I spend the rest of the week hoping Noah would approach me. He doesn’t. And he is painfully obvious about avoiding me. I know he doesn’t have any friends and yet, he doesn’t sit with us. I offered him friendship and he is outright turning me down. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t seen much of him. No, I watch him whenever I have spare time. I’ve learned a few things about him.

1. He is skilled with a dagger.

2. He’s never held a gun before he came here (I’m relieved to find that out)

3. Nobody in the CAU likes him (he’s never lost a match and no one likes a winner). I watch their faces grimace as he walks by and I have to remind myself not to punch the look off their faces.

4. He doesn’t eat much (and that makes me anxious to the point where I started running an extra mile every day to cope with the stress.

5. When he sweats, which he doesn’t do that much, his messy hair sticks to his forehead hiding his eyes.

6. He doesn’t smile much. But really, he doesn’t have anyone making him smile. Well, I tried but look what good that did.

7. He doesn’t belong in the CAU.

I think about the last thing a lot. That’s why I’m now sitting across from The General, waiting for him to put down the manilla file he’s reading.

“Noah Finley.”

He looks up from whatever he’s reading, “What about him?”

“He’s not CAU.”

He goes back to the file, “It’s only been a week, Ten.”

“I didn’t need more than one match to tell me he’s in the wrong unit.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“They hate him. He’s making enemies left and right.”

He finally puts down the file, “They need more time to warm up to him.”

I clench my jaw, frustrated. “They’ll never like that he’s better than them.”

“You seem to have friends.”

“Because I’m not already standoffish to begin with. He isn’t friendly. If they don’t make the effort, he won’t either.”

He raises an eyebrow at me, “You seem to know him very well.”

“I’m trained to know people.”

He sighs, “Perhaps. And maybe he does belong with the CCIU, but I can’t switch him right now.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s not how things work. You need to be here at least a few months to prove you belong.”

“But I’m telling you he does. Is that not enough?” I try not to sound hurt.

“For me it is. But it isn’t just me. I have to think about the school- the students. We cannot make exceptions.”

“You made an exception for me,” I remind him.

“Ten, that’s different.”

“He’s different.”

“I’m well aware of who he is.”

“What-“

“I know he isn’t like the other recruits. He doesn’t want to be here. He isn’t shy about that.”

“I know, he told me. It was this or prison.”

He looks at me surprised, “He told you that?”

I nod. “How did you know about him anyways? You SFAMS doesn’t usually scout orphanages.”

“No, but we do have people watching the underground fighting world.”

I close my eyes, shit, Noah, shit. 

“We’ve been watching him since he was fifteen.”

“Fifteen? He was illegally fighting at fucking fifteen?”

He doesn’t comment on my swearing, he knows me far too well to pick that battle.

“Yes, though I suspect he’s been fighting for years before that.”

I try to hide whatever emotional reaction I’m having. “He’s a Cybat, sir.”

The General sadly smiles at me, “I know. But I still can’t transfer him for at least a month, and even that is unprecedented.”

“Alright. A month, then.” I stand up to leave.

“Ten, wait. I need to talk to you about your future.”

I blink. “What about it?”

__________

Noah

I massage my knuckles as I try to peripherally watch him. He stands near the back wall, arms crossed, and staring directly at me. Fuck. I can’t focus while someone is watching my every move. It’s distracting. He’s distracting. I almost got socked in the face because I was thinking about what could he possibly want from me. I have been avoiding him all week, trying to set some well-needed boundaries, and yet, he doesn’t back off. It’s incredibly annoying. Also, it’s inconvenient to have the person you want to secretly look at looking at you. It’s not fair. If I watched him, it would just be the two of us staring at each other. And that would be…a lot. 

I look down at my watch, wincing that it’s almost dinner. Meals were painful. Everyone ate with friends while I awkwardly sit alone. None of the other students like me and I can’t blame them. I’m not very likable. I’m too harsh, too distant. No one likes someone who isn’t willing to open up.

I think about what Terry said, “Well, if you need somewhere to sit, come to our table. Always room for one more, Cybat or not.” But I couldn’t do it the next meal. And at the next meal when I tried to build the courage to join them, I cowered out. Terry and Wade were fine but he was there. 

I couldn’t do it. He just sits so casually, acting like he’s some normal guy which, he isn’t. By no means is he typical. I knew that from the moment I first heard him speak. That’s not a real guy, I remember thinking.

And then when he came to me that night on the track, I could hardly fathom what was happening. He brought me food, dammnit, the idiot had noticed I didn’t eat and brought me food. At that point, I couldn’t even remember the last time someone had even smiled at me, let alone give me something. 

That’s why I slipped and told him the truth about why I was here. And yet, he didn’t look at me differently. He just stared at me with those fucking blue ass eyes, unblinking. He didn’t look down on me. well, physically, yes, but he didn’t act as if I was less than him. Everyone always thinks their the best, but not him. Not the one who is actually the best.

I see him glance away from me so I take the opportunity to head out. I figured I’d go for a quick run before dinner. 

The track is a five-minute walk from the CAU training center and I take my time getting there. Nevada is hot as hell but today was cooler than it has been. I watch as my black combat boots kick up the dust from the ground. I get distracted so I don’t realize that Ten is standing next to me. When I notice, I have to hold back a yelp from surprise.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You sure about that?” I don’t look at him…I can’t.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been watching me all week.” I try to sound casual but I’ve never been good at it.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” I turn to look at him to see what kind of face he made when he is straight-up lying. He’s smirking. Of-fucking-course he is. 

“If you’re going to kill me, get it over with.” Probably wouldn’t be the worst way to go…

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He sounds offended.

“So what’s the deal with you stalking me?”

“You’re something nice to look at.”

I repeat the words in my head. You’re something nice to look at. “I don’t know what that means.”

He shrugs, “doesn’t have to mean anything. It just is.”

I continue walking and he continues following.

“Are we going for a quick run before dinner?”

“I am. Don’t know about you.”

“Don’t be silly, let’s run together.”

I chew the inside of my cheek. Together. 

When we reach the track, I avoid looking at the spot where we sat together.

“Want to race? Five laps.” He poses it as a question, but I don’t think he meant it as one.

It’s something he does. He gives orders. And while it should annoy me, it really doesn’t. Like, it really really doesn’t.

We stand at the starting line, and he looks over at me and smiles. That goddamn mocking smile. That goddamn smile…

“Go.” And we run.

And run.

And run.

And holy shit, he’s fast. 

He stays ahead of me the entire time, often glancing back, smirking, and continuing to dominate me.

And when I see he hasn’t even broken a sweat, I think about how truly unfair this situation is. He waits for me at the finish line, not even breathing heavier.

“You’re fast.”

“You’re calling me fast? What’s your mile time? Four minutes?”

“Around that.” 

“Shit.” I try to hide how out of breath I am.

“You’re coming to dinner and sitting with us.” He doesn’t bother looking at me as he starts heading to the dining hall.

“You think you can just command me?”

And gods, the look he gives me as he turns to face me, that half-smile, cruel and knowing, “Yes, I think I can. And, I think you’ll listen.”

I would bother arguing but he’s right so I keep my mouth shut.

I follow him silently to the dining hall, slightly annoyed to have to eat while I’m sweaty. But when we walk into the hall, the entire room is filled with hundreds of sweaty guys. