“Are you waiting for the soup to bubble into froth or ferment, before you serve me?”

Kovan snapped out of his inward ponderings at Tyler’s testy tone.

Glancing down, he found his Torch lunged back like a spoiled prince, lying on his side, head propped up by an arm and staring up at him unblinkingly in casual demand. The only elements missing from the classic visage of the fabled Arabian dynasty, were a wine pitcher, a bowl of grapes, and a harem of beauties.

Really, the image could not be more wrong. Kovan should be the one lying there in that position like royalty, with Tyler kneeling and serving him amongst diaphanous silks that teased him with peek-a-boo views of his glowing hazel skin and prime, fit form.

But you see, what did he say? He preferred this high-handed, ill-mannered brat over an obedient one. Makes for an interesting time within these dreary walls. Besides, some scenarios were better left remaining as fantasy to make for sweeter pleasure in the confines of his lonely room at night.

For now, playing to the demands of his precious Torch, Kovan dutifully scooped a giant bowl of piping hot soup for him, silently praying for the best.

Tyler sat up quickly, receiving the bowl with a nod and big smile of appreciative thanks that made Kovan feel it was worth enduring his haughty attitude. Did he mention that Tyler looked nondescript except for when he smiled? It was like the sun suddenly jumped out behind the gloomy, perilous jagged valley that rounded the far outskirts of the State.

“Where’s the spoon?”

That sweet smile turned into mimicry of the toothy, sinister crown of earlier said valley.

Kovan managed to contain a ruffled grunt mixed in with a sigh by sheer power of holy patience.

Clearly, Tyler was overstepping himself, taking a mile from an inch after Kovan painstaking nursed him back to health. Then again, Kovan was in no position to complain because he let him, didn’t he?

So he turned to grab the cutlery from the nearby stone counter, but when he turned back, Tyler was already drinking heartily, tipping the contents of the bowl into his mouth.

Kovan felt relief wash down his own throat alongside the scene, fears that Tyler may underperform in the coming hours, allayed. Besides, Tyler’s spirited attitude this morning proved he was mentally sound and prepared for the upcoming challenge.

He had an unexpected, voracious appetite this morning too. Where he was usually a bundle of nerves on competition mornings, barely finishing his food as if his gut was already full of anxiety, today, he actually finished his bowl, and requested for a second serving.

Kovan was more than delighted to refill his bowl, watching him closely as he took the food. The sound of Tyler slurping heartily pervaded the otherwise too-quiet hall, drowning out the heavy thoughts always weighing in his mind.

Kovan felt a smile tugging on his lips at how quickly he had grown accustomed to living with someone other than Joah. The Upper quadrant was stuffy enough as it was, and its people more so. Very few could sustain Kovan’s attention or pique his interest. His social interactions with others were apt pretence, and he was able to tolerate frivolous twittering for a quarter of a day at best before he grew tired of the charade.

Tyler was a different story, speaking more with his small, yet expressive eyes and fiery movements. A restless energy clung to his form, like a desert hound caged in a pad too small for his liking. At moments where Kovan exited his room after shutting himself with work, or returned from running around on necessary arrangements, he would spy Tyler engrossed in the most mundane routines, shoulders and back tensed with ardent desire of flight, to take off elsewhere, to be anywhere but here in his abode.

Where they did talk, was small conversation, or mild banters, and were few, since Kovan spent much of the day away and Tyler was scheduled for running practice once every two to three days. They spent only the mornings and nights under the same roof but even then, they did not talk much. Tyler preferred to mull quietly in stationary training, staring with vagrant eyes across the vast openness before him, or busy himself with chores Kovan never asked him to do.

Perhaps it should be better for Kovan to litter his time with orders. Yet he couldn’t, because he did not want Tyler to feel like a slave. So he did him a favour by giving him a sort of free rein, except for keeping him from running around the streets sprawling with vicious, conceited traps.

As Kovan mused about their days together, and about what he gleamed of the person he had invested in, he did not notice Tyler eyeing him with question.

The Torch was midway into his second bowl when he paused in his slurping.

“Aren’t you eating?”

Kovan refocused to the present, and shook his head, smiling blandly on Tyler’s question.

“No. I’m not hungry.”

“It’s breakfast,” Tyler answered with a crook of his brow, “Or, are you too worried to eat?”

Kovan barely prevented a flinch, a little guilty at being caught. It was evident from Tyler’s pointed look that he had spied him looking over the counter results the night before. Yet his Torch’s somewhat flippant demeanour did not match the disparaging training chart that he himself must clearly be well aware of.

“Don’t worry, I won’t fail your expectations. I need to at least maintain my position so as not to make a loss, right?”

Kovan felt himself choke hearing it. It was scathing to hear himself indirectly addressed as one in the position of gambling another’s life for riches. Yet he had no choice but to cement himself into the role, and after forcing Tyler into such an unfair bargain, it was superficial to pretend he was anything more than a greedy Echelon.

“Just focus on completing the race unscathed.”

Tyler rolled his eyes. Indeed, his Torch was annoyed with his thin, useless efforts of concern.

He knew Tyler most probably thought he would prove more sincere about his well-being by setting him free.

And Kovan fully intended to. Just not yet, at least not till the time was ripe.