It's Friday now. I've gotten through a whole school week of Cady teasing me about Luke and Etch, among other things, and now the only thing standing between my weekend and me is Etch himself.

It's his turn to walk me home from school, but for some reason, he's trying to direct me away from the route I usually take. My faith in his request is only weakened by the fact that the sky looks like it'll burst sometime within the hour. "Vanilla, c'mon. Come this way with me. Please?"

He stares at me with puppy-dog eyes, and it's such a perfect mixture of hot and adorable that I almost break. Surprisingly, though, my resolve stays intact. "No, Etch, let's just take the regular way back."

Etch heaves out a sigh, then he kneels down on one knee and takes a hold of my hand. "Vanilla," he starts, "will you, pretty pretty please, make me the happiest man alive, and do me the great honor, of letting me take you the long way?"

Oh lord. He's so extra.

As I shake my head at him, I crouch down to be eye level with him. "Etch," I begin, equally as serious as he was, "would you, please please please, do me the great service of walking me home the normal way?"

With a playful stink eye, Etch stands and pulls me up with him. "Vanilla. I'm trying to find an excuse to spend extra time with you outside of school. Are you really gonna deny me that?"

His words light my chest on fire, and I feel the heat flooding into my cheeks as I stammer my way through a response. "Uh, well, when you put it like th-that, h-how about we compromise?"

Etch chuckles at my flustered state, then he asks, "What type of compromise do you have in mind?"

He places an arm around my back as I answer, "How about you take me the regular way home, and I'll let you spend the afternoon with me?"

Etch raises an eyebrow. "Afternoon? That's it?"

I shrug shyly and suggest, "Afternoon and evening?"

Etch pretends to consider for a moment. After a beat, he responds, simply saying, "Okay."

We walk for about five minutes in silence, with his arm still draped around my back, before he asks, "Is Luke there?"

I shake my head. "When his dad agreed to let him stay with me, he promised to not spend all of the nights with me. Starting tonight, he's spending every Friday night and every Tuesday night with his family."

Etch nods. "So you've got your whole house to yourself?" I hum in affirmation. "But Vanilla," he starts, "that place is huge! You don't get, y'know, like, scared or anything all by yourself?"

I scoff. "Etch, my parents haven't been home to stay since I was three. And even then, the babysitter they hired had her own family and never spent the night. I've been doing this for thirteen years."

Etch stops walking suddenly. "Wait. What?" He gently grips my waist and makes me face him. "Thirteen years?"

I give him a solemn nod, then I look down, trying to fight the tears that threaten to start falling. Etch seems to notice why I'm hiding my face, and he gingerly lifts up my chin so he can see me. He takes one look at me, and his eyes fill with compassion, and something else that I can't quite make out. He pulls me into his chest and wraps his arms tightly and protectively around me as I feel the tears start to spill out.

He doesn't seem to mind, so I cry.

And cry.

And cry.

Gosh, I cry so much I can't help but compare it to the rain that'll probably come this evening.

After what must be twenty minutes of me just standing in his arms crying, he lets me go. Before I can protest and ask him to keep holding me, he leans down and picks me up, carrying me bridal style. He begins walking again, and my voice is still shaky from crying when I ask him, "What're you doing, Etch?"

He looks down at me, the compassion not having left his eyes. "I'm carrying you home, Vanilla." I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off. "Don't argue, princess. No offense, but I don't trust you to walk normally in the state you're in. Besides, I need to stay in shape for next football season. You're helping."

I laugh at his weak joke, which makes him smile widely. Then as I replay his words in my head, I realize he called me "princess." I keep going back to the fact that he called me that before I decide to call him out on it. "Etch, you called me 'princess.'"

He chuckles. "I didn't think you'd notice, Vanilla."

With a poke to his chest, I ask, "Why?"

He shrugs. "It just came out. I'm also trying to flatter you to help make you feel better. Frankly, you deserve to be called one after your parents just kinda abandoned you like that."

For the second time today, his words light my heart aflame. My cheeks burn, and I'm sure that they're just moments away from actually catching fire. Instead of answering him and probably embarrassing myself in the process, I snuggle closer to his chest, and I see a slight smile on his face as a result.

Etch carries me the rest of the way home in silence. When we arrive at the front door of my house, he finally puts me down so that I can retrieve the key out of my backpack. Once I do, I unlock the door, and Etch gets his very first view of the inside of my house.

