“Would you stop that? You’re making me dizzy.” Wade’s whining wouldn’t be enough to stop my incessant pacing.

“Why are you acting like this?” Terry takes a sip from his water in between crunches of pretzels.

“Just excited for the new term is all.”

“Bullshit, you’ve never been like this. Where are those leftovers you took back from dinner?” Terry looks around my room, eyeing my mini-fridge and walks over to open it.

“No. Those aren’t for you.” It comes out harsher than I wanted it to.

“I thought you didn’t eat past 1200,” Wade doesn’t look up from his phone as he says it.

“Not for me either, now would you stop complaining? It’s late, maybe you guys should head to bed.” I tried to focus on anything but what was taking up my headspace.

“Fine, Wade, let’s go. Maybe he’ll cheer up after he beats your ass in the morning.” Wade grunts as they leave my room. While I had my own room, it was still in the same building as the other students. The rooming was random, the only requirement being that the boys are in the same unit. The school wanted it like that- they wanted the units to bond. It helped with morale, which, these days, was asking for a lot.

My room overlooked the track, a choice I had made when I was old enough to room with the other students. I loved running, and it was nice to see the track, a reminder that it was there when I needed to relieve some stress.

Stress was something that had been taunting me for the last few years. Not really because of anything in particular, more like a general chronic pull at my mind, a strange tightening of the chest. I once tried to talk to The General about it but when he was staring at me, attention entirely on me, I panicked. I’m not meant to be weak, no, that’s not why they allow me to stay.

I feel my chest tingle, stress, or something worse, playing at my psyche. I feel the air around me tighten as if it suddenly became thickly toxic. I hurry to the window to open it. And then just like that, he’s there. Running. In the middle of the night. I don’t hesitate when I run to the fridge and pull out the food I had saved and a water bottle. I storm out the door and head toward the track. It takes me five minutes. I’m on the top floor of the Morge, the student housing building, and because the elevators are too slow, I choose to run down ten flights of stairs. When I get there, I stop for a moment, watching him run. Combat, I infer. He runs the way I do— with a great need, desperation in every stride. That amount of emotion while running makes it easier on the body as emotion drains the body just as, or if not more quickly than physical exertion. He doesn’t notice me and I assume it’s because he’s too focused on feeling the burn building up in his lungs and not because it’s dark.

“Hey!” I call out, trying not to startle him.

He rounds the corner, slightly damp waves bouncing with his movements. When he reaches me, he slows down. I hadn’t thought about how this looks, me showing up with food and drink, at almost one in the morning.

“Hi?” His voice is a bit freaked out but I can see him now. I think his eyes are a dark green, similar to the color of a Joshua tree’s leaves. But it’s dark and I can’t see the way he looks in full light.

“One moment, don’t leave,” and I run over the stadium lights that overlook the track and turn them on, both of us adjusting to the sudden burst of light. When I jog back, he’s waiting, a slightly nervous expression on his face. “They usually are motion censored but only when the term begins. Gotta do things manually from time to time.” It was a weird thing to say and I will be hating myself for the rest of the night while I think about what I just said. But now all I can really do is look at his face.

“Uh,” he stares at me, understandably confused.

“Oh! Right, of course. I brought you food,” I say as I thrust the foil-wrapped paper plate and water bottle.”

His eyes were dark green, as I suspected, the color of leaves— forest green, I suppose. His nose was more of a delicate button shape and his lips were heart-shaped. Absolutely beautiful, perhaps, too beautiful. Beauty, I have learned, comes with a great deal of danger. People want pretty things, and in my experience, they will do little to stop their desires, no matter the cost.

“You brought me food?” 

“I’m not crazy, or, maybe I am. Sorry. Let me explain. I saw you in the dining hall and you weren’t eating. But you need to eat before tomorrow. You’ll perform poorly during the fights. Combat, I assume? Anyways, you were probably nervous, which makes sense, you know, first day jitters? But yes, food is important.” I’ve never disliked myself more than this moment. I am rambling because my heart is acting up and I don’t know what to do. I feel the prickle of sweat bead at the contours of my back. At first, he doesn’t take the food and I’m tempted to start talking again. But then he slowly reaches for it and takes it.

