Even though this destination hadn't looked that large from the bus, Constance began to get used to that reality after having walked for a half hour down unfamiliar streets. The further she walked, the more congested things began to feel. The scent of chimney smoke seemed to pervade the air as she walked. The semi-cold air seemed to keep the smoke down lower to the ground so that it filled the street with a haze despite it being morning.

With her feet aching, Constance decided to take a break near the end of the street. She leaned her back up against the brick wall as her eyes turned to look down at the locket that was still grasped in her hand. She had fiddled with it a couple of times as she walked but had still not been able to pop it open yet.

"I will get you open," she said out loud to herself. "You have to have some sort of answer to his identity for me."

As Constance began to fiddle with the locket again, she was unaware of a man coming her way from a nearby alley. The grungily dressed man had a holey navy blue paperboy's cap on his head; his beady eyes narrowing in on her messenger bag. He subconsciously itched at his needle-pricked arm as his eyes gleamed at the thought of what valuables her bag could hold. Constance was still so engrossed on fiddling with the locket that she didn't notice the man standing alongside her until she felt the messenger bag being forcefully tugged off her arm. The forceful tug caused her to rock sideways, nearly falling onto the ground.

"HEY!" she shouted out as the man turned to disappear back down the alleyway he had come out of.

Even though Constance didn't have any valuables in her messenger bag, her latest writing project was tucked away in there. To her, that was valuable. She couldn't let years of hard work disappear down the alley. Without running through how risky it was, she tore off after the man who - despite the state he was in - seemed to be able to stay a step or two ahead of her.

"GET BACK HERE! GIVE THAT BACK!" she shouted after him as she ran, nearly slipping in a puddle of unidentifiable sludge as she rounded a corner.

It was only after she rounded the corner that Constance realized she had reached a dead end. The man that she had been chasing after was stopped near a graffitied brick wall a few feet in front of her. At the base of the brick wall was a makeshift tent that had been crudely constructed. The man was currently hunched forward and digging through the tent for something.

"Look, all I want is my messenger bag back. There's nothing valuable in it, I swear."

The man didn't make any move to acknowledge that she was speaking. Instead he continued rooting through his tent for a moment or two more before remerging. As he turned to face her, she noticed the knife in his hand and gulped.

'You're an idiot, Constance,' she internally chided herself as the man pointed the blade her way as she slowly stuck her arms up into the air.

"Look, all I want is my writing back. I'll...I'll pay you for it..."

She moved to bring one hand slowly down, slipping it into her pocket. She didn't have much money there. It was probably just enough to get back home. The man found this movement threatening, pointing the knife at her as he took a step or two forward.

Constance's face paled when she noticed him slowly closing the gap between them. She didn't want to think she was about to face death in some sort of alley like a character in a horror movie. As she screwed her eyes shut out of fear, she was once again unaware of someone coming up behind her until the sound of someone struggling to breathe reached her ears. Opening her eyes, they only widened upon seeing her mysterious stranger standing in front of her. One of his hands had worked its way around the man's throat, pinning him to the wall. He even managed to hold the man a few feet off the ground by his neck. The man was grasping at her mysterious man's hand, kicking out his feet in the air as he stammered on about a vengeful ghost haunting her.

It was in that moment that Constance realized that she still was the only one that was able to see him.

"Don't kill him," she said, watching as her mysterious man turned to look at her. The anger was on display as clear as day on his face and Constance wondered what he was madder about: having to come to her aide or the man he was currently strangling.

Turning back to face the man, Constance watched as he was deposited back onto his feet. The man collapsed almost immediately to his knees as he gasped for air. Constance watched as her mysterious stranger kicked at the man's tent before bending to pocket the knife. Afterwards, he grabbed up her messenger bag. The man on his knees watched in shock as her messenger bag seemed to float through the air right back into her hands.

"What are you even doing here?" asked her mysterious stranger. "You're lucky I was around."

His eyes narrowed in on the silver locket that was still in her hand; the anger on his face seeming to go up a notch.

"Where did you get that?" he snapped, causing Constance to follow his gaze to the locket in her hand.

"I found it on the floor of the bus..."

Her words were drowned out almost immediately as he yanked it out of her hands in such a rough manner she was sure he would break the chain. She watched as he eyed it as if she had somehow broken it while it had been in her possession for a measly few hours.

"A thank you wouldn't kill you, you know..." she muttered as she put her messenger bag back on, looking towards the man who had stolen it. He was still on his knees, looking at her in horror as she seemed to seemingly be talking to no one.

"Please go. You and your ghost...I'm sorry. I swear..."

Constance just nodded her head as she moved her gaze back to the man before her. His finely chiseled jaw was clenched tightly as he shoved the locket into his pocket. Before she was able to say anything, he gripped one of her wrists tightly in his hands, dragging her behind him out of the alley. She tripped along after him as the sidewalk soon came back into view. He didn't let go of her then though. Instead he kept dragging her along behind him without talking as if she were some sort of dog on a leash.