His initial reaction is very comparable to Luke's, in the sense that he is quite obviously astonished, yet so very casual. As I give him the tour, he stays quiet, nodding his head occasionally in an impressed fashion.

After I've given Etch the tour of my house, with the exception of my room, we end up sitting on chairs opposite each other in the book nook outside of my bedroom. He looks bored yet pensive, so I ask him, "So, what cha wanna do?"

He considers my question for a moment, then, putting a goofy grin on his face, he starts to wiggle his eyebrows. He then declares, "I challenge you to a table game championship."

I quirk up an eyebrow. "A what?"

Etch smiles normally. "A table game championship. Foosball, pool, and air hockey."

I ponder his challenge for a moment, then I decide to take him up on it. "Sure."

Grinning like a maniac, he gets up and takes my hand, leading me back up to the man-cave area on our third floor. Once we arrive at the room, he gestures around and asks, "What do you wanna start with?"

Taking a glance around the three tables, I form a plan of attack. I'll go from the table that I'm least good at to the one that I know for a fact that I can beat him at. "Foosball, then pool, then air hockey," I respond.

Etch nods, accepting my order. We take our places on opposite ends of the foosball table. After a playful glare in my direction, Etch drops the ball in the middle of the table, prompting the beginning of the first round.

Within thirty seconds, I've vigorously taken control of the game, with the ball having gone into Etch's territory five times. Finally, I spin my striker that's closest to Etch's goal and the ball goes in.

While I do a short victory dance, Etch glares at me, but his mouth is fighting to form into a smile, so I know he's not being so serious about it.

Over the course of the next seven minutes, we each play hard, until we're finally at round ten, and Etch and I are tied.

This time it's my turn to drop the ball in, and after I do so, Etch immediately starts to go on the offensive against me. His strikers are spinning faster than I can keep track of, and before I realize it, the ball is centimeters from my goal. Instead of going in, though, it hovers there. I take the opportunity to spin my defensive player closest to my goal as hard as I can, resulting in the ball flying to the opposite side of the table and into Etch's goal before he has the chance to stop it.

I let out a hoot, then I jog over to Etch's side of the table and playfully punch his arm. I start singing, "I am the champion, my friend, and I'll keep on fighting 'til the end!"

Etch scoffs. "Queen?" He queries unenthusiastically. "That's so cliché."

With a laugh, I respond, "You know it, man."

Wordlessly, he moves over to the pool table and takes one of the longer sticks off of the wall next to the table. I chuckle and follow suit. To lighten Etch up, I unlock my phone and go into my Pandora app.

Sidling up to Etch, I hand him my phone as he looks at me quizzically. "Choose a radio station," I command.

He takes the phone out of my hand and scrolls to the Alt/Indie Love Songs station. The first song that begins to play is Mr. Brightside by The Killers. He hands my phone back to me with a barely perceptible smile on his handsome face, and I take it that he's appreciative of me letting him pick the music.

I arrange the colored balls in a triangle at the far end of the table, and the I let Etch take the first shot. He disperses the balls well, but none go in. He does, however, set me up for an easy shot in the top corner pocket. It goes in when I hit it, and I've established myself as a stripe.

Etch groans to himself as I laugh and take another shot. There's a red striped ball about a foot from the left middle pocket, so I go for it. I hit it a bit too soft though, and it rolls to a stop about in inch shy of the pocket.

I look over at Etch and see him snickering. "Dear lord, stop focusing on me. It's your turn."

Etch nods and then lines himself up to hit a solid into the bottom right corner pocket. This particular ball is the closest to the pocket of any of the solid balls, but the position that it's in doesn't quite allow for an easy hit. On the other side of the table, Etch struggles to be able to have a clear shot at it. After about thirty seconds he finally hits the ball, but because of the angle that he hit it, it strays from the pocket and pulls left.

I try to avoid showing any sign of amusement as Etch groans and I position myself to take my next shot.

About twenty minutes later, Etch's skill at pool has greatly improved, and both he and I only have one ball left—the black 8 ball.

It's Etch's turn, and the ball is in about the middle of the table. He aims for the left center pocket, and once he's all lined up, he hits it. He does it a bit too hard though, and the ball misses by barely a centimeter and ricochets off of the side of the table, zooming around. When it comes to rest, it's in an awkward position near the top right corner pocket.

