"You think yourself a coward," said Bjorn, "but would a coward agree to be the person who agrees to do a dangerous task for a group of people he doesn't know? Would a coward promise to be our savior and go up against the most powerful beings in this city even though one of them is the person he hates most?"

"But I haven't even done it yet," I growled through clenched teeth, tears spilling down my cheeks. "You can't claim that you know anything about me. We met, what, a day ago? You know nothing about me! Stop! Claiming! You! Know! Me!"

"I don't know you," said Bjorn. "You're right. But I've killed before.

"I killed my father, you know. With an actual knife. He... well... he had... episodes. He had psychosis. One day he tried to... grab me. He pulled at my clothes... I was making food. I had a knife... I just... stabbed him. And then I stabbed myself because I was scared that the blood on my hands meant I was now a murderer. I'd killed my innocent father, and I couldn't live with myself. 

"Maybe I was a coward, too."

I looked at him slowly. He didn't have that smile he had so much. Now he looked sort of sad. Despite their darkness, demon eyes had always seemed so readable to me... but now his eyes just seemed blank. I couldn't tell anything about what he was thinking or feeling.

A dark laugh escaped my mouth. "So we both killed a parent," I said. 

"Yes," said Bjorn. "And you know what? Maybe you were cowardly in killing yourself and your mother. But that doesn't mean you are a coward. One action does not define you. You are so much more than one thing you did, even if to the forces ruling hell that one thing is all that matters. Talk to people. I did. I made a friend here. Azuri. She helped me deal with... what I did. And I feel better about myself and... everything now."

Bjorn put his hand on my shoulder gently. "Please, Amaro. Talk to me. I can share insight, and I can share your burdens. I want to be here for you, Amaro. Let me."

Before I knew it, I was hugging him fiercely.

"Thank you, Bjorn," I whispered. I didn't know whether he was right. But at that moment I loved him for helping me feel even just a little bit better about myself.

"H-happy to help," he stammered, awkwardly patting my back. "Now, uh, should we do... training?"

I sighed and let go of him. "Yeah, I guess."

He smiled at me and I felt like something had changed. I felt... lighter. I thought back to when Anton offered to by my shoulder and groaned inwardly. I'd been so mean to him for just trying to help me. 

I should visit him. It would be nice. I didn't know him long, but I liked him, even if I tried to push him away. 

And I definitely liked Bjorn, too.

I wondered how much.

"Get a gun," said Bjorn, pointing at the wall of the locker room. I got one and he beckoned me through the door into the initiation chamber.

It had changed. Now there were a series of floating objects in the air.

"Goal," said Bjorn, "is to hit all of them without moving from where you're standing. They're stationary, but eventually at some point in our training they're going to move."

"I still don't know how to actually use one of these guns," I said. 

Bjorn pulled it out of my hand and held it up. 

"See," he said, "you have to put your index finger like this, and wrap your other fingers around this. Your thumb should be here, on the other side, and you have to put your other hand around here for stability."

"That's very specific," I said. "Put this here, and then do this, like this."

He blushed and then laughed. "I can't remember names of the parts of a gun for the life of me, sorry. But you can see what I'm doing, right?"

I grinned. "Yeah."

"I probably shouldn't shoot myself," I said as he handed it to me.

"You'd just be reborn an hour later," he replied, shrugging.

"It'd still hurt like hell, though," I said. 

"You're already in hell," he said.

"You know what I mean, dumbass," I laughed. 

"Oh, I know," he said, smirking. "But I like hearing you laugh."

My eyes widened and I turned to face him so fast I might have gotten whiplash. A blush flared in my cheeks.

He smirked and winked at me and I dropped the gun.

"Whoa!" he yelped as the gun went off. It didn't hit any of us, though it was definitely startling.

"Okay..." said Bjorn. "I think there's more stuff we need to teach. Like how to hold an actual object without dropping it."

"Hey!" I protested. "You distracted me! It's not my fault!"

Bjorn turned red and I realized what I'd just said. 

"Uh," I stammered. "I... I just meant that when you--"

"You know," interrupted Bjorn, "h-h-how about we try shooting again, and not dropping guns this time?"

I picked up the gun, and Bjorn winced, "Here, maybe I should help you out a bit..."

He reached over and adjusted my fingers on the gun. I felt myself blushing again and tried not to fumble it while his fingers were touching mine.

To think, after all I'd suffered and what I'd done, I could still do something as trivial as delighting over how "his fingers are touching mine."

Maybe I wasn't so broken as I thought.