Disclaimer: I don't own Wicked Lovely.

My hair was pulled up off my neck in a secure pony tail, but the long tendrils still brushed back and forth with the artificial breeze as the doors the book store opened.

I had the sensation of someone standing behind me, too close for comfort. I startled as I felt something on my shoulder, turning around quickly, meeting empty space. I should have been surprised to see open space, but instead decided it was time I left. Slipping on my jacket, I left the secluded book shelfs, replacing the text I had been thinking of buying. I fought to keep my face calm, focusing on having sure, steady steps, as I made my way from the store. If they didn't know you could feel them, they would go away quicker.

I had the sensation of someone placing a hand on my shoulder, but said nothing. Ignore it, ignore it, ignore it. Get home and take your meds, and then call Kathy to arrange a meeting sooner than next week. We would need to adjust my medication again. Unless I had missed my next does? I flicked my eyes up to the clock above the door. No, I had another hour.

I walked through the sliding doors, and made my way down Citrus Ave., pausing at a trash can just long enough to dispose of my empty lemonade bottle. I stopped and closed my eyes, taking a few settling deep breaths. I rolled my neck a bit, trying to ease the stiffness, and hearing a satisfying crack as things popped back into place.

The invisible hands were touching my hair now, and I obliged, letting it down in the hopes that that would appease them. It had before. My thick dark blonde hair hung down to just above my elbows, in a waving mass of tangles and snarls. I stayed in one spot, feeling a strange calm settle over me as the foreign, and yet familiar, hands combed through my hair.

I basked in the pleasantness for a moment, before remembering that the hands weren't really there. Just a symptom of my affliction. A mild form of schizophrenia. I didn't have visible hallucinations, often. Mostly, I just felt hands that weren't there. Pulling at me, tugging at me, tripping me. I'd see things move unexplainably. A glass being held at a table with no occupants. A book being lifted from a shelf.

Most of the time, I was able to ignore it, keep my eyes down and my mouth shut. But when I was a child, I always told people. And we discovered my illness. Ever since, my foster mom, Angela, had watched me like a hawk, always looking for signs that I would develop the illness further. Which, if we didn't get my medication just right, would eventually happen.

I felt the hands leave my hair as I began walking again. Home. I focused on that thought. I'd be safe at home. The hands never came into the apartment building, for reasons none of us were sure of, and couldn't explain. At least these hands were polite. I'd been groped in public more times than I could count.

I turned blindly into the road, not looking, and leaped off the curb, about to cross the street, when I felt a pair of hands snatch me back, off the road, and into a very solid feeling chest. A ferocious truck blundered past, horn blaring angrily, the driver game me the finger, and drove on past. I understood then that I could have just become road kill.

I strove to right myself,standing on my own, before turning to meet my savior. I was caught off guard, mainly because he was strikingly handsome. I made myself swallow, before pushing my hair back off my face, and meeting his green stare. And what green eyes they were. The warm green of living grass, and all living things. I wanted to lean forward, and drown in his eyes.

I fought for my composure, and gave him what I hoped was a warm smile. He grinned back automatically. It came to attention then that we had been standing next to each other for a full minute and neither of us had said a word. I rushed trying to find something to say.

"Thank you for that," I began, watching him wince. At what, I wondered. I continued hesitantly, "I really don't want to consider what could have happened if you you hadn't been there."

"It was my pleasure," Mystery Boy said. He grinned at me then, wicked and beautiful at once, eyes shining at me in an emotion I couldn't really read. "My name is Keenan," he said, holding out his hand. I took it, ready for a shake, and was seriously caught off guard as he held it delicately, and lightly pressed a warm kiss onto the skin. I forgot to breathe, his eyes looking into mine as his lips still touched my skin.

After a long moment, I regained my cool, swallowing again, and reclaiming my hand. I blinked rapidly, and gave him a quick smile, extremely aware of the blush rising in my cheeks. "It was nice to meet you, Keenan," I said as I turned away and began my amble towards home. I turned my back on him looking confused. Before I could leave, I felt his warm hand on my arm, gently turning me back towards him.

"Don't I get your name?" Keenan asked, looking as if he was trying to stare into my soul. I was shocked that he was still flirting with me. Most people just let me brush them off. "Depends on why you want it," I replied, slightly confused to his motives. He laughed then, and it was warm and smooth like chocolate, while at the same time raising the hairs on the back of neck. It was like honey falling from his lips. I smiled at the time, for a moment enchanted and utterly in his control.

"And if I just wanted to find you again?" I was still in a light stupor from his laughter, but that brought me out of it. My features darkened, and my content smile slid off my face. "I'm sorry, Keenan. I'm sure you're very nice, but I have to go home now."

His face was confused and eerily sad he stepped forward, taking both of my hands in his. He leaned forward, our faces just a hands breadth away, and breathed out the words, "I really want to know you. Truly."

My breath caught in my throat, and my hands shook lightly. Keenan consumed all of my senses. The sun shining off his sandy blonde hair, his eyes lit as if from within, his very scent making it hard to breathe.

Keenan took a step back, and I could breathe again. I forced the words out, "I really have to go home now."

He still held my hands, and now he raised them slightly, leaning forward again, before breathing out the words, "Tell me your name." It wasn't a request, and we both knew it. "Sera," I breathed back in reply.

His smile was breathtaking. "Burning one," he said in reply, somehow knowing what my name meant.

I pulled back. "I have to go home, or my mother will worry. Good night, Keenan," I said.

The orange light of the dying sun signaled the coming night. "May I walk you home?" Was how Keenan responded. I just smiled, and said, "Not tonight."

And then I left him. and he let me.

I was weak, though, and glanced back once. He was framed in the sunset, glowing and golden. He looked like the 'Burning one', out of the two of us.

I made my way home, stumbling as I got lost in thought.

When I finally made my way inside, I ignored my mother and went straight to my room, where I threw myself on the bed, and spent all night dreaming of Keenan, and his amazingly warm green eyes.

Authors Note: Yes, I know. I had no business starting another fanfiction, with one on HIatus, And Blood Exchange still waiting for another chapter.

But, it's been a hard couple of months, and I haven't wanted to write much of anything. So, this is it.

If anyone wants it continued, then it will be. That's my rule. However, I make no guarentees' on how long the wait will be.

Be prepared to wait. I'm an tenth grader in high school, and I don't have much extra time, what with driver's ed and all.

But, anyway, this story is a Keenan&OC fic. Sometime before Ash comes into the picture. I'm thinking mabe twelve or so years

before wicked lovely. Donia is still the winter girl, and all that.

I first read Wicked Lovely in 2008, and have wanted to do a fanfiction for it ever since. This is the first I've done

in this category, and is something like my 12th on the site.

Tell me what you think, and how you like Sera. You never know, this could turn into a Au fic, with almost no warning.

Lot's of Love,

Dustfinger's Cheering Section

Tricia