The day following Pierre's emotional breakdown proved altogether more mundane.

Though Maka again began having her meals alongside him and though they went for their regular walk around town - They talked little.

It would be nice to say that simply breaking down into Maka's arms after presuming the light from a kitchen fridge was a portal to another world - Would be the sort of fairy-tale occurrence to bring the two unbreakably closer to one another - Enough for them to get over all their individual emotional hang-ups - However real life is seldom that simple.

And so they had spent the day blushing sheepishly at one another and only speaking around in circles on topics like the weather.

The second morning after they made up, almost 36 hours on exactly, was proving to be quite similar.

They had a relaxed breakfast and now the duo found themselves in Pierre's living room.

The space was the sort one might look at and think of a 1990's Tv set - Faded wallpaper in soft reds and yellows, pieces of ornate furniture and an old box-television.

The parlour was situated opposite the dining room on the house's ground floor and as such had the same corridor style layout, with a disused fireplace to one end and metre-tall windows against the exterior wall - Letting in a glorious amount of early morning sunlight.

Pierre sat in an old and worn armchair reading the daily paper as delivered to his doorstep - Though in truth he did more awkward glances in Maka's direction, then actual reading.

For her part Maka floated around admiring various objects in the room.

She had taken something of a liking to the antiquated television but today both she and it were silent - As the slightly 'off' atmosphere between the two continued to hang like an axe.

'60 seconds, 100 seconds, 150 seconds, tick, tock, tick tock--'

"Pierre what is this structure?"

Maka's voice said cutting through Pierre's thoughts like a most welcome scalpel.

As nonchalantly as possible Pierre laid down the newspaper to look at what she had indicated towards - It was a model of some Tenochtitlan Pyramid. The souvenir lay proudly at the centre of the mantlepiece - Crafted from actual rock in the area, it was a fine scale model of the ancient New-World monument, with its square layers creeping into a point.

"Hmmmm? Ah yes, an Aztec Pyramid. Fascinating people you know, built these amazing cities and worshipped some interesting ideals."

Pierre said.

"And these two?" Maka beckoned towards two other sculptures.

"The one on the left is of the Eiffel Tower, in France. And to the right is an Egyptian Pyramid." Pierre recited much like a tour guide.

Maka nodded appreciatively.

"There all... ummm triangles. Is that important?"

In an instant Pierre felt the air change and the tension fade, he smiled than laughed loudly springing up from his chair.

Maka blushed, "What? Did I ask a silly question?"

"No, no, it's a good question." Pierre said between laughter.

He strode over to a picture hanging on the wall and pointed for Maka to look at it;

"This here is a photo I took of Stonehenge, when I first arrived it was one of the places I had an interest in. Of course with time I've discounted it, just a burial grounds or religious site but when I first arrived on Earth I had no way of knowing that."

"I'm not sure I follow?" Maka replied earnestly.

Pierre nodded, "All of these are places and structures I investigated when I first arrived here on Earth--"

He took Maka lightly by the shoulder, into the hallway and began pointing to places on a map affixed to the staircase's exterior surface.

Pierre had seen her looking at it before, the type where the world is laid out flat with all the country names written on it. Considering her almost photographic memory she had probably already learnt the names of every place on Earth - But he pointed to specific places on it nonetheless.

"This here is the Bermuda triangle, back in the 90's it was still talked about from time to time - Planes and boats seemingly went in and then never returned. It couldn't be penetrated by radio signals!

And this here is predicted to be where Area 51--"

"Pierre my friend?"

"Yes Maka?"

"You haven't answered my question, if anything I have even more now."

"Ah right, good point. Well put lightly when I first arrived here..." Pierre hesitated for a few moments, considered changing the topic but then pressed on.

"...Well put honestly things were tough, I didn't speak a word of the language and didn't have a penny to my name. I spent a longer time then I would have liked sleeping in shop doorways and down cold street alleyways - But thankfully it turned out I wasn't the only one who couldn't speak the language. Even to this day many foreigners come here for work, they pick fruits, work in packaging and food factories, drive lorries - A bit of everything really and like me some of them didn't exactly speak much English.

So I got myself little jobs, moving around the country and slowly learning odd words of English here and there, along with a few pound to call my own."

"And after that you became a storyteller!" Maka added enthusiastically.

"Ha! If only it were that easy. No, I'm afraid Maka it takes a bit more than that to become an author in this world." Pierre said, and then began to trace a line through the continent of Europe on the map;

"I went backpacking, crossing from country to country. My aim was simple, if I got transported here then perhaps something could send me back."

He gestured his hand to more souvenirs and framed photos of famous landmarks around the corridor.

"Oh, now I see. And so? What did you find?"

