Tintin swung open the front door of Marlinspike Hall and inhaled the sweet, fresh scent of the afternoon breeze. He eyed his surroundings, taking in the sight of the trees and grasses around him. They were a beautiful blend of jade and emerald to his eyes, instead of just a simple green – probably because he haven't went out of the house for so long, and he rarely took notice of his environment if he ever did.

His eyes trailed upwards and glanced at the sky. It was an elegant shade of slightly dark blue, with hints of orange from the dim, golden sun hidden behind the smooth, soft clouds.

It was then that he realized how he should come out more often and rebuild his appreciation towards nature – something he used to show many times when he was younger.

As soon as the door was shut, Tintin walked out, turned towards the building, and stared at it.

After so many years, going through the hottest summer and the coldest winter, Marlinspike Hall has been a place for Tintin to call home. Throughout the time, it went through many renovations, faced the worst of weathers and provided him with the long-lasting protection and comfort.

And there it was, standing tall in all its glory.

He gave out a small smile before gently tugging down the edge of his trenchcoat and strolled away from the estate.

The streets were full of zooming cars and busy citizens. Brussels wasn't as crowded as this, back then. It was the time of a more quiet and peaceful town, with all the shops and stores he used to visit during his free time. Now, walking past where they used to be, he wondered whatever happened to them.

He couldn't remember well the last time he went out for a relaxing walk like this. He missed it so much. He missed looking at the old sights of the town.

Looks like he wasn't the only one who changed.

Tintin took a turn towards a narrower alley, still unsure of his destination, or how far was he going to go. He flanked at the buildings and people around him – the further he walked, the more every little thing reminded of all the people he had back then.

Each and every one of the people from his past that helped him go through so many things throughout the years were the closest thing he ever had as a family. They were the ones who would stay by his side in every sort of situation. They were always with him.

And in return, he selfishly left them.

He blinked rapidly and breathed deeply. It was no use to think about it over and over again. Regret always comes last, and he could do nothing to change whatever happened in the past.

It was too late. He was too late.

Though somehow, he couldn't protect himself from the attack of his own regrets.

But at least he was one step closer to getting back what he lost back then and was lucky to be able to recover – adventure.

Every step he took along this alley already felt like an adventure to him. Of course, it was a major exaggeration, but he hadn't gone out for that long. Everything felt new, and he almost felt he was back in his youth.

It was there, yet it felt so far away.

Another turn, and he was back in the main streets. He still didn't know where he was going, and come to think of it, he hadn't really noticed which route he took from Marlinspike to where he was now.

…Wherever he was.

He was forced out of his trance when a heavy body collided with his own, causing him to stumble backwards.

"Watch where you're going, you idiot!" a loud, hoarse voice screamed at him. It was familiar, but he was too absent-minded to even think about it.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

He stopped himself mid-sentence when he looked up to see the person's face. His eyes widened in shock and horror.

Rastapopoulos.

He was bald, wrinkled in almost every inch of his skin, a bit hunched, and still as rude and grouchy as ever. But despite all those, he was still looking rich and fancy. The suit he was wearing, the single spectacle on his right eye, and the well-polished shoes on his feet spoke for him. He was still a money man.

It didn't take long for Rastapopoulos to recognize him, unlike the majority of the population there. He'd know his arch nemesis' face anywhere.

"You," Rastapopoulos growled. "You."

At that moment, Tintin didn't know what to do. He was caught off-guard, he was speechless, and he could only subconsciously take a small step backwards.

"Years of having you to stand in my way and foil everything I planned were enough! I am not going to go through this again!" Rastapopoulos shouted.

Tintin gained his confidence back and narrowed his eyes at him. Rastapopoulos wasn't supposed to be there.

"Look, why don't you go back to your—"

"Don't you dare to tell me what to do," Rastapopoulos hissed dangerously, once again cutting off his sentence. "I didn't get all the way here just to get caught! Now get out of my way, you little brat!"

Tintin simply stared at him, and then gazed down with an ironic smirk.

"…Little brat?"

Rastapopoulos soon realized his mistake – Tintin wasn't that little brat anymore. The words just slipped out, just like those years in the past. Looking at Tintin's expression, he almost felt sorry, and didn't bother to continue his argument. But he needed to get away – though Tintin was most likely to follow him – and not get caught.

He glanced at a small café only a few blocks away from where they were standing. He glanced at Tintin, then walked right past him and entered the café.

Triggered by Rastapopoulos' movement, Tintin snapped his head up and to his direction. "Hey!"

