The clock ticked in inaccurate beats at the shadowed corner, by Sylvan’s curled figure. Ian sipped at the steaming cup of watered milk, his throat rolling as warmth chased into his stomach.

It was an evening unlike he’d ever experienced before.

But he remembered those quiet nights when they’d curl in that loose vent and listen to the guards passing by. His sister had been warm, a small and fragile thing made of all things lovely.

His fingers tensed, lowering his gaze.

William set down his cup and smiled. “Can you tell me, Ian, where you’ve come from?”

Ian didn’t know the limits of the surface, and how others would react to certain knowledge. He knew, at the very least, that his existence was an abnormality. Many Guides and Espers lived on the surface in varying freedoms. They lived under the ruined skies.

“Somewhere far,” he said finally.

William didn’t press the question. “Why do you need to go to the Center?”

That was a question he could answer under the younger man’s gentle, but insistent prodding.

“I need to find somebody.”

“A friend?”

Ian faltered. The center held the keys to all the secrecy surrounding his little sister’s buried death, but he recalled the hazy outline of a bright, softly smiling boy. The child had been a year older and played with them. He was kind, and approached them first.

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

He’d known the boy came from a nobler family—could he be there? Could he dare indulge in the delusion that somebody was waiting for him in the forgotten crevices of memory?

“Somebody important,” he breathed, unwilling to cling to the short, temporary moments of the past. “Somebody I’d like to meet again.”

In the corner, Sylvan murmured in pain, his pitch keened as he rolled, clutching his stomach. William was beside him in seconds, crouching down and gently pulling the limp body closer.

He caught Ian’s stare and smiled wearily. “He often has nightmares at night. His life hasn’t been easy.” He softly brushed Sylvan’s hair back with affection-soaked fingers. “I’m sorry to interrogate you, Ian. But if your past brings danger to chase you, I’ll need you to leave.”

“Sylvan likes to help. He blames himself for all the death around him. I don’t think you’re a bad person, I really don’t, but you’re a stranger with many secrets.”

Ian didn’t flinch, calmly gazing ahead. “Understood.”

He finished the lukewarm liquid, placing the cup down as he turned. William shot out his hand, hurriedly grasping the corner of his pants.

“Wait, wait. I didn’t mean right away! We promised to bring you into a Rift, and we will. You have nowhere to go, right? Is it a danger that will appear immediately?”

William readjusted his posture, arranging Sylvan comfortably as he sighed.

Ian stood by the door, and he blurred with the shadows in the dim flickering light. His lips drew a straight line telling only of truths.

“I don’t need your sympathy. 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,” said Ian unwaveringly. “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.”

Sylvan’s personality likely attracted those who abused his kindness. To protect him, William took to quiet threats and warnings from the sidelines. There was no need for sugarcoating or pity. Ian didn’t care for delicacy.

William’s head hung, clasping his hands together as guilt wrote over his solemn face. The light cast shadows against his profile, dark angles that made him somber. They were younger than Ian; individuals that lived polar lives.

He walked over, his shadow 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. “It’s better to know what you want to save than to juggle more than you can. Even if you needed to kill me to save him, 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 bright 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 no place that he abandoned wouldn’t seek his return.

“Do you understand?” said Ian quietly.

William swallowed, nodding. “Thank you, Ian.” He lifted his gaze with 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 under 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 deeply as he gripped onto William’s clothes tightly, tossing a long leg haphazardly over. William caught the leg, returning it to the blankets as he bent down to listen.

“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, holding onto William’s clothes tighter in a fist. William tried to remove himself, but the other’s grip transcended human capabilities. He shook his head helplessly, lifting his gaze again.

“Let’s rest before tomorrow. Thank you for accompanying me for a chat.”

Ian’s gaze lingered on the pair, curled against each other as if fitting two puzzle pieces in their place. He turned and rolled onto the thin mattress, dragging the blankets over his face. He’s certain the guide-esper bond connected them, as it often swayed emotions.

But he would be a fool not to realize the depth of their connection wrapped by millions of fragile strings, desperate to stay together.

The luxury of emotion; of companionship.

He’d only know the beneficial relationship between guide and esper, and not always did it come willingly.

Benefits… his thoughts strayed to the beautiful, cold, youthful face of that esper whose power thrummed within his veins that tasted the madness of his chaos. A light pain skimmed across his back, the phantom touch of chilling hands.

He shifted uncomfortably, rolling onto his back. He couldn’t love an Esper so purely, he knew. But that immense power, that beautiful arrogance—

—he wanted it.