Pierre frowned, "Not a lot I'm afraid. Oh sure this world is full of mysteries and unexplained locations but none of them seemed all that helpful. The Aztecs were the closest I ever got, the structure of their pyramids are very similar to a style I remember from back on Bhaile but nothing ever came of it - Magi don't seem to of ever existed here, well except for you and me I guess."

"Oh... Do you still travel?" Maka asked a little deflated.

"Hmmm? Oh god no, I gave up looking years ago, decades now I suppose..."

Maka reeled at the awkward turn the conversation had taken, searching around herself for a change in topic;

"Ah-umm... Did you say you made these 'foe-toe-graphs' by yourself? My good man I presumed a specialist of some kind was needed to create these!!"

Pierre broke from his dark musings to answer Maka’s random question, "What, oh yes they're just polaroids. You know that camera is probably still here.... somewhere."

"Well then you must show it to me so we might take one of these pictures!"

Maka said clapping excitedly with an almost childish glee.

****

So it was that Maka half-pushed Pierre up to the second floor where (Just across from her own bedroom) Pierre introduced Maka to his storeroom.

A part of her did wonder about the logic of having such a room on the middle floor of the house - But these thoughts were quickly replaced by ones retaining to the room itself.

Despite being on the aforementioned second floor, the storeroom very much so looked like an attic. It was packed to the brim with cardboard boxes and junk.

So full in fact that only a sliver of light made it through the window, the rest covered by more piled high boxes.

Cobwebs lined everything and a layer of dust coated the floor.

"Ah, excuse the mess I tend to just throw things in here."

Pierre said briskly upon seeing Maka's expression towards the room.

"But surely you need to retrieve things from here, yes?"

"What? Oh no, not often."

"Never looking backwards...."

Maka mumbled inaudibly under her breath with a deep sadness.

Pierre began to rifle through the room, shuffling past the stacked items - His grey hair giving him a sort of camouflage among the dust laden place.

Maka stuck near the entrance of the room, peering cautiously into some of the closer boxes.

"Found it-- What are you doing?!" Pierre said worriedly.

An angered look had come over Maka's youthful face.

"Are you not ashamed Pierre? What is the meaning of this!" She exclaimed while holding up a small box of books, around her feet were dozens of similar boxes.

Pierre rose an eyebrow in confusion.

"These boxes are all full of your own books man! You have been increasing your popularity by purchasing your own product - Despicable" She proclaimed dramatically.

Pierre found himself laughing again, only to look up at a pouting Maka;

"Don't be silly woman, that would never work unless you were a billionaire or something. Those are author copies, the publisher sends me 5 or 6 every-time they release one of my books - To be given to friends and family, that sort of thing."

Maka flushed a bright scarlet of understanding, "Ah, well how was I to know. It is your fault for putting them all together here suspiciously - Why have you not handed them out yet?"

The question hung in the air silently until the answer dawned by itself on Maka - She did not press for an answer.

Instead she took out one of the novels from the box;

"You said UnderCurrent was your most recent work but these others, what are they?"

She questioned as casually as she could, to try and once more steer the light-hearted conversation back on track.

It was Pierre's turn to have his cheeks redden, "Wait, hold on don't read that one!"

He pleaded, trying to push his way back to the front of the room, still surrounded by poorly packed boxes.

Too late, Maka had begun to read aloud.

"Follow the adventures of the great hero and her four companions in this thrilling instalment - As they head to slay the mighty drago -- Pierre?"

"Yes?..."

"You said the rest of your books were fictional, made up. And yet this sounds awfully like one of our adventures back in the old days."

Pierre turned his eyes away from her insinuating glare; "....They do say write what you know... and no one in this world is any the wiser...." He mumbled.

Maka grinded stupidly before grabbing up more of the books from the boxes around her and making a run for it.

"H-Hey what are you doing? Bring those back, no one said you could read those! They are just fiction I tell you! Any similarities to real events are just coincidences! Fiction! Maka, come back here girl!"

Pierre yelled after the girl with the silver hair, his face growing ever more crimson as she laughed her way teasingly down the hallway.

And so it was on the 9th of February just a mere five nights from a certain 'special day', and more than 20 years after his initial purchasing of the large London Townhouse - That Pierre framed his first photo containing people rather than objects.

A photo taken on an old, chunky-black, polaroid camera.

An image of a man and a woman, one with silvered hair and the other grey.

A portrait of the two-standing next to one another, with the girl leaning in against the man, a finger poking his cheek playfully as the man tries to keep his facial composure steady.

A photo of two sincere and happy smiles.

It was also the first time Pierre ever 'gifted' someone an author's copy of one of his books, if a little begrudgingly.