“Thanks, I-“ but he’s cut off because I sit down on the track and I guess he wasn’t expecting it. I gesture at him to follow my actions. He hesitantly sits down, and while I sit with my legs stretched out, he pulls his to his knees before crossing them.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” I pull out a fork from my pocket, forgetting that I had put it there during dinner and never took it out. He nervously takes it from my hand. I watch as he unwraps the foil, eyeing the food with hungry eyes. He doesn’t wait to take a large bite of the food. I smile at him. I was right, of course I was, he was hungry. He shoves the food down and I push the water bottle closer to him, reminding him to drink. He nods and puts the plate down of the track and opens the water bottle, chugging it with a few deep gulps. I try not to watch the way he adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. But, I fail.

“How rude of me, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Ten.” I put out my hand hoping he will take it.

“I know, you’re the guy who spoke at the beginning of the orientation.” He eyes my hand, looks back up at me, and with some hesitation, reaches out to shake my hand. I wince at the touch, not because it isn’t wonderful, but because of the way it affects me. He doesn’t seem to have the same reaction.

“I’m Noah.” He goes back to eating his food.

“Not much of a talker, eh?” 

Surprisingly, he smiles, and it’s wonderful. “You told me to eat.”

I can only stare at him. He realizes my pause and finishes chewing.

“You came at me in the middle of the night, while I was running, and shove food in my face, demanding that I eat and you’re accusing me of not talking? I’m eating, as you wanted.” He exaggerates his next bite while he chuckles to himself. I feel my face redden from embarrassment until I realize how insane I’m acting. I start laughing and it feels good. Laughing feels good. His chuckle turns into a real laugh and that feels better. Laughing with him feels better. 

When the laughter dies down I say, “I’m sorry, I’m alone here all summer, I forget how to act.”

He finishes his food, takes a few more sips of the almost emptied water bottle, and says, “Why do you stay?”

“Nowhere else to be, I suppose. I was raised here.”

He looks at me in a way that I would expect anyone who hears that. “Your family lives at the school?”

“No, well, I guess if you count the family I’ve made here. I was delivered to the steps when I was a week old.”

His eyes widen, “What?”

“You haven’t heard? Usually, everyone who comes here knows exactly who I am. Not to sound cocky or anything, it’s just, people know me.” 

“With a story like that, you must be popular.” His tone wasn’t particularly impressed or unimpressed.

“Where did you come from?”

“Westford Home for Boys.”

“Westford? How did that happen? The school doesn’t usually recruit from orphanages,” I try not to sound insensitive, though, I figure I do.

“They didn’t,” he doesn’t look as if he is going to continue but I still waited for him to go on.

When he realizes I’m waiting, he stares at me for a long moment, calculating his next words carefully, “I got in trouble and it was either this or prison. Juvy isn’t that bad, but that's not where I’d be going. I’m an adult now and can’t afford to spend the rest of my life in a jail cell.”

I raise my brows at him, “didn’t take you for the bad boy type.”

He gives me a shy smile, “Looks can be deceiving.”

“Nah, you’re not a criminal. What happened?”

“Killed a guy.”

My smile fades when he doesn’t break eye contact, or smile and say he’s joking. I realize, he’s looking for my reaction, anticipating fear, perhaps. But the man in front of me wasn’t a murderer, I was smart enough to know that. Yes, looks are deceiving but it wasn’t about looks, or maybe it was, but I also had a gut feeling that this wasn’t done as an offensive move. This must have been a defensive kill. But then why would he go to prison? That is, unless…

“Must’ve been someone important. Or, someone who thinks he is.” He is surprised by my guess, which, I assume means that I’m correct.

“Some rich politician who wanted something I wasn’t willing to give.” My throat dries up when he says that.

“Shit, I’m sorry. That’s-“

“It’s late. We should probably get some sleep. Thanks for the food and water, man.” He quickly stands up, holding the trash from his food, and runs off to the Morge. I want to yell for him to stop so we could walk together, but it didn’t seem like that’s what he wanted. He had shared a lot and this wasn’t the time to push someone that I barely knew and who barely knew me.

I’m tempted to run a lap around the track but I’m not wearing my running shoes and I know it’ll hurt like hell in the morning. So I sit there for five minutes, waiting for him to make his way back so we don’t awkwardly walk bump each other, and I slowly walk back.

I end up showering and getting into bed by four in the morning, which, is a terrible move on the first day. Wake up is at seven, and three hours of sleep never did anyone any good. When my alarm goes off, I immediately get out of bed and put on my training clothes. I make the poor decision of not getting breakfast, in order to get a few more miles on my daily morning run.

When I reach the track, I hear the busses pull up at the front of the school’s entrance. The sound of the returning students excites me in an embarrassing way. During my run, I try to think about seeing everyone again, but instead, I think about Noah.

I think about how I can get into the CAU’s fights to watch him. If I win the first four rounds, I’ll have a few hours to spare as I wait for the rest of the results. I decided then that I can’t lose. It wasn’t going to happen anyways, but it’s nice to have more motivation.

When I finish my tenth mile, it’s been an hour. A six-minute mile isn’t at all bad, but it isn’t my best. On a good day, I average out about four and a half minute miles. It put me at an elite status I cherished on most days. But I hadn’t slept much and I wasn’t focusing at all. So I’ll take a six-minute mile as a win.  

When I reach the training center for Cybat’s, Wade is standing by the board, groaning at the names of fighters being paired.

“Is it because The General hates me?”

I walk over and look at where my name is next to Wade’s. I let out a small chuckle, painfully reminded of the last time I laughed.

I feel an arm wrap around my shoulder in a friendly act of affection. Jerome stands beside me and gives me a warm side hug. “Ah, my favorite dude.” Jerome was a massive man, all muscles, skin dark with aggressive tats that weren’t the most noticeable because his skin was pretty dark. But Jerome wasn’t as terrifying as he looks.

“Hey J, how was the summer?”

“Morning. You?”

“Same.”

“Dude, Nuwborn says otherwise.”

I roll my eyes, “He’s got to stop.”

Jerome shrugs, “It’s not that bad, at least he’s bragging. Better than going around telling everyone you got a small dick or no stamina.”

“I didn’t even finish,” I whine. 

Wade and Jerome laugh and I wish I could go back a few hours to hear Noah’s laugh.

“Ten, I think today is the day I’ll beat you.”

Jerome shouts a mocking, “Ha!” as he walks away from the two of us.

“Sorry bud, got somewhere I need to be. Gonna have to get this over with.”

He groans and begins wrapping his hands with a purple wrap and I reach in my pocket for my black wrap.

I watch as more Cybats walk in, groaning when they see who they are paired with and what that means. We all know how each other fight. While we are all advance in our fighting skills, there are some who naturally outrank others.

I welcome back a few more of my friends and when the Cybat commander, Carter St. Johns, blows a whistle, we all line up at the foot of the ring. The ring is more like a royal blue mat on the floor, but we call it a ring anyways.

“Men. Line up, first, Ten.”

Terry walks up behind me, “Classic Johns, doesn’t even welcome us back.”

I nod in agreeance. Commander Johns wasn’t friendly and has never made an effort to do so. But, being here 24/7, I’ve found that he has more of a personality that he lets on. But throughout the duration of time that the regular students could see him, he was ice cold. 

“Ten and Jordan, you’re up.” Most of the students are called by their last names, but I never had one so just Ten it was.

There are friendly joking catcalls until Johns hisses at them to shut up.

Wade cracks his knuckles, “Go easy on me. It’s been a while.”

As I leap for the first hit without hesitation, I say, “Not gonna happen, buddy. Places to be.”

I hook him in the stomach, him groaning as I put my whole weight into the punch.

“Shit, didn’t miss fighting you.” He tries to get in a measly jab but I duck and I uppercut into his jaw. It was a shitty move, one that could leave a bruise, but I really really wanted to go to the CAU fights.

“Damnit Ten, at least play fair!”

But we aren’t trained to play fair. We are trained as weapons and weapons will do whatever it takes to win. So when I hit him a third time, it lands on his face, whipping his head to the side, knocking him out. He falls to the floor, body hitting the mat with a dull thud.

“Next!” This time, the command comes from me and not the commander.