unsure whether to reach out or not, and that was when I noticed his unusual, dark clothing, embossed with green. More prominently - the mask. My eyes widened.
It was my turn for my ass to fall back onto the tarmac. I had only just gotten my breath back, and it was stolen once more.
"You're..."
"Not dead," he said sarcastically. "Yes, well done."
"You're the Green Ninja," I breathed, ignoring his slight snark due to being too engrossed in the fact that the infamous Green Ninja, the person all of social media was in love with, the quote-un-quote 'leader of the hottest boyband but not only boys and also not a band' was in front of me.
"The one and only," he answered, still sat in the pooling illumination of my headlights.
"I just ran into you with my car," I stressed.
"Oh, I'm aware."
"I hit the Green Ninja with my car," I whispered in horror as it settled in.
"That you did," he said tiredly. The Green Ninja pulled his hand away from his head and blinked comically, still seeming to be stunned. My throat was dry when I nervously swallowed.
"Uh- um-!" I stammered as I launched myself back into my car to grab a box of plasters from the glovebox. I knelt before him once more and held out the worn down cardboard. "Do you need a plaster?"
"I think-"
"They have Star Wars characters on them."
The Green Ninja's brows raised in amused bewilderment - they were a light brown, I noted - before his eyes finally met mine.
They were green - and I mean, really green. A vibrant green, one that couldn't possibly be a real eye colour. They were ringed by an even darker green and they almost seemed to shift shades and gleam a muted pine in the shadows. They were pretty.
The Green Ninja seemed to be equally as frozen as he stared at me, and for a brief second I thought that he really hated Star Wars, which was ridiculous, because Stars Wars was a cinematic masterpiece so how could someone ever hate Star Wars let alone Star Wars plasters, but then I realised that I was being silly and-
God, he was still staring at me.
I didn't hit him that hard, did I? It was only a little bowl; a mere tap, even, but the dent at the front of the hood told me otherwise. I wilted with shame.
Two concussions administered in one day. Well done, Y/n. And to the Green Ninja, too! I should have a warning tattooed to my forehead.
I held out the box again, just to break this weird, silent tangent that had settled over us.
"Plaster?" I offered. He slowly pulled one out of the old box, still eyeing me oddly.
"Thanks..."
"Who'd you get?" I quietly asked before I could stop myself. The Green Ninja pulled open the plaster's packet before showing it to me.
"Chewbacca."
"Oh, nice," I said with a stiff nod. I threw the box back into the car and winced at the sound of it hitting the dashboard and falling to the floor. "I like Chewbacca."
Though the Green Ninja was still staring at me as if I'd grown a second head, he humoured me.
"I'm more of a Luke Skywalker guy myself."
Green Ninja likes Luke Skywalker. Figures.
He awkwardly stuffed the plaster into his belt pack. I held out my hand for him to take, and he hesitantly placed his gloved palm into my hold. We stood together and I was astute enough to notice the weird tension as soon as it settled over us like thick soup. I was quick to pull my hand away.
"Sorry for, um... hitting you with my car," I apologised again with a timid sort of colour to my voice that had me wincing. "I know that you're the Green Ninja, but please don't jump into any more traffic."
"'Jump into traffic?'" he echoed in disbelief. "You weren't paying attention!"
My jaw dropped open in shock at the accusation. I mean, he was right, but I was still proud enough to take offence.
"You jumped out in front of my car!" I defended.
"I was trying to stop you," he explained and pointed over my shoulder. "Didn't you see the sign? I saved your life."
I followed his finger and found a shoddy sign with the words 'danger,' 'stop,' and 'sinkhole' haphazardly painted (obviously rushed and by hand) onto its wood, stuck against a street lamp. It was very hard to read.
"A sinkhole?" I said in surprise as I began walking past the Green Ninja to have a peek myself. He caught my wrist. I stared at him.
"Why would you walk towards-" he broke himself off with a frustrated sigh. "Who are you?"
I blinked back at him. "I'm Y/n."
He faltered, as if not expecting me to actually give my name. His green eyes darted around the street.
"I literally just drove down this street not even twenty minutes ago," I said in shock as I gently and absentmindedly worked my hand from his grasp. "How did I not notice a massive sinkhole?"
The Green Ninja tilted his head. He was still avoiding looking at me. "It's been here for hours. Are you sure you're on the right street?"
"This's third ave, right?"
His green eyes shot back to me. "No."
I smiled out of panic. "What?"
He glanced around the street again. "This is thirty-two."
