{Downtown Chicago, 1985...}

Songs for the chapter:

Fantasy- Earth, Wind & Fire

Who wants to be Lonely- KISS

Human Nature- Michael Jackson

--

{M A U R A}

I swore he was looking right through me.

So I dared to turn around and look again. He was wearing that same hollow, disinterested look on his smooth, masculine features- yet his eyes told different tales.

Nothing particularly special was going on that night. I was begrudgingly riding the subway home, and it was late. I hated the subway so much-- the dark and sketchy hallways, the shifty characters, the stifling smell of urine.

Usually, I'd be sitting alone in a row, looking out into the blackness beyond the subway car- but I couldn't.

Every time I focused my attention on the window beside me, I felt him staring. I felt that unnatural prickle on the back of my neck, the one you experience when you know you're being studied closely.

Why couldn't I just ignore the man and bolt from the subway at the next stop? There was something about him, something about his face that had me yearning for his gaze again the minute he looked away.

And so it continued. I pretended to be listening to my walkman, he pretended to be wringing his hands. Then, his head would raise ever so slowly, I would watch his reflection in the window as his eyes wandered around the car and eventually settled on me.

At first, I pretended not to notice- until the urge to look back became too much. I pretended to stretch just so I could turn and look at him, only to be caught red-handed.

There was an awkward few seconds in which we, strangers who knew nothing of one another (or so I thought), were staring each other down.

My stomach churned as I looked into those glassy eyes, so dark and shiny- obsidian was the word that came to mind.

My breath stopped coming as I looked him over, and once I realized what I was doing the embarrassment forced me forward again. The subway hit a small bump, I gasped a little, and resolved to just keep my eyes closed for the rest of the ride.

I turned up my music.

Every man has a space... in his heart, there's a place... and the world can't erase his fantasy...

I had no clue how much time passed. All I know is that his presence hit me all at once. My body was cold, almost like the feeling you get after jumping into a swimming pool. I opened my eyes and he was there, in the seat right next to me.

I gasped and quickly removed my headphones, but he hadn't said anything. He had the most unusual smirk on his face, and it was obvious that he was waiting for me to speak first.

"Uh..." I swallowed, nervously tugging on the collar of my trench coat. Suddenly, it was very warm in the subway car.

"Can I help you?"

He chuckled softly and pushed some of the sleek black curls away from his eyes.

"You know, it's dangerous to ride the subway all alone at night, Little Red. You never know who might be there. Waiting to prey on little things like you."

He leaned in and whispered those last few words. It was obvious he was trying to scare me, and it worked to some degree- but to be honest, I was mostly just curious.

I smiled disarmingly. "Well, good thing you're here to protect me, right?"

At that, his smile widened, revealing a row of pearly white teeth.

"You're weird," he simply snorted and looked toward the aisle.

I frowned a little. "What? You're the one who just randomly sat down next to me and started talking about creepers. How am I weird?"

He looked at me hastily. "Because for all you know, I could be the creeper, and here you are looking at me like I'm an appetizer."

My cheeks burned. "I was only looking at you because you were staring at me."

His eyes narrowed. "I was not."

"Are you kidding me? You were staring up a storm."

He scoffed. I was waiting for him to speak again, intrigued at how soft he sounded-- yet so gruff, all at the same time.

"So?" I whispered. "You gonna protect me, then? From all those Chicago creepers, waiting around for little girls to prey on?"

"Hmm," he simply responded.

And that made me angry.

'Hmm'? What the fuck was that supposed to mean? It was completely useless information, and how was I supposed to classify him without so much as a decent pick-up line?

I decided I'd have to rely on his appearance for a proper category. His simple black coat, hoodie, and pants were too benign to classify him as a Teenage Dream- and he didn't have hair like a poodle's.

He didn't smell like weed, so he couldn't be a stoner. A jock? No, they wear around their letterman jackets like it's a religion. I gazed at him for the longest time, but I could only draw a blank.

That had never happened to me before. Everyone fits into a category, or at least in my experience they did. So what could I make of him?

And so, the puppyish attraction was born.

I knew I must be making a mistake, and that my classification skills were a little worn out at that time of night. So I set about finding out the hard way.

"Pretty please? Like you said, I don't wanna get got."

Curls fell into his eyes again. He was giving me that glassy stare he'd produced from across the car, and again I felt cold.

A voice came over the intercom as the subway came to a soft halt.

"Now approaching Lincoln Station."

I stood quickly and with pride. Getting off at Lincoln Station was just like being proud of your zip code- you and everyone else on the subway knew that this was the home of Chicago's modern royalty.

"Well?" I said with mock curiosity, batting my eyelashes.

He looked at me blankly. "Whatever."