He ran – or at least tried to – and almost caught up with him, but he was still a little too slow. He entered the café just in time to see Rastapopoulos shoving an amount of money to the hands of a scared, nervous waiter who was ready to call the police.

"Keep quiet," he mumbled.

The waiter groggily nodded and returned quickly to his counter. Rastapopoulos took a seat on the table in the corner of the empty café. Tintin shook his head. The waiter surely would not dare to hand him a phone to call the police, so he approached the comfortably-sitting Rastapopoulos, again uncertain of what exactly he was about to do. The only thing he could think of was attempting to send him back to behind the bars, but he didn't know how.

Before he could do anything, Rastapopoulos muttered almost inaudibly to him, "You're miserable."

Once more, Tintin was taken aback. "W-what?"

Rastapopoulos gave out a low chuckle and looked up to him. "You're miserable."

Despite the repetition, Tintin still didn't know how to react, but the first thing that popped in his mind was that he had to be fully on his guard, because Rastapopoulos was not one of the good guys. He must be alert, and he must be very careful.

"Look," Tintin responded finally. "Whatever you're trying to do here, I'm not going to fall for it."

Rastapopoulos shook his head. "You really think this is still about me breaking out of prison?"

"I don't see any other reasons."

"Still as persistent as ever," Rastapopoulos answered with a ghostly smirk. "Some people never change."

The sentence flowed out so easily, and to Tintin, it was a great understatement. Giving Rastapopoulos a hard, intense stare, Tintin subconsciously sat down in front of him and managed to croak out, "You don't know anything about changes."

"Don't I?" Rastapopoulos flashed his opponent a smile, as if he knew what Tintin had been through.

"No," he answered, almost too quickly, while still glaring at him. "What are you doing here? What are you planning this time?"

Rastapopoulos sipped the drink that was somehow on the table without Tintin even noticing, and leaned back.

"Aren't we a little… too old for this?"

Tintin could've sworn his heart skipped a beat. That hit the right emotional spot. That was what he's been regretting all day today – something he couldn't avoid, or change.

"Even up until now, you still think of chasing criminals and solving crimes?"

"Why does it even matter to you?" Tintin asked flatly in response.

Rastapopoulos shrugged. "It doesn't."

Tintin rested both his elbows on the table, still keeping a straight posture, resisting himself from slouching and looking weak. He tried to force himself to reply, while taking a quick mental note to himself not to look so pathetic.

But after moments passed, nothing came out.

By then, Rastapopoulos was smoking a cigarette. "I mean, look at yourself, Tintin. Old, weak, pathetic..."

So much for trying not to look pathetic.

"Aimlessly wandering around with no clue of what to do next."

Tintin didn't even bother to ask how he knew that. He knew he wasn't good in hiding it. "So you're just glad that my life is finally ruined," Tintin replied coldly.

"I never said it was," Rastapopoulos told him with an innocent look. "But now that you've mentioned it, as a matter of fact, I am."

"And I suppose your life is in a much better state?" Tintin shot back, but soon regretted his words. Rastapopoulos may be a cold, dirty criminal, but he couldn't be as lonely and hopeless as he was.

"It certainly is," Rastapopoulos replied confidently and tightened his lips around his cigarette. "I'm rich, I'm free, I'm enjoying every single day I have in my life."

"Yet you're on the run," Tintin added, hoping to add a negative element in his description.

"For almost every second," Rastapopoulos confirmed and lifted his head a little, almost as if he were proud of it. "But that's where all the fun is."

Tintin breathed deep, trying not to let the words stab him again. But aside from his own feelings, he couldn't help but question everything about Rastapopoulos. To see him in such comfort and pleasure was far off his expectation. Rastapopoulos was a criminal living his own happy life. Tintin was supposed to be the winning hero living in glory. He was supposed to be so much happier. As arrogant as it sounds, it was true. But what he had was far, far less.

Things were so awfully wrong in his eyes.

Once regaining his composure, Tintin stared back at the wooden table, hesitating before he asked, "Have you ever even regretted all the things you've done?"

He almost jumped in surprise when Rastapopoulos gave him a loud, hearty laugh. When it faded to a stop, Rastapopoulos was shaking his head. "I knew everything I did was wrong. I knew I'd never do tings your way, Tintin, nor did I ever plan to. There was a time that I told myself, 'I shouldn't have been doing this'."

Tintin almost couldn't believe that last part.

"There were those moments of regret. There were those years when I never bothered to escape." He took a large gulp of his drink and slammed the empty glass on the table. He paused, and whispered.