"Thirty-huh?" I echoed in horror, smile dropping. I spun around and realised that nothing looked remotely familiar. Darn that big neon cat sign! I bet I got distracted by the illuminating kitty and took a wrong turn - or a couple of them. I felt my throat begin to close. "Oh, my god. Oh, my god, I'm lost."
"I hear drama and a damsel in distress!" called a new voice as another dark-clothed figure landed soundlessly on the roof of my car. I startled with a shriek and whipped around to find the intruder crouching with his arms on his knees. He stared at the Green Ninja expectantly and almost tipped forward onto his face from where he was balancing on the balls of his feet. His ninja gi was decorated with red. "What's the tea?"
"I hit the Green Ninja with my car and I'm lost," I immediately responded before the Green Ninja could open his mouth. The shake to my voice was definitely just out of panic and not the verge of tears. I was lying. I was definitely about to cry.
"... hah?" The Red Ninja stared at me. "Oh, um... okay. Cool. Well done."
"Well done for hitting me with her car?" the Green Ninja echoed in insulted exasperation. Red shrugged.
"Yeah. Well done for hitting this goober with your car."
"Thank you, I'm quite proud of it myself," I whimpered, claiming an insulted 'what?!' from the Green Ninja. "Do you guys know where Kanto Terrace is?"
"The retirement section?" Red nodded as he turned on the balls of his feet and pointed his arm down the street. "It's a straight shot west from here."
He noticed the Green Ninja staring at the tarmac with a troubled expression and frowned. At least, I think he frowned. His mask didn't reveal much of his facial expressions.
"What's up with you?"
The Green Ninja quickly looked up. "Nothing."
A brow was raised. "Are you sure?"
"It's nothing."
"Okay." The Red Ninja caved. "Alright, I've got some adoring fans to woo and stuff. Catch you on the flip." He turned to me and gave a two-fingered salute. "Miss." Then he leapt off the hood of my car and scaled the building beside us like a ninja Spider-Man before disappearing.
"You should get home," the Green Ninja said. I inhaled deeply and nodded.
"Yeah," I agreed. "Sorry, again. And thanks for, y'know, not letting me drive head-first into a sinkhole."
"Just doing my job."
My smile was small in return. I didn't know why, but he seemed to have softened up for some reason. I couldn't imagine being this forgiving to someone who just rammed me with their car.
"Are you going to be okay?" I asked.
"I'll be fine, don't worry." He waved me off. "I've taken harder hits."
I paused as a strange sense of déjà vu had my chest twisting. That was the second time someone said that to me - then again, it was also the second time I'd managed to injure someone in the same day.
Maybe the Ninjago City boys all shared one-liners. Maybe they had a boys club.
"Thanks again," I said awkwardly, now just craving a quick retreat home. "Bye."
And then I stepped back into my wing mirror and sent it tumbling to the ground. I stared at the mirror with dismay as it lay on the tarmac, taunting me, calling me names, cursing my firstborn child. I wanted to cry.
"Yikes." The Green Ninja hissed through his teeth in sympathy.
"This is so not my day," I sobbed as I dropped my face into my hands.
"You and me both," he said before picking up the mirror and holding it to the side of the car. "Hold."
I did as told, obediently holding the wing mirror in place while the Green Ninja fished through his belt pack and pulled out some duck tape.
"Best creation in all of Ninjago," he joked, or maybe he wasn't joking, and taped the mirror to the car.
I watched him while he worked, brows pulled tight over his eyes. The shadow from his mask and his back to the lights almost made it impossible to see what was exposed of his face, but the colour of his irises stood out like emeralds catching city lights.
"Why are you helping me?" I asked, shaking my head in awe. "I literally ran into you. I should be, like... fined or something."
"Maybe thrown in a holding cell for hitting a pedestrian," he contemplated teasingly while he rolled the tape around the mirror's neck.
"You were jaywalking," I reminded.
"Saved your life," he sent back.
"... touché."
"What else do you think I do, other than saving damsels in distress like you, of course?" he said, and he had to be joking, now. I was kind of bewildering, being teased by the infamous Green Ninja. "I live my life for saving damsels."
"Uh- I think you're the damsel in this situation," I corrected, making him chuckle and then for a blossom of warmth spread through my chest in surprised delight. He pulled out a small pocket knife and cut the tape. I let go of the mirror, relieved to see that it stayed strong - it wasn't pretty, but it'd work.
"Maybe I am," he shrugged. Then his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "But I guess that makes you the villain."
"Oh, boy," I said monotonously as I stared at the silver-tape wrapped wing mirror.
His green eyes dropped to me and I looked up at him, and I just realised for the first time since he stood just how tall he was. Not ridiculously tall, not overly massive, but at least a solid head more than I was.