I try various positions to try to line myself up at a good angle to hit the ball, but I can't manage to. After about a minute of trying to figure out how to hit it, I go to the opposite end of the table and clamber on top of it. Etch looks at me in a bewildered fashion, but says nothing. I shuffle me body towards the ball, and when I think I'm in a good position to hit it, I take my shot. Although I'm on my belly on top of the table and I don't have the best control of where the ball goes, it still rolls smoothly into the pocket, thus ending the game with me having won.

I jump off of the table and scream, "Whooo!" After a quick fist pump, I run over to the television stand and pick up an intricate glass remote holder. I shake the remotes off of it, then I hold it up as if it's an award. "I'd like to think Etch, for challenging me to this tournament," I pause and take a glance at him to find him rolling his eyes, then I continue. "And I'd also like to thank my oh-so-amazing father for putting these tables up here, and I'd like to thank my cousin Nick for teaching me how to play pool, and–"

Etch cuts me off. "Alright, showboat, I get the point. Let's play air hockey now, alright?"

I laugh and put the remote holder down. "Okay, okay."

Little does Etch know that at my old school, I beat everyone at air hockey. Every single person at my school tried to challenge me, and they all got their butts whipped by my wicked awesome skills.

I stride over to the air hockey table and take my stance. Etch leans over and plugs in the table, and the air immediately starts to make the puck and the paddles float.

Etch looks at me with questioning eyebrows, silently asking me who's going first. I gesture for him to start, and he grabs his paddle and hits the puck rather aggressively. When it speedily makes its way to me, I respond in kind and slam my paddle into it forcefully.

Etch and I continue to hit the puck like that for about thirty seconds, until he makes it ricochet off of the side wall and into my goal.

After he scores, he smirks at me cheekily, and my death scowl answers him. His smirk only widens upon seeing my face, and I respond by flipping him off. As he laughs, I retrieve the puck from my goal and hit it, catching him off guard. My aim is perfect, and it flies right into his goal.

Etch immediately stops laughing. "Hey," he begins sternly. "That doesn't count."

I shrug passively. "Tell that to the electronic scoreboard." I point to it, and it reads 1-1.

Etch breathes out a huff of air before placing the puck back onto the table. He hits it, and we start up round three. It takes about forty seconds until I can get a clean shot at Etch's goal, and I make it in.

With another groan, Etch puts the puck back in before I have a chance to make a victorious remark. He packs a punch when he shoots the puck to my side of the table, and of course, I respond in kind.

We continue like this for another five minutes. Every time one of us gets a goal, the other answers with a goal of their own. By now, the score is 9-9, with the winner of this tenth round winning the air hockey leg of the tournament.

With his serious game-face on, Etch stars the round by gently and uncharacteristically sliding the puck into my side of the table.

I don't let this phase me, so I throw my usual aggressiveness into my next hit. Etch doesn't let that catch him off guard, and he's quick to defend his goal by sending the puck zipping back to my side of the table. I angle my next shot so that the puck will ricochet off of the walls several times before it enters Etch's territory. When it does, it's lost its momentum, and Etch has to lean over the wall of the table to hit the puck. When he does, I retaliate by hitting the puck with all my force, determined to win the game.

Etch, however, has different plans.

With a snappy flick of his wrist, he sends the puck flying all over the table, and it's so fast that my eyes can't keep up with it. Before I've realized what's happened, Etch is hollering and jumping up and down, and the scoreboard reads 10-9, with Etch having won the game.

No one has ever beat me at air hockey.

Fu...ddruckers, he actually did it. He beat me.

Etch makes his way to me, and he picks me up and spins me around. When he sets me back on the ground, I shove him off of me. "In your face!" He shouts.

With a roll of my eyes, I begin to trot towards the stairs leading back down to the second floor. Etch follows me, having calmed down from his victory celebration. "Hey, what's up?" He asks. "You okay?"

As I begin to descend the stairs, I answer, "Yeah. I'm fine."

Etch must pick up on the subtle defensive tone of my voice, so he repeats his query. "Are you sure you're okay?"

By now we're at the landing at the second floor. "Yep." I say quickly.

I continue to walk, determining that I'm actually a bit hungry. Etch apparently has other plans, and he softly grabs my hand to stop me from walking. As I turn to face him, I see that his face seems awfully apologetic, and it makes me feel bad because he didn't even do anything wrong.

