Characters here are still not mine, not for profit, you know the drill. Here's a prequel to "Off of Life's Little Edge", as per request. Enjoy.

A metamorphosis, by definition, is denoted by a significant change in appearance, character, condition, or function.

It was all of the above for him, more than just once, in some way or another.

A light way to think of it would be to equate the meaning of metamorphosis to the busy little caterpillar making a cocoon, and emerging later as a fully grown, brightly colored butterfly. And that's exactly how his childhood transition went. From plump little boy, to a grown, handsome man... and through it all he had somehow remained just as naïve. Which could be seen as a blessing, or not, depending on your point of view.

After the fact, a metamorphosis is evident, even blatantly obvious. It all starts when the caterpillar curls up and hides in a chrysalis, oblivious to the outside world around him. He has no concept of life outside those walls, outside that restriction. Hiding away from the world, he can transform... begin anew. But once his seemingly dormant, sheltered life gives way, onto him a whole brave new reality is born.

What to do with that reality? That is the ultimate question.

Anyhow, he receives a new appearance, a new presence about him, and, in this one's case, a beautiful girl on his side. But appearances can be deceiving.

There was still a pull, a desire to become more. And the ill sentiment received from said girl's father further pushed him to find what he was seeking elsewhere. The way he figured it—she had seen him change, she knew his past. That in itself was somewhat unsettling.

He could have remained in his hometown, sure, but the ache of 'what if' would have driven him insane. That, and being a cop there wasn't enough... He knew this, for that feeling to become more. That drive was innate, as such metamorphoses are.

So he became a true butterfly if you will, spreading his wings and flying, some one thousand plus miles away... to a city where nobody knew his name, his past, his faults.

With twelve hundred dollars to his name, he opted for the studio. A simple, bachelor pad... a place to call home. Why not go for the one bedroom apartment? Well, it's simple... see, he wanted a suit. He knew that he looked different, but he wanted to appear different. He had a desire to lay his past to rest; he wanted to fit in somewhere. After all, they do say the clothes make the man.

And he soon acclimated to city life, for it was a city full of bright lights, full of sights and sounds, of excitement, of children in parks and families out shopping... full of danger...

It was a fresh start, and he brought with him a new outlook on life, yet he remained as green as the Midwestern grass he had grown up playing football upon. That, and he had no taste for ties.

Job description? Catch the bad guy. Simple as that, but yet in Boston, it wasn't so. In fact, he often found himself perplexed as to whom the "bad guy" even was—which is where this particular girl came in. She was a medical examiner... you know, the one that handles the bodies.

Void of passivity, full of issues. She wasn't one to take crap from anyone without giving them an earful. But he knew then that he liked her anyway, almost instantaneously.

He could recall the first time they met like he could recall his last name. It was an instinctual memory... spontaneous as such things can be. However, it really wasn't until he found himself asking dispatch to request her that he came to partially admit his rather schoolboy sort of crush to himself, let alone the rest of the world. He took to analyzing the situation, concluding that it couldn't have been just that she was hot, though she was, without a doubt. That red dress was the clincher.

It was more than that; it had to be.

Oh and a devil in a red dress she was... he often found himself subject to her whim, without even realizing that she had led him there. The sad part is that even if he was somewhat conscious of the games she played, he followed her anyway. If only to alleviate a bit of his concern.

And did he really care that she seemed to, for lack of a better word, 'use' him to get at something she ultimately wanted? That jury was still out on that one. After all, in return for his efforts, there was dance here, a touch along the cheek there... and then, of course, yet another favor over there.

All he really knew was that she could manage to send chills down his spine just by entering the room. Whether said chills were good or bad, that depended upon what sort of mischief she was up to that day.

Though, that was the fun of it all... life was good, overall. In their friendly banter, and through some extracurricular digging on his own, he learned piece by piece parts of the puzzle that made her who she was. And what he did ascertain was that this particular girl had a penchant for getting caught up in her own crap; that she often stepped on anyone that got in the way of solving the one murder she never could. And she never let anyone in, well, at least she tried not to.

In his naïveté, he thought he could change all that.

So he played along... tolerated the distance at first; in fact, it suited him. He liked the cat and mouse act compared to the stagnant relationship he had left back home. There was this excitement of it all, the thrill of the chase, the newfound feeling deep in his gut, the butterflies. He had never really felt that way before.

Often enough, this girl, rather woman, left him at a loss... but he willingly chose to remain a glorified bachelor, chasing the impossible. It had been a challenge that he had been geared and ready for. This woman, born and raised on the south side, was a complete enigma. And he was drawn to her... even after she went missing for months and nearly got him killed time and again. He remained her friend, trying to gain her trust. It was something to work towards; it gave his simple life some meaning.

He chalked up their kisses to moments of weakness. He knew she wasn't into the whole relationship thing, and he promised himself that he wouldn't push her—rather he'd be there, if and when she figured out he wasn't the enemy.

And it worked... sort of. For a while.

She had this messed up view of sex and relationships... and trust for that matter; never one to truly lean on anyone, though the yearning for a constant in her life was there. Evident, even to him. However, she had always found it easier, more simple if you will, to push people away when she needed them most. She achieved this goal just as simply in fact... she ran, as childish as that seems.

So even if there had ever really been something there, he'd been too afraid she'd uproot, make like a tree, in his words, and 'leave' to take that something anywhere. At least with the wall up, they'd remain friends, and more importantly, she'd 'stick' around. He could handle that. The question became, for how long? Truth was... he, himself was already beginning to question his motives... there was a feeling there. Just underneath his skin.

And no matter how hard one fights it, after becoming a butterfly, there's an inner caterpillar that remains changing still—expanding upon a newfound freedom of flight and learning the ways of the adult world. His is a universe continually shifting; altering in attitude and mannerism, though too often nobody slows down and takes the time to really notice.

Not even him.