"Listen, frog man, I don't need you to babysit me," you huffed at said frog man. You tried to tug your arm from his grip, but he proved to be stronger than he looked. He snapped his head back to look at you.

"Frog man?!" he exclaimed incredulously. "How would you like if I went around calling you human lady?!" You rolled your eyes.

"Not a lady, and it's not like we've had a proper introduction, have we?"

He groaned, running his free hand down his face and mumbling words you couldn't hear. "Jamack. My name is Jamack," he grumbled. "There, ya happy?"

"(Y/N)," you said simply. "Now, let me repeat myself: I don't need you to babysit me. Don't you have your own problems to deal with?"

"Yeah, well, it seems you've been added to that list of problems, haven't you?" he replied. He began tugging you along once more.

"You're the one that made me your problem," you retorted. "You could've just let me fall and we both would've been better off."

Jamack stopped and glared at you. "Alright, edge lord, how about you give me a good reason why you specifically should have fallen to your death and maybe I'll let you go do that," he challenged.

You glared right back at him. "Oh, I don't know, maybe because I don't even belong here?" you snapped at him. "I'm from two hundred fucking years ago. We shouldn't have even been here!"

Jamack was silent for a moment. You continued to glare at him as his own glare softened the tiniest bit. "We?" he asked.

You exhaled angrily. "Me. I. Whatever. It doesn't fucking matter. Let's just go wherever it is you're taking me," you resigned. You didn't want to talk about this and you would not allow this stupid frog man to goad it out of you.

A quiet "hm" was all he responded with before he turned forward and began walking again. He didn't let you go.

The rest of the walk was quiet. Neither of you spoke unless it was Jamack warning you of obstacles or other mutants to hide from. At some point, he'd let go of you, but you just continued to follow him. You knew he'd just catch you if you tried to run. He didn't attempt to make conversation, and you just didn't want to talk anymore. Was bottling all this up good for you? No, not really. Did you care? Not in the slightest.

Finally, you ended up in front of a tall building overflowing with water. It seemed to be held up by a giant tree. It was...actually quite beautiful.

"Wow," you breathed out.

"My private office," you heard Jamack say from beside you. You glanced over. He looked...sad, almost. Nostalgic, maybe? "It's only a matter of time before they give it to someone else, but it should be safe for now."

"They? Who, the other frogs?" you asked.

Jamack scoffed. "Wow, you really know nothing about the world now, do you?" For once, there was no hostility or condescending tone behind the question. He sighed. "I'll explain when we get up there."

You followed him up to the building, but soon realized there was no visible door.

"So, uh, how exactly are we getting up there?" you asked.

Jamack smirked. "Well, I hope you aren't afraid of getting a little wet," he chuckled.

You gave him a weirded out look. "Um, what?" you questioned. Instead of answering, Jamack dove into the water. You stood there for a moment, debating whether to make a break for it or follow him. Finally, you took a deep breath and, against your better judgment, dove in after him.

You swam upwards, since that seemed to be the only logical way to go. The water seemed neverending. Eventually your lungs screamed for air. Your limbs grew tired from propelling you upward. You were about ready to accept your fate and let the water take you when you finally burst through the surface. You gasped desperately for air and searched for something to grab hold of until, finally, pair of hands gripped your wrist and hoisted you upward onto a flat surface. You took in great gulps of air, grateful to be on solid ground.

"Right, I forget humans aren't made for water," Jamack muttered to himself. He sighed before reaching down and lifting you to your feet. He held your shoulders to keep you steady, and you grasped onto his forearms to do the same.

You glared up at him. "A warning would have been nice. I could've drowned, jackass," you huffed.

He smirked and quirked an eyebrow. "I thought you wanted to die. Finally change your mind?"

You made an annoyed noise and pushed yourself out of his arms. "Drowning is a lot more painful than going splat and that's it," you shot back.

Jamack lifted his hands and took a step back. "Alright, whatever you say," he said. He hummed and turned to face a hallway to your right. "My office is just down that way," he stated, walking in that direction. You, somewhat reluctantly, followed after him.

Everything was fine until you got to the part of the hallway that was mostly filled with water. Jamack continued, but you stayed put, crossing your arms.

"Ohhhhh no no no," you groaned. "No more water for me, please."

Jamack let out a deep, frustrated sigh, turning back to you. "Really? It's not even deep!"

"I'm not going in the water," you told him, holding your ground.

"Has anyone ever told you how frustratingly stubborn you are?" Jamack sighed again. He walked back to you and looked around. "Damn...the dumb raft thing is still in the office," he muttered. He looked back at you, seeming conflicted.

You raised an eyebrow questioningly. "What now, smart guy?"

Jamack rolled his eyes. "Fine, I guess we're doing this," he grumbled. Before you could question him, he turned and squatted down. "Get on my back. I'll just carry you of you're going to be so stubborn."

You blinked. "Oh," was all you could say. You weren't expecting that. You hesitated but, ultimately, decided to listen to him. Why did you continue to listen to him? You climbed onto his back, wrapping your arms loosely around his shoulders. He stood up and hooked his arms around your legs before continuing forward.