God, I'm being such a brat.

"Hey," Etch starts. "Are you sure you're okay? Did I do something?"

I shake my head, also feeling apologetic now. "No, you didn't. I'm sorry. It's just that nobody has ever, in my life, been able to beat me at air hockey. I dunno... I mean, it feels nice to be good at something, and that's one of the only things that I'm good at. But what if I'm falling off now? What if I'm not good anymore?"

Etch pulls me into his chest, and he wraps his arms around my back gently, as if he's afraid that if he squeezes too hard, I'll shatter. "Vanilla, you're good at tons of things. And you're still good at air hockey! Do you know how hard it was to beat you? I felt like throwing in the towel at that game like, four times. And you still won at foosball and pool! Vanilla, you're an awesome person. Don't let me getting just one win take that away from you."

His words make my insides flip, like when you go down a hill really fast on a roller coaster. When he lets me go, he eyes me carefully and asks, "Are you okay now?"

I nod, sending him a sincere smile. "Yeah," I tell him. "I am. Thanks, Etch."

He smiles crookedly back at me. "My pleasure, Vanilla."

Gesturing towards the stairs that lead back down to the first floor, I ask him, "D'you wanna get something to eat?"

Etch nods eagerly. "Yeah, I do. Is that even, like, a question?"

I laugh and grab his hand, pulling him down the stairs. When we arrive in the kitchen, I make my way to the pantry, and let Etch take a look around at what he might want to eat. After inspecting the pantry for a couple of moments, his gaze lands on a pack of beef-flavored Ramen noodles and he points to it. "Can I have Ramen?"

Feeling my eyebrow quirk up, I chuckle and ask, "Ramen? Why Ramen?"

Etch shrugs. "I dunno. Ramen's been one of my favorite foods since I was seven." He reaches over and grabs the packet, then he deposits it in my hand. "Please? I'll do it myself, if you want me to."

With a roll of my eyes, I tell him, "I'll get the pot and put water in it, and then I'll put it on the stove. It's your job to come back and check the water until it starts to boil. Then, you can do the rest yourself."

Etch nods. "Agreed."

I wave him over so he can see where I keep the pots and pans, since I have a feeling this won't be the last time Etch comes over. After I fill one of my medium-sized pots with water, I place it onto the stove, on top of one of the burners with higher heat. Etch watches the entire time, and when I'm finished, he takes my hand and pulls me back upstairs.

When we get all the way back to the man-cave, Etch grabs the tv remote and turns it on. The 90-inch television fires up, and Etch looks surprisingly unimpressed. I attribute it to the fact that he's pretty well-off too, and he must have a tv pretty similar to it at his own house.

As I ponder this, something occurs to me. If he's as well-off as everyone says he is, then how come he looked so awestruck when he walked into my house?

I decide to voice my question. "Etch?" I say, to grab his attention.

He takes a glance back at me as he flips through the channels. "Yeah, Vanilla?"

Shifting a little, out of nerves, I guess, I inquire, "Are you as rich as people say you are?"

As he answers, his hand accompanies his words with a 'more or less' gesture. "Pretty much."

"Okay," I murmur, "then how come you looked so... I don't know, so impressed by my house?"

Etch shrugs. "It looked nice on the outside, don't get me wrong, but I didn't expect it to look better on the inside than it did on the outside. It surprised me, is all."

His response satisfies me. I know my house doesn't look like so much from the outside, but it's pretty spacious on the inside. It's like those clown cars in cartoons. Y'know, essentially the cartoon version of a Fiat 500 that somehow fits twenty people.

I turn my attention back to Etch and find that he's picked out a movie. Justice League.

Since we're watching it live, we come in right at the part where Barry is first meeting Batman. His awkwardness makes me laugh, and Etch turns to look at me, with a curious and crooked smile gracing his gorgeous face.

"Barry's my favorite character," I explain. "I just love him."

Etch chuckles and looks back at the screen. Right then, I notice the distance he is from me. He's sitting about a yard and a half away from me, and somehow, that annoys me.

To try to be subtle, I lean forward and adjust the ottoman in front of the couch, and when I finish repositioning it, I put my weight back onto the couch, about six inches closer to Etch than before.

