change.

twenty.

"Hit me and it felt like a kiss." -Lana Del Rey, (Ultraviolence)

Now what the hell is going on?

Let's have a flashback to when Connor hopped off the plane with a dream and a cardigan.

-July 2013-

"How are we gonna survive without the man of the household?" Joyce joked, teary-eyed.

"You could always call Nebula and Adonis to help you out," Connor playfully replied as his sister gave him a look. The youngest of the three giggled happily.

"Make sure to find me a good-looking British guy, okay?"

Connor nodded, hoping to find one for himself first. With a final goodbye to his family, the 6"4 male picked imaginary lint off of his black cardigan and boarded the flight.

Twenty four hours later, Connor was in Brighton. And he was sleeping off horrendous jet lag in an embarrassingly small flat near his university of study. If one could call it a flat. There was a frantic knock on his door that wasn't heard over his sleep. Then there was a frantic pounding on the door that did a better job. Connor rolled over, wishing the noise would stop but it didn't. So he groggily pulled himself off of the couch, one of the few furnishings set up at that point, and pushed open the difficult door. He was met with a beautiful brunette in tattered clothing.

"Please help," she breathed with frantic eyes.

Connor, instantly awakened by the scene in front of him, silently ushered her inside.

The brunette looked around the small space peculiarly, though there wasn't much to be interested in. The flat itself was the underground portion of the complex on the side, almost completely hidden to the naked eye. This girl had to know of its location prior to arriving.

In the left side, there was a box on top of an empty horizontal bookcase marked "TV and electronics." There was a small window above a radiator.

Across from that was the brown couch with a thin blanket that Connor had been minutes before. More boxes were at either foot of the couch. If a person were to turn their body and walk five steps, they'd be in a kitchenette area complete with an island, six countertops with dusty cabinets above each one, a four top stove with a questionable past, and an equally questionable microwave above that. If that same person were to walk adjacently to the next visible door, they would find a bathroom behind it with a simple shower, sink, and toilet set. Across from that door was another, beholding a room big enough to fit a full sized bed, a dresser, and a small tv, maybe.

"Is it the same as you remember it?" Connor suddenly asked.

The girl jolted as if being triggered from a memory.

"What?" She breathed, suddenly cold.

"You're looking around as if you've been here, which you've obviously been, if you found this place."

The girl unconvincingly shook her head. "I've never been here."

Connor nodded and resumed his place on the couch, walking past her.

"I'm Connor, I'm starting University here next month on a study program."

The girl uneasily smiled, stopped looking around, and focused on the male.

"I'm Allison." She replied I'm a tiny voice.

"So what do you need help with?" Connor asked.

Allison's eyes began to dart around the flat again.

"Um, alright." She whispered shakily, bouncing up and down in place.

"Actually, I was at my boyfriend's house with my friend, and she went to steal from his wealthy mum, but that damned foreign housekeeping twat found her before she could finish, so she had to escape down a window, and I had to run out making some shit excuse, and we weren't able to complete the plan, so my other boyfriend lashed out and I had to get away from there so I'm here now," she shrugged, never looking at the American whom she knew was just judging her. He was probably wealthy and had parents.