While it was obvious I was off my game that night with the flirtation, I was filled with buzzing excitement as we left the subway. He trailed loosely behind me as I flounced up the concrete stairs, careful to be as dainty as possible. No matter what the classification, it was universal that guys enjoyed lady-like mannerisms.

I waited at the top of the steps for him.

Hands shoved in his pockets, he emerged into the white moonlight with a scowl on his face. He hung back a little.

"Why so serious?" I teased, grinning at him. He didn't return the gesture.

He brushed past me roughly and started down the empty street. Not even the owls were singing that night, and the stars were hidden behind ominous clouds.

"Wait, where are you going?"

I could hardly keep up with his long strides- he was walking as if someone was following us.

"You wanted me to walk you home, so I'm doing that," he snapped. "Why would you ask me a question you already knew the answer to?"

I frowned again. "If you were in a bad mood, why the hell did you sit down next to me?"

He didn't answer me. I slid in front of him and lead the way. My house (believe it or not, there are houses in Chicago) wasn't too far, maybe a block or two away, but I wanted to set the pace. I turned around a little every so often to look at his face. I swore there was something familiar about him, something I couldn't place.

"See something you like?" his eyes were narrow slits.

"I don't know, do you?" I winked, certain that he'd give in to my enchantment sooner or later.

Instead the corners of his mouth turned downward and he didn't answer.

I sighed deeply and turned the corner onto my street. His resistance was starting to give me a complex about myself- I'd surely think twice the next time an attractive stranger sat next to me.

No, of course I wouldn't. My last name was Vanderbilt- everyone knew teasing was my game.

"You live around here?" I asked absentmindedly, as we wandered past the well-lit mansions that were lining the road.

"No," he said.

"You must live close, then. Down by the barracks? Near the park?"

"Nope."

"Hmm. Maybe you should show me sometime. I'll walk you home."

He was quiet for a second. I waited patiently for a response. I noticed how interested he seemed in each home we passed by, it was as if he were taking in every single little detail, right down to the well-tended shrubs growing near the gates.

"Not a good idea."

I turned, at the foot of my long driveway. I'd had enough of his apathy, it wasn't something I was used to or amused by.

I put my hands on my hips. "Well why not?"

He looked at me indifferently. "This is your house."

He turned on his heel and began to walk swiftly in the direction we had come. The frustration was welling up inside of me, the unexplained attraction, the feeling that I knew him from somewhere- it was driving me insane.

I was more than a little immature at the ripe-old age of barely 16.

"Hey, wait!" I called.

I heard him groan and stop. "What?"

"Would you at least tell me your name? Pretty please?" I clasped my hands and smiled at him as sweetly as I could.

He looked back at me for a half a second. "Later, Little Red."

"My name is Maura!" I yelled, angry again. "Maura Vanderbilt! And you know that name, I guarantee you do!"

This mystery man did not care. He turned the corner and was gone, seemingly as fast as he'd plopped himself in front of me in the first place.

I turned and used my key to unlock the metal gates. I cursed the driver under my breath for choosing my mother's luncheon over me- but then again, if he hadn't left me hanging at the gymnastics club, I wouldn't have had to ride the subway home...

The foyer was well-lit, though I was certain my parents were in bed. I saw that the housekeeper left me a midnight snack, but I was completely unintersted.

I raced up the spiral staircase and down the hall to my bedroom, knowing in my gut I'd seen those eyes somewhere before.

I dumped my gym bag and went right into the vinyl closet. It was my safe haven, it was a room filled to the brim with wonders I'd collected all on my own. Using my dad's credit card, of course.

I'd never been so careless with my records before, but something inside of me was so desperate to place him. I couldn't rest until I'd looked over every album cover, but it was no use. Why was I expecting to find him on record, anyway? Why was that the first place I looked?

"Maura? What the fucking hell is going on in here?"

Macy stood in the doorway of the vinyl closet, staring with awe at the heaps of records lying around her feet. I was crouched down on the floor staring up at her in disbelief.

How could I have forgotten?

"Macy?" I said carefully, letting my eyes fall closed. I was starting to get a headache.

"It's like... ten at night, Maura. Why the hell are you tearing apart the vinyl closet? You're just gonna bitch and moan about how unorganized it is in the morning, and-"

"Macy!" I snapped, getting to my feet.

"What?"

"Tell me the story again. About that guy and those kids who hang around outside the dance studio downtown. You know, across from the gymnastics club?"

Macy's face lit up. She loved to talk about them- even more so when they accepted her enough to let her hang around.

"Oh, you mean Jax?"

The last record on the shelf was G.I.T: Get it Together.

I held it in my hands as she told me another story about Jax, the tall brooding boy with the curls who laid claim to a quarter of Chicago- at least that was the word on the street.

{A/N}

I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Let me know in the comments what you think. There will be a new chapter Saturday (updates every other day).

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