I attempt to focus my attention back on the movie, but out of the corner of my eye I can see Etch taking an occasional peek at me. After a couple moments, he looks over at the ottoman and realizes he's sitting about a foot to the right of the edge of it. He gets up and then sits back down about a foot inside of the edge of the ottoman. This puts him about two feet away from me.

In my mind I try to gather the courage to just close the distance, and after about a minute of strong debate in my brain, my more impulsive side wins. I finally slide over and close the remaining distance between Etch and I.

Unfortunately, it's at that exact moment that the commercial break starts and Etch stands up.

"Hey," he begins. "I'm gonna go check on my Ramen. D'you want any?"

I sigh. "I'll have a little."

Etch nods. "Okay. I'll be back in five." With that, he retreats back down the stairs. I almost feel sad watching him go, but I know that it's not like he's ditching me. Besides, I tell myself. He probably didn't even realize you'd scooted next to him until he got up.

After waiting the promised five minutes, Etch returns with two bowls of Ramen. To my utter and complete delight, after he hands me my bowl, he sits directly next to me. Yay!!

We both eat our Ramen in silence, until the next commercial break. By then, we're both finished, and I offer to take Etch's bowl back downstairs. He accepts my offer and I make my way downstairs.

By the time I've walked back down the two flights of stairs, I've driven myself half mad thinking about Etch. About how he makes me feel. He makes me inexplicably happy.

Huh. I know Luke likes me. I wonder if I make him as happy as Etch makes me.

I deposit the two bowls in the dishwashing machine, then I make my way back upstairs. On the way back up, I take a peek out of my a window in the nook. I'm immediately startled by how dark the sky is, and I start to ask myself how I didn't notice it before. The clouds stretch out endlessly, so dark and ominous they could almost be perceived as black.

Now that I think about it, it makes sense. When I went into school this morning, it was 30°, and when Etch and I were walking home, it was pushing 70°.

What scares me is the fact that when the temperature does that, bad things happen.

I turn away from the window and begin to walk briskly back upstairs, to Etch. As I do, I whip my phone out of my back pocket and open up my most accurate weather app, out of the three that I have. Immediately as I open it, I get a notification that my county is now under a tornado watch.

Well, fuddruckers.

As I finally arrive at the third floor landing, I'm surprised to see Etch waiting for me. As soon as he sees me, he grabs my hand and drags me into the man-cave, where the television is now tuned into the local news station, which is covering the storm.

The thing that jumps out at me most is the fact that two counties below mine, a tornado warning is already in effect. After gazing at the screen in horror for a few moments, I finally start to pay attention to what the meteorologist is saying.

"For all the areas that are under this tornado warning, find shelter immediately! This tornado has reportedly already touched down and is on the move. It is imperative that you get into your interior rooms or basements! Stay away from windows at all costs. Do not go outside. For those of you north of the warning area, in the tornado watch, I highly recommend that you find shelter too. This storm is tracking northeast, and it won't be long before the storm gets worse."

I turn to look at Etch to find that he looks surprisingly calm. "Hey Etch?" I say to grab his attention.

He looks down at me in concern. "Yeah?"

I put a hand on his arm as I speak. "You should get home. Your parents will probably be scared to death if you're not there when the storm gets worse."

Etch shakes his head adamantly. "Oh, hell no. I'm not letting you stay here alone in a storm like this."

I keep trying to persuade him. "Etch, I'll be fine. Don't you think I've been in a situation like this in the thirteen years that I've been alone?"

He keeps resisting. "Well, that's not happening anymore, Vanilla. If you're gonna wait out this storm alone, it's gonna be over my dead body."

With a groan, I desperately retort, "Well what about your parents? Yours actually care about you. They'll be worried sick! Don't do that to them!"

Etch, however, pulls a Luke. He yanks his cellphone out of his pocket. He speed-dials his mom, and after a couple minutes of heated debate with her, he hangs up. "It's settled," he declares firmly. "I'm staying here with you until it's not even raining anymore."

I blow out a puff of air. "Fine."

In light of the fact that Etch is now going to stay over with me until the storm passes, I start to march back downstairs to make preparations for the impending weather. Etch follows me closely until we reach my garage. "What're we at the garage for?" He asks, confused.

While I descend the steps into the garage, I answer, "I'm getting the survival bags."

Etch stays in the doorway of the garage. "Survival bags?"

