The clock ticked in inaccurate beats by the shadowed corner. By Sylvan's curled figure.

  Ian sipped the steaming cup of watered-down milk, throat bobbing as warmth seeped into his stomach.

  It was an evening unlike anything he'd ever experienced before.

  But always, would he remember those quiet nights, when two children would curl in the loose vent, listening to the passing guards. His sister had been warm. A small, fragile child woven of all things lovely.

  His gaze lowered, fingers gripping the mug.

  William set down his cup, smiling. "Can you tell me, Ian, where you've come from?"

  Ian only knew that his existence was an abnormality. Espers and Guides existed on the surface with varying degrees of freedom, under the ruined skies. The Underground seemed cloaked in mystery, or was buried entirely.

  "Somewhere far," he said finally.

  William didn't press, breathing softly. "Why do you need to go to the Center?"

  That was a question he could answer. The younger man's words came gently, but prodding. Insistent and carrying traces of wariness.

  "I need to find somebody."

  "A friend?"

  Ian faltered. The center held the keys to all the secrecy surrounding his little sister's death. But there was another reason. The hazy outline of a softly smiling boy, one year older than him. Sometimes, he seemed distant, but he'd approached them first.

  The boy was allowed to leave, unlike them. But always, he'd return with pieces of the surface to show them. From strange shells, toys, or even live bugs, like spiders.

  Until he'd stopped showing after that day.

  Ian had suspected the boy hailed from a high-ranked family, so could he be there? Could Ian dare to indulge in the delusion of somebody waiting? He couldn't. But even so, with his destination pinned there, he hoped to meet him.

  "Somebody important," he breathed, unwilling to cling to temporary moments of the past. "Somebody I'd like to meet again."

  In the corner, Sylvan groaned, his pitch keening as he squirmed. His hands clutched his stomach tightly, as if plagued by pain. William hurried to him, gently drawing the limp body into his lap.

  He caught Ian's stare with a weary smile. "He has nightmares like this often. It hasn't been easy." Affection-soaked fingers gently brushed away Sylvan's hair. "I'm sorry to interrogate you, Ian. But if your past brings danger here, I'll need you to leave."

  The younger man exhaled. "He likes helping, always blaming himself for the death around him. I don't think you're a bad person, really. I just... I can't risk him."

  Ian didn't flinch. "Understood."

  He gulped down the lukewarm liquid, turning. William's hand shot out, grasping for his pants' hem. "Wait, wait, wait. I didn't mean right away! We made you a promise, and you have nowhere to go. You're not being chased, right?"

  Ian's figure blurred in the shadows, obscured by the waning light. William let go, readjusting Sylvan into a comfortable position with a soft sigh.

  "I don't need your sympathy," said Ian calmly. "If you have something to protect, then don't let outliers bring danger."

  William shook his head, frowning. "That's not what I meant to imply."

  "It is." Ian didn't give him any leeway. "You're not comfortable with me here, and I don't have a hobby of lounging where I'm not wanted. Don't beat around the bush."

  The pink-haired man had a personality that likely attracted those who abused his kindness. William, despite appearing gentle, likely took to warnings at the sidelines. All to protect him.

  It wasn't something that needed sugarcoating or pity.

  William's head hung, clasping his hands together as guilt wrote over his solemn face. The light cast harsh shadows against his profile, dark angles that made him appear somber.

  They were younger than Ian; individuals who lived polar lives.

  He walked over, looming over the two. His gaze lowered softly, and though no smile tilted his lips, his voice was a soothing murmur in the night.

  He stared at the whorl of hair and crouched down to ruffle the other's dry but voluminous strands. "You're better off knowing what you want to save than to juggle more than you can. If killing me became a necessity, I wouldn't blame you."

  "You've done well to survive until now."

  William stiffened, unused to the act of comfort. Sylvan and he protected the children, standing as unwavering adults who shielded them from the world. In turn, they protected each other in a bubble nobody could penetrate.

  But Sylvan's mind was a fragile thing, despite his loud theatrics and cheery nature.

  William could never mind caring for that radiant sunlight, the last remnants of warmth in the cruel society.

  His neck bent, head hanging low over Sylvan's sleeping face. Warmth covered his head, and Ian's words felt like a blanket of comfort, both reliable and steady.

  When he glanced up at the older, yet youthful-faced man, he saw a bottomless black that reflected nothing, carrying all arguments and all agreements simultaneously. William felt certain, then, that this man would definitely bring danger.

  Because nothing that he abandoned wouldn't seek his return.

  "Do you understand?" murmured Ian.

  William swallowed, nodding. "Thank you, Ian." His lifted gaze carried a newfound certainty. "Please allow us to accompany you to the first rift."

  "I already said—"

  "It's not pity," said William hurriedly, smiling. "Please allow us to."

  Ian frowned but nodded. "Thank you."

  William tilted his head, folding his hands together stiffly. "Ian, you give the impression of somebody devoid of care yet full of it. It's a little unnerving."

  Ian raised an eyebrow. "You're honest. What happened to all your politeness?"

