A/N: Hey guys! So this is an adaptation of a story I was working on, originally titled "Why Didn't I Tell You?". I deleted it because I felt I could do a much better job, so I'm redoing it in this story. Some of the plot will be changed, but you'll still find some elements/sections from the former, now deleted work. Thank you to those who reviewed/followed my original work in the short time it was up before I decided to ultimately get rid of it and start over fresh. I've adjusted the story according to something that was brought to my attention, as well as some other things. It's different but similar at the same time, you know what I mean? Anyway. I'll stop rambling and let you get to the first chapter!

"You're useless, Flower. You'll never amount to much out there. You must stay here. You know I can't live without help." Her adoptive mother's words cut. They always did. Rapunzel couldn't believe how someone could get cut somewhere that they had already been cut at, but her words, as always, ached.
"Do you want to make a bet? I know I have a chance out there, mother!" She never stood up for herself, but now was the time.
"Don't you go out that door. You'll regret ever being born!" She was threatening her now. Her threats weren't usually idle, but Rapunzel had had it. She hefted her small duffel bag over her shoulder and headed for the door.
That's when her mother had pulled a knife on her. Stood in front of the door. When Rapunzel tried to get around her, she used that knife. Rapunzel still had the scar on her arm from it, up by her elbow. Long and jagged, it reminded her of her past.
That hadn't stopped her, though. She'd gone to her room, bandaged her injury, and waited for her mother to go to sleep. That night, she'd made her escape through her bedroom window; crawling across the side of the house like a monkey, easing herself onto some fencing, and then diving from that and running away.

That was four years ago, Rapunzel reminded herself again as she walked on the busy sidewalk, heading for her job at the little family-owned bookstore that she adored working at. She was twenty-two now, and while she certainly wasn't famous, she'd made something of herself, at least. She hadn't lied when she'd promised her abusive adoptive mother that she could take care of herself out here, in the world. As she walked, her thoughts switched from this to the reason why she had a bagged breakfast along with her. She should be nearing the building soon...oh! There he was!
She jogged across the street, hopped up onto the sidewalk, and stopped in front of the bundled-up man. He was always here, huddled up against the old factory building and sleeping when she passed on her way to work. Today was the day that she'd stop just going past him.
"Hello!" she smiled brightly.

The man grunted, peeling a brown eye open. He'd been having a perfectly wonderful sleep, but then this preppy-looking woman just had to go and wake him up. Make him face reality. Her fuzzy figure focused, and her bright smile was as bright and dazzling as the sun. He looked over her with a calculating gaze. Her dark brown hair was short and messy, with soft spikes poking out everywhere. Her nose and cheeks were daintily sprinkled with freckles, and her cheeks had a rosy tint to them - a natural tint, not blush. But the most stunning of all were probably her smile and her eyes, which burst with hundreds of shades of green, with maybe even pale yellow and brown squiggles towards her pupils. Her pupils were wide and curious.

But he was in no mood for some preppy woman - the type that act all nice and sweet, but then yell at you for taking up the sidewalk. Not like he had anywhere else to sleep. When the homeless shelter's full up and you're not in it, you kind of are limited in your sleeping options. He'd considered laying out in the middle of the street once or twice, but didn't think the state would appreciate the cleanup. Finally, he realized he really needed to answer her.
"Yeah. Hi. If you don't mind, I need my beauty sleep. As you can tell, I probably need all the help that I can get in that category." he tucked his chin against his thin, blue tee and squeezed his eyes shut again.
Rapunzel shook her head, grinning. Perhaps she should have explained this first. "Then I suppose you don't want the breakfast I made for you?" she asked.
His eyes opened again as he wondered if the woman was delusional. "Look, I'm not in the mood for pranks."
"It's no prank," she shook her head and opened the brown paper bag open for him to look. Glancing down at the new cup of coffee in her other hand, she felt a sudden burst of guiltiness. "The coffee's for you, too."
"Why?" he asked immediately. What, did everything have some awful substance in it? Laxatives? Poison? He'd heard of people doing that just to make homeless peoples' lives even worse.
"I walk past this spot every day for work, and you're always here in the morning. I thought you could use a good meal," she said, setting everything in his lap. "Plastic fork in the bag, and a couple of napkins are in there, too."

"You made it?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowed. In his three months of homelessness, this was the most bizarre thing he'd ever seen. Who makes homemade meals, trots over to the first homeless person they see, and hands it to them? Nobody, that's who.
"Yes," she nodded. She'd witnessed a few people making fun of him on her daily walks back and forth to work, so he probably expected the worst. "Look, I know you don't trust me, but I promise I didn't do anything awful to the food. Unless you count bouncing the bag a bit as I jogged across the street!"
He chuckled. She had a little sense of humor, if all else failed. "Well, ah, thanks. Very much."
"You're welcome," she let her smile broaden - he wondered if that was even possible - and instead of leaving, she sat down with her back up against the brick building. "Mind if I stay and talk for a few minutes?"

There's the catch, Eugene thought immediately. No way would anyone give a free homemade meal without some judgmental questioning, perhaps some harassment or even a kick to the side, as cruel as it sounded. He shrugged, cramming an entire muffin in his mouth so he couldn't give a snarky reply.

"What's your name?" she asked.
He looked up, gulping. This was new. "Flynn Rider," he said automatically. He'd been eighteen when he'd taken up the alias, after all. This year marked six years of going by Flynn.
"Okay," she nodded. That name sounded about as fictional as you can get, but she let it slide. After all, she hadn't given him her name. "How long have you been homeless?"
"Three months," he shrugged. "And before you get started with the whole 'why don't you just get a job' spiel, I've tried. A lot."
"I wasn't going to tell you how to run your life," she said gently. "I'm sorry you've been homeless for so long." She wondered if there was anything she could do for him.
He shrugged. "Sooner or later, something will happen," he said darkly. Either he'd find a job and be able to feed and find shelter for himself, or he'd die. It was as simple as that. Even simpler and less worrisome when you didn't have anything to live for. No family, no job, no friends, wandering around streets for hours trying to stay away from the jerks who harassed the homeless for fun, and digging through trash to find something to eat or sell to the junkyard or pawn shop. It wasn't fun.

Her smile turned sad as she realized the full meaning of his sentence. "You seem like an okay person, Flynn. I'm sure your luck will turn someday!" She checked her watch and squeaked in surprise. "Oh! I have to go!"
"Okay. Well, thanks," he said, giving her a convincing grin and holding up the bag.
"You're welcome!" she grinned. "I'll see you tomorrow, if you're still here?"
"No doubt in my mind," he said.
"Okay. It was really nice to talk to you!" she smiled again and turned to race off. He still didn't quite know what had just happened, but he wasn't going to think about it much. She'd never come back around anyway, so what was the use of trying to figure out the real - and likely, bad - intentions of her kindness?