I hum affirmatively. "Yep. Even though my parents are never home, I have to give them this—they're always prepared. They store emergency survival backpacks here in the garage just in case disaster strikes while they're here with me."

From behind me, I hear Etch say, "That's smart."

"Yep," I agree. After I catch sight of the three bags tucked into a corner of our large garage, I haul two of them onto my shoulders and make my way back to Etch. I hand him one and then I motion for him to follow me.

I navigate to the opposite end of the first floor, to a nearly empty closet off of the living room that's directly under the staircase. "We don't have a basement," I start, "so this is the safest room in our house." I gesture to the stairs. "Since stairs are built really sturdily, and this room is in about the center of the house, it gives the best chance of surviving a tornado."

Etch nods along as I speak, and when I finish, he deposits his backpack on the floor of the closet, and then I do the same.

I leave the closet door open for easy access, then I let my eyes wander to the large windows in the living room, which display the ever-more menacing looking clouds. "Turn on the tv," Etch commands, and I do so without hesitation.

When it turns on, it's conveniently already on the news station. "I'm gonna go turn off the tv upstairs," I state.

Before I can totally turn to leave, Etch catches my arm. "No, let me do it." He pushes past me and rushes upstairs before I can protest.

With a sigh, I turn my attention back to the meteorologist on the tv. "The tornado is reportedly off the ground, but I highly recommend that everyone stays indoors for another fifteen minutes." As he speaks, a disquieting alarm goes off, and when I see what it is trying to alert the meteorologist to, my heart drops.

"Well folks, it seems that we have a new tornado warning for the counties of—"

I don't even hear what he says next because I'm busy screaming my lungs out. "ETCH! ETCH! GET DOWN HERE NOW!"

As I hear his footsteps racing back down the hallway upstairs, I run over to the large windows of the living room and press my face against the glass. The sky looks dark green, which I know isn't a good thing. It means a really nasty tornado is imminent, and it's probably gonna bring some gnarly hail along with it. 

Etch races next to me, and starts to ask, "Wha—", but his question dies when he sees the sky. By now, it's started to rain. Not just any rain, though—it's started to downpour, with the rain coming down extremely heavily. 

I look up at Etch to see his eyes noticeably widen, and then we both simultaneously bolt back to the closet. Etch shoves me in first, and then he gets in, and after he does, he wrenches the door shut. I turn on the light and sit down, and Etch sits across from me.

I can hear the tv still, but I can't make out everything that the meteorologist is saying. Ripping open my backpack, I fish around until I find a charger. I jam it into the wall outlet and the desperately connect it to my phone, hoping to put some extra battery life onto it before the power goes out. I power up my weather app again and tune into the live broadcast to see what the newscaster is saying.

Etch scoots next to me as the live feed comes on and we both listen silently to it. "A tornado has touched down, and is heading northeast at 20 miles per hour. Everyone within the tornado warning area is advised to stay inside, away from windows."

At that moment, the electricity cuts out, and it scares me knowing that the tornado is already close enough to have knocked out my power grid. The only light is that of my phone screen, shining through the pitch-black darkness.

The newscaster continues to drone on about the tornado, and I try my best to concentrate on that instead of my fear until Etch abruptly reaches over and turns off my phone, effectively cutting off both the weather stream and the light.

"What'd you do that for?" I hiss in a quiet tone.

"Shh, listen," Etch demands. Faintly, distantly, I hear a low rumble.

Fuddruckers! Fuddruckers, this is it! Come on!! Tornado season hasn't even started yet! I have the rest of my life ahead of me! This is—

Etch effectively cuts off my thoughts by wrapping his arms around me and pulling me flush against his chest. I instantly put my arms around him, too, and we sit, holding each other.

The low rumble gets louder. Ever so slowly, it gets louder.

The last thing I remember  is Etch saying, "Everything will be okay."

A/N

So... yeah. I know this chapter is overdue by a few days, but at least I got it out. Right??

I would apologize for the cliffhanger, but I'm kinda sorta not sorry about it. What do you think happened to Cami and Etch? Did the tornado get them? Did Cami faint or black out? We shall have to wait and see.

In other news, Michael Clifford got engaged yesterday!! I wish him and Crystal all the happiness in the world!! :)

Of course, if you liked the chapter, please consider giving it a vote! Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome!

~Alex