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The fifteen year old fumbled with the locks in the midnight rainfall. Wiping the strangling drops from her eyes, she punded the lock with the stone that firmly gripped with anticipation. The lock broke with sudden response. The gate opened. She slid through, unnoticed.

The boy grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him. "What have you done?"

"Nothing to fulfill your satisfaction," she replied, solemnly.

Her name was Jasper. The fragile. The gentle. The heartache. The mysterious. The circuit. She was Jasper, the center.

"I stole it."
She tried to explain, but he wouldn't listen. She could easily hear it through the hardness in his voice, but gentleness shown in his deep emerald eyes.
"Will it happen again?"
"No."
"You're putting me in more trouble than I need to be in, Jasper."
"I'm sorry." She slid her slender body to the cold ground, where she leaned her head against the wall, like a limp sickness. He crouched in front her and looked at her.
"Do you still want to stay?"
All it was, was a simple question. A simple question of either life, death or somewhere in between. She turned her head and looked at him, as though he was a foreign stranger, suddenly leaping from the dark shadows. She nodded.
"I will."