"Stop this instant and tell me where you are taking me!" she snapped, trying to use her other hand to push his iron clad grip away.

They wandered like this for a bit; the few people they managed to pass on the sidewalk looking over at her like she was crazy. Eventually he came to a stop when the bus stop came within sight, turning to look at her.

"Go home," he snapped, dropping his grip on her arm to turn and leave.

Constance didn't know what came over her then. Without realizing it, she reached out to grip his leather jacket tightly in her hand before he could walk away. He seemed surprised by the action, coming to a standstill as he turned to look at her. The angry look was still on his face as he opened his mouth to ask her what she was doing. His mouth fell short of forming any sort of words though when he saw the unshed tears shimmering in her eyes.

"Are you...are you going to cry?" he asked shocked.

Constance swallowed the lump that was forming in her throat as she turned her gaze away from him; her fingers still hooked in the leather of his jacket.

"I just...I thought I was going to die back there and I just..."

She took a deep breath. Her life had constantly been full of surprises - and though she hadn't necessarily liked them all - none of them had ever been life-threatening like that. Now that the immediate danger was over, the fear that had built up in her chest at the occurrence was spilling out. She felt a hot tear or two trickle down her cheek as she kept her gaze averted from him as she instead focused on the now blurry ground at their feet.

The man studied her as she kept her head bowed, noticing the tears trailing down her cheeks. As he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, he felt the anger slowly deflating from his being like air from a balloon.

"Well, you didn't die," he said. "You're fine and you'll be fine. That's why you need to go home. This place isn't necessarily the safest unless you know your way around."

Constance lifted her gaze to look at him, not saying anything. It was then that her stomach let out an almost inhuman sounding gurgle. The man seemed to notice, cocking a brow at her as a blush coated her tear-stained cheeks.

"Was that your stomach?"

"Yes...Yes, I didn't eat at all this morning. I was worried about missing the bus."

"Missing the bus?" He asked, seeming to begin connecting the dots. He scoffed as he turned his gaze skywards. "Don't tell me you were so worried about missing the bus all because you were determined to learn my name today."

When Constance remained silent, he turned his eyes back down from the sky to look at her. The silence was all the confirmation he needed.

"It isn't that important," he said.

"It's important to me," said Constance.

He didn't say anything after that, turning to look back down the sidewalk. He stayed looking down the sidewalk for a moment before looking back at her.

"How much money do you have on you?"

"Why? Are you wanting some sort of compensation for saving me?"

He rolled his eyes as he nodded his head towards her stomach.

"I was going to show you to a place that has some food before you go home, but I need to know if you can afford it."

"I...well...I only brought enough money for the bus," she admitted, causing him to let out a sigh which seemed to be customary in reaction to her at this point.

"You're hopeless."

"That's not very nice," she said as he moved to untangle her fingers from his leather jacket so he could grip her by the wrist again.

"It should be your name," he said; the brief view of his sweeter side disappearing back behind the walls he still had up.

"My name is Constance," she remarked as he dragged her behind him down the sidewalk once more.

"Constance...fitting since you're a constant pain in my rear end..." he mumbled to himself as they walked along.

Constance fell silent as she followed after him for a few minutes until he came to a stop in front of a bakery. This was the first time where the air in front of her didn't seem to be tinged with smoke. Instead the air seemed to carry the scents of cinnamon and fresh baked bread. It was enough to set her stomach grumbling all over again. The name 'Mama's Oven' hung on the semi-tattered red and white canopy in front of the storefront.

"Here," he said as he dropped her wrist to fish through his pocket for money. He thrust it at Constance as she looked down at it.

"I can't accept your money."

He grumbled under his breath as he forcefully shoved the money into her palm.

"You will accept it. You need to eat."

She wrapped her fingers around the money as she looked back up at him.

"Aren't you going to eat too?"

"You seem to conveniently forget that I'm invisible to everyone except you," he said.

"So? Are you dead?"

"Well no."

"Then you need to eat. It's not like we have to eat here. We can take it to go," she said, mentally making a note that he wasn't a ghost that had chosen to haunt her. "What do you want to eat?"

He didn't make a move to say anything right off. He looked as if he were internally debating whether or not to give her an answer before finally deciding to.

"A cinnamon muffin would be nice," he said as a small smile cracked across her face. She nodded her head, stiffening her back like she was a woman on a mission.

"Will do! One cinnamon muffin coming right up!" she said, ending with saluting him.

A small smirk worked its way onto his seriously handsome features as he nodded his head. Constance turned away from him then as she moved to enter the bakery, leaving him behind on the sidewalk and hoping against all hopes that he would still be there when she came back out.