"But it was a stupid waste of time."

Tintin looked up a little at that sentence.

"What's done is done, and no matter how long you sit and stare, nothing is ever going to change."

"But that doesn't make right of everything you've done," Tintin told him. "Just because you regretted it doesn't mean you were never guilty."

"No, it doesn't," Rastapopoulos replied. "But then again, nobody could do anything about it even if they want to."

Rastapopoulos studied Tintin's frowning face for a moment and grinned. "I never expected the society to see me as a "good person", Tintin, I wouldn't be making any excuses for that."

"So you keep breaking the laws," Tintin said and crossed his arms. "Like running away from prison."

"I ran because I've had enough of wasting my time."

"But you knew it was wrong anyway."

"I never had intention for… redemption," Rastapopoulos responded in a low voice. "I only want to actually do something with the time I have left. I grow old, everyone left, but that doesn't mean I have to sulk and rot until I die."

"It's only a consequence of your own actions," Tintin reminded him.

"Ha! How could I forget? You gave it to me yourself," Rastapopoulos said with an accusing look. "I lost my men, I lost my job, I was sentenced for twenty five years in prison—"

"And you still have ten years to go," Tintin cut in, a little louder. "You shouldn't be here."

Rastapopoulos ignored him. "But I'm not going to sit there and take it. I'm getting my money back, and I'm going to go live a decent life, because my life is what I make it."

Tintin paused and looked at him intently in a mild admiration. He sure was a man he knew his own goal in life. He still had to spirit to live, and he didn't stop. But soon he shrugged off his thoughts.

A criminal is a criminal.

"As much as I'm a criminal, Tintin," Rastapopoulos taunted as if he read his mind, "my life is far better than yours. And it's just the way I like it."

Tintin was so used to his words that none of them hurt him anymore. He was about to shoot back when a faint sound of police sirens wailed on the distance. "About time," Tintin declared with a smirk of triumph.

He could see the blood draining from Rastapopoulos' face, with his eyes fixed on Tintin, contemplating on whether he was going to be turned in or not.

Tintin responded with a heavy sigh. "Yes, maybe I am far too old to go through this again. But this doesn't change what I stood up for," he mumbled.

Rastapopoulos almost smiled. "You truly are persistent."

Tintin was silent – maybe he was right. He physically changed, but inside, despite growing up and being more mature, he was still himself.

He was still Tintin.

He tore away his gaze from Rastapopoulos to the window of the café. The sirens went louder as two police cars approached and pulled over down the corner of the street. Three policemen stepped out, one signaling the others to search the buildings.

They were there for Rastapopoulos.

"Look, maybe if you turn yourself in, you may have a chance to—"

He turned back to see an empty seat where Rastapopoulos was, and just in time to hear the back door of the café clicked to a close. As two policemen entered the room, Tintin got up from his seat, still thinking on how he could have missed that. One walked over to the waiter, who was slightly panicking, and the other approached him.

"Good afternoon, sir," the policeman greeted and lifted his hat. He unrolled a scroll of paper, with a close-up picture of Rastapopoulos. "We are looking for this man, Roberto J. Rastapopoulos. He is one of the most dangerous criminals in town and is currently a prison escapee…"

Tintin started to mentally compare his life to Rastapopoulos'. They were both old, they were both alone, but Tintin didn't handle his life the way Rastapopoulos did. He gave up on what he used to do. He didn't even try. But he shouldn't have let time stop what he was doing. It wasn't even able to completely stop him, because the only thing that really got in the way was his own restraining self.

He is Tintin. And his life is what he makes it.

"Have you seen him?" the policeman finally asked.

For all his life, Tintin stood up for what is good, according to his morals and to the norms. It's the side he chose to stay on. And to make the best out of his remaining time is the choice he decided to make. He was going to get back the life he used to live. He wasn't going to give it all up.

He was going to try.

Rastapopoulos was a criminal at large, not planning to change his ways. And Tintin, as one who fights for truth and justice, wasn't planning to switch sides, either.

But he shook his head and muttered, "No."

He was going to let Rastapopoulos have his fun.

The policeman gave him a quick thank you and a short warning, and was about to rush out from the café to search the rest of the buildings. But then he stopped in his tracks, right at the door, and turned back to see Tintin. In respond, Tintin raised a brow in confusion. The policeman watched him, observing carefully, and mused for a few moments. Then, his eyes lit up.

"You're Tintin… aren't you, sir?"

Tintin smiled, almost grinning. This would be a great beginning for him.