Of course he was an exact head taller than I was. He was a regular Prince Charming that could do Ninjitsu, and I was still at least eighty-four percent sure that this was some kind of fever dream. Maybe the Green Ninja in real life would only be an inch or two taller than I because that would be less stereotypical and oh my god was I blushing? Did he notice? He hadn't said anything - maybe it was too dark for him to see.
"Try not to run into anymore people on your way home, alright, miss villain?" he said.
Oh, yeah, he was definitely the modern day Prince Charming. I was practically swooning (that was sarcasm, by the way). My eyes narrowed.
"I think I've reached my quota for tonight," I agreed.
"Terrifying," he commented simply and I broke into a grin. "Have a good night."
"I hope you don't get hit by any more cars."
He rolled his eyes before departing, disappearing silently and swiftly, like a ghost dashing through the streets, or a raccoon through the park - probably off to stop other clueless drivers from taking a free dive.
My stomach twisted as he left, and I concluded that, yep, I was definitely getting sick. Maybe it was from the move. Maybe that was why speaking to him seemed so easy.
And then the events that had just transpired sunk in. I slumped against my car door.
Holy fuck. That was the Green Ninja. Ninjago's own saviour! The hero of heroes, the thorn on the government's backside, the front cover of every magazine, the poster in every teen's room, my own dad's self-acclaimed arch-nemesis.
And I got to meet him personally.
And... and I hit him with my car. And gave him a Star Wars plaster.
Oh, yeah. Here comes the mortifying embarrassment. Surely he'd remember today and laugh about the weird girl with the Star Wars plasters with the rest of his team for years to come.
I slid into my drivers seat and dropped my head onto the steering wheel. I groaned. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Dolefully, I made my way home using the directions from the Red Ninja (and made sure to be extra vigilant that time, no more illuminated kitties for me) and pulled into my driveway. The old lady next door watched from her patio as I exited the car.
"Hello, Y/n, dear!"
"Hi, Molly," I replied with forced happiness so my tiredness wouldn't get mistaken for a sullen attitude. She'd welcomed us yesterday with cookies and I liked her, so I didn't want her to think I was another pissy teen. We were already on a first-name basis.
I all but shoved the front door open and stomped inside and down to the kitchen. Mum glanced up from where she was sat, scrolling through her Facebook at the dining table and her cheek in her hand, bored.
"Took you long enough," she said, tossing her phone onto the table and standing with a stretch. "What'd you do, retrieve the ingredients from the four corners of Ninjago and cook it yourself?"
Only when she came closer to retrieve her dinner did she notice the drained look on my face. Her face twisted in concern.
"What happened?" she asked, bringing out a plate. I stared at the noodle carton blankly.
"I ran into the Green Ninja."
"What?" Mum gasped. "Oh, honey, that's so exciting-!"
"With the car."
"What the hell went wrong with you."
I raised my tired gaze to her. The drive home was a sufficient enough time to fully realise the situation (god, why did I offer him Star Wars plasters? And why did I say Chewbacca was my favourite? Clearly Han Solo was superior!) and the amount of embarrassed shock and horror and all that good stuff had settled in and called my body home. I wanted to crawl into bed and never leave.
"I ran into the Green Ninja with a car, Mum," I echoed in a pathetic voice. Her hands found my shoulders and she guided me to the couch.
"Oh, I know," she said with a nod. "I'm not old, my hearing is perfectly fine. Is he dead? Do we need to call your father?"
"What? No!" I shrieked. "What would Dad do, anyway? He's in the military, not some street gang."
She shrugged. "He's probably got connections."
"I didn't kill the Green Ninja!"
"Okay!" Mum raised her hands with a surrendering frown. She was practically waving a white flag. "Okay! Let's just have dinner and go to bed. Yeesh, you get cranky when you hit a ninja with the car."
When dinner was eaten and my mortification had calmed, I settled into my new room's new set-up. I lounged on my bed and scrolled through my Instagram feed until I came across Aaliyah's post from that morning.
She'd taken a selfie, consisting of everybody in the group - a feat that was pretty impressive, given the size. Her caption read 'hanging with the best people in the universe!'
My brows twitched and an odd feeling settled like a rock in my chest. It was crushing, twisting, pulverising. It felt as if the weight of a million suns had taken up the space between my ribs.
I dropped my phone onto my bedside table and calculated this feeling of dejection that had consumed me wholly. I would've been there. I should've been there. It was my first day back.
It wasn't fair.
I sighed through my nose and curled onto my side. The green hoodie sat, folded neatly on my dresser.
No, it wasn't fair.