As you walked, you began to think more about this strange frog man. Why was he so nice to you? He was sarcastic and rude sometimes, yes, but all he had done while you'd known him was help you. You didn't understand. What did he gain from this? What was the point? Clearly this world was hinged on survival of the fittest, and that definitely didn't include you. If anything, you were only a hindrance for him. So why?

And why did it make you feel so special?

"Here we are."

Jamack's voice broke your chain of thought. You lifted your head to look around and gasped. The view was absolutely gorgeous.

Jamack walked a bit farther into the room and sat down on a large chunk of wood floating in the water. "There, you can get off now," he said. You clambered off his back, sitting criss-cross on the makeshift raft. He stood back up and stretched out his back with a groan. "Alright, I'm going to grab some of my things and we can be on our way," he told you, walking over to a desk. You decided to take in the beautiful scenery.

The sun had begun to set, casting a beautiful orangey light over everything. Skyscraper windows shimmered with soft reds, yellows, and purples. It seemed so surreal, all these fallen buildings covered in plant life. You felt as if you were in the middle of a dystopian novel. You took your bag off your back, reached in, took out your notebook (you thanked the universe that your bag was waterproof), and began to draw.

By the time you were done, the sun had almost completely set. You leaned back a bit, admiring your work.

"That's really good," Jamack's sudden voice behind you made you jump. You instinctively hid your notebook against your chest, feeling your face heat up in embarrassment.

"It's not that great," you denied. "Just doodling."

"Just doodling? If that's just a doodle, I can't imagine how good your actual art must look like," he exclaimed, making you laugh softly. Jamack smiled. That was the first time he'd seen you genuinely smile or laugh, and it was much better than the gloom and doom attitude from before. "Alright, lemme see," he reached forward and grabbed the notebook out of your hands, ignoring your protests. You huffed, resigned, and allowed him to look at the drawing. Your heart began to speed anxiously as he turned the pages.

"Hey, please don't," you said. You stood up and reached for it. "Some of that is personal and--"

He pointed at one of the pages. "Who's this?" he asked. "You seem to draw her a lot."

Your throat seemed to close in on itself and a familiar ache thrummed in your chest. Suddenly, it became very difficult to breathe. He'd found some sketches of Jules. Alive and happy Jules. The Jules you'd never see again. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. "Jamack, seriously," you choked out, "please, just give it back."

Jamack was taken aback by the sudden change in your demeanor. He closed the notebook and handed it back before looking away and adjusting his tie nervously. "Sorry," he mumbled. He felt stupid. Of course it was someone from your old life. It would make sense that thinking of them would be painful for you.

You shoved the notebook back into your bag and hugged it to your chest. "Let's just go," you mumbled. You sat back down on the raft, hugging your knees with your bag between them and your chest, as Jamack pulled it out of the room and back through the hallway.

"Alright, water stops here," he said. "Gotta get off now." You shook your head, hugging your knees tighter against you. Jamack felt a pang in his chest. Clearly something was wrong, and he'd caused it. This was worse than when you were angry. At least then you walked and talked. Now you were silent and depressed, and Jamack felt terrible. And he didn't like that one bit. "Alright," he whispered to himself. He carefully picked you up. "I have a room I sleep in when I need to," he told you. "We can sleep there for the night, okay?" You nodded, and so off you went.

The room in question was rather small and had a singular mattress on the floor with a couch against the wall opposite. On the mattress was a beat up looking pillow and somewhat tattered blanket. Jamack placed you on the mattress and went to sit on the couch. You lied on your side, curled into a ball and staring out the window.

Jamack quietly took off his jacket and tie and set them aside. He then settled down on the old couch, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in. He looked over at you. You were unmoving except for your breathing, and a faraway look clouded your eyes. Jamack felt a pit in his stomach. You weren't okay. You needed help, and he didn't know what the hell to do. Mod Frogs weren't exactly understanding when it came to emotions. They were always told to suck it up and continue on. But he'd never dealt with something this bad. The thought crossed his mind of perhaps finding Kipo again. She was human, and maybe she'd be able to help you somehow.

...why did he want to help you so bad?

·°·°·°·°·

Finally got this chapter done! Ended up to nearly 2000 words!! Now that I've gotten through this one, I'm hoping to update a bit more often. Can't promise anything, but I'll try lol.

Also I want to take a moment to say something serious here.

Suicide and depression are a very serious thing. I don't want this story to seem like I'm romanticizing those things at all. These are serious issues and they should be treated as such. I need y'all to know that in this story, love is not going to magically cure all of your troubles. It's going to take a lot of time and work and healing.

If you suffer from depression and/or suicidal thoughts, I want you to know that you are not alone. I know how hard those things can be on someone. I am always here if you need someone to talk to, though I do encourage you to find a therapist or someone like that you can speak with. I know that's not an option for everyone, but I promise it can help.

Alright, that's all for now. I love you all, and I hope you stay safe💖