  A smile flickered across the other's face. It carried traces of mischief and amusement, buried beneath his facade of reliability and calm. "Haven't we become a little closer?"

  "Treat your seniors with respect, brat," scoffed Ian.

  Sylvan rolled, mumbling under his breath as his eyebrows furrowed. He gripped onto William's clothes, tossing a long leg haphazardly over. William caught the leg, tucking it back under the blankets, and bent down to listen.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  "Bastard..." groaned Sylvan. "Stealing my cabbages, are you? Come here and I'll show you how to use them... ugh..."

  William laughed fondly, brushing his hair away. "Alright, Syl. I'll go grab your cabbages."

  "No—stay away, that's my prey. Shoo, it's my cabbage... not yours..."

  "Not ours?"

  "Mine..." murmured Sylvan grumpily, fisting William's clothes until they stretched. William attempted to remove himself, but the other had the vice of a baby that had found a new toy. Impossible to pry open.

  Instead, he shook his head helplessly. "Let's rest before tomorrow. Thank you for accompanying me for a chat."

  Ian's gaze lingered on them, curled against each other as if fitting two puzzle pieces in their place. He turned and rolled onto the thin mattress, dragging blankets over his face. No doubt did the Guide-Esper bond connect them, often swaying emotions.

  But he'd be a fool to ignore the depth of their connection. Threaded in millions of fine strings, desperate to remain knotted together.

  The luxury of emotion; of companionship.

  He'd only known beneficial relationships between Guides and Espers. Rarely did it come willingly.

  But then his thoughts strayed to that frosted, devastatingly beautiful face. The Esper whose power strummed, wrung around him in a serpentine trail. Telling of madness. Of chaos. A trace of pain skimmed his back, the phantom of a chilling touch.

  He shifted beneath the thin sheets, rolling onto his back. He couldn't love an Esper purely. But that intoxicating power, that irrefutable arrogance—

  —he wanted it.

  With itching skin and reeling thoughts, sleep soon devoured him. He woke to a shadow looming over him, poking his cheek with a wooden spoon. Sylvan blinked innocently, and Ian's blurry gaze squinted.

  Sylvan pouted. "I was hoping you'd jump in fright. Your reaction's too dull."

  "If I were frightened," said Ian patiently as he removed the blankets, pushing away the spoon. "I would react violently."

  "First off, I have a weapon. Secondly, let me inform you, I'm very good at using a spoon."

  Ian blinked and tilted his head. "Are you threatening me?"

  His gaze took in Sylvan's slowly, calculating his actions. The solemnity made Sylvan pause, curse, and click his tongue as he retracted the spoon. "No, but it'll become a threat if you don't eat breakfast and get up!"

  Once again, the three circled the wobbling wooden table, balanced on uneven legs. Sunlight caught the hanging glass shards by the balcony. Colors fractured against the walls, scattering life to the narrow space.

  "Pretty, right?" grinned Sylvan, gulping a mouthful of soup. He wagged the spoon around. "The kids helped me collect some, and I traded them lost things as payment."

  "Lost things?"

  "Oh, y'know. All sorts of junk out there. Sometimes, I find scraps in old cities."

  Ian hummed in acknowledgement, listening to Sylvan's endless chatter. Mostly about the children, with a few jokes toward William. Zero, in particular, seemed to enjoy roaming the ragged streets, skipping his lessons at the orphanage.

  There was a little girl who refused to count properly, insisting on multiples of 3. A boy who wore his pants backward because he wanted to be special.

  Endless stories. All their lives.

  Eventually, they returned to the station to claim the assignment. Along the way, several stopped Sylvan, engaging in enthusiastic conversations. William only smiled politely, steering the chats to a close.

  Fabric whipped above, and when Ian glanced over, several large towels were strung over rows of thick rope. It ran from building to building.

  Sylvan kicked a squashed can, noticing his confusion. "Oh, that. Not everybody has space, so they just hang stuff to dry there. You'd think it's raining, but no, it's just some dripping underwear from the sky!"

  William chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, most are polite enough to only hang towels and clothes."

  "Underwear needs drying too," remarked Sylvan. "Though there are some perverts. Remember that old guy down the road? The one on the fifth floor of those apartments. I just know it was on purpose."

  "He was an exception."

  Sylvan tutted. "Don't argue with me, you're destined to lose. How about that lady—"

  William threw his hands up in surrender, laughing softly. "I give, I give. The number of stories you have knows no end."

  Sylvan grinned in satisfaction as they approached the station. He leaned toward Ian familiarly, whispering in a loud hiss. "That old guy there is a massive pervert too, so let me do the talking."

  Ian lowered his gaze. "I already met him."

  "You did? Then you know I'm right, right?"

  The younger man seemed to possess a fierce eagerness to win all conversations—even those that didn't appear to need a winner.

  Ian nodded. "You're right."

  Sylvan whistled delightedly, leading them up worn steps mottled in weeds and filth. A rancid stench swept past Ian's nose, and he furrowed his eyebrows, distancing himself from a mysterious puddle of liquid.

  Some things in the world didn't need to be known.

  As they neared the filthened area, the guard cast a lazy glance up. His rolling seat squeaked. Then, his gaze dragged across them hungrily, and Ian paused.

  The familiar greasy face pressed against the glass shield, lust fanning condensation. A string of saliva connected his lips as he grinned. All his flaws were amplified by his ugly nature, but he didn't appear to remember their previous meeting.

  Twin perverts?

  Sylvan cleared his throat and put on a terrorizing expression, like a scolding teacher. "We're applying for the foraging task at noon."

  The guard's eyes rolled sideways, fixed on Ian. "You two are registered to take on tasks. He isn't. I'll need his fingerprints."

  "What?" Sylvan scowled, his fiery red hair screaming rebellion. "When has that been a thing? If he's registered all the information should be there."

  "New order," barked the guard.

  A bird squawked above, flapping its heavy wings across the darkness, and musk filled their noses. Ian lightly nodded at Sylvan, approaching the glass.

  "My fingerprints?" He repeated.

  The guard grinned eagerly. "Yeah, pretty boy. It's good you know your place. Come, give me your hand."

  Ian had been told that his unflinching, abyssal gaze sparked a desire to dominate. He'd been told so quite unwillingly, from an Esper that didn't know how to stop yapping.

  Thus, despite being older and larger than most, he attracted oddities. If he weren't a Guide, such thoughts might not rouse.

  But one label degraded a regular, lean-built young man into an object of desire.

  Ian knew that; in another life, had he been born regular or an Esper, those filthy gazes might change. He'd wear different definitions, even if he looked the same.

  He didn't argue, obediently lifting his hand.

  The guard retrieved a black slate, wedging it in the small space by the glass. His thick, oily fingers wriggled beside the slate. Ian blinked and placed his hands over, only for the fingers to squirm closer.

  They brushed past him, like writhing worms.

  Ian's eye twitched, sweeping to the broad smile on the guard's face. Undoubtedly, the man likely abused the safety of his glass to harass Guides.

  Nothing new. Ian spent a lifetime as an energy source for Espers.

  But with nothing to lose, few threats held merit against him. And a man with nothing was a terrible target for provocation.

  Especially one with awful anger management.

  A beep sounded, telling of the processing's completion. At the same time, the greasy fingers nearly overlapped his, and Ian very calmly lifted his gaze.

  Behind him, Sylvan was grinding his teeth. He'd restrained himself, knowing of his limitations, but he couldn't endure it for much longer. A bundle of curses rested on his tongue and—

  Bang—!

  A knife trembled in the center of the slate, snapping it in half. The pitiful booth trembled, stabbed twice within days. The serrated edge had nicked a sliver of flesh, and Ian coldly yanked it out with a grimace.

  The guard spasmed, hastily yanking away his bleeding hand. His voice wrangled, screeching. "You... you...! How dare you!? Do you know who I am?!"

  "No," stated Ian coldly. "And I don't care. Make a report over your wounded ego, and they can come arrest me once I return. And if you insist on a night together..."

  The knife flipped in his palms as a faint, chilling promise flitted over his lips.

  "I can make it your last."

  Madness flickered in his vacant eyes, molded by dark resentment. The guard shivered.

  Ian was more focused on the weapon. Without money, he didn't have the funds to buy a new one. Therefore, he could only reluctantly slide his shirt, wiping it firmly, before discarding the scrap on the table.

  Then, he nodded at the dumfounded two. "If there are any issues later, I'll deal with them."

  He calmly strode away, leaving Sylvan to follow in a daze. The guard's complaints echoed behind them, a jumble of nonsense that rattled the security box. William cast a sideways glance, striding over with a polite smile.

  "Sir," he said kindly. "Our zone may be regarded as a waste, but I've been informed that they deal with harassment reports and theft of resources. Are you willing to lose everything you've been pocketing over a minor disagreement?"

  "You—!"

  "As fellow low-levels of the zone, let's continue peacefully, don't you agree?"

  The guard's face had turned red, twitching violently. William only nodded in farewell, catching up with the others swiftly. Sylvan bounded over with a mischievous smile, tugging the Esper's sleeve. "You taught him a lesson, didn't you?"

  William laughed softly. "I simply encouraged a sense of community with our neighbours."

  "Heh. See, he looks all polite and gentle, but don't be fooled, Ian! Behind this gorgeous face is a sinister bully."

  "Come on, now!"

  William playfully pressed Sylvan's head down, ruffling his hair into a bird's nest. It elicited a shout of protest as they zigzagged through the maze of buildings, toward the gates.

  Laughter rang, and a speeding bicycle zipped past Ian. He glanced over, where a rattling basket was strapped to the back. A child rode it, dodging random passerby with a cackle. To the left, a pair of young woman interlaced their hands, whispering.

  Noise and chatter engulfed him. So unlike the world he'd known.

  Now, he stood among the rushing, broken streets of Zone 5.

  Sylvan ducked under William's arm, imprisoning it against his chest. He glanced over, gesturing for Ian to hurry. "Come on, slowpoke! It's a long walk!"

  Ian snapped out of his stupor and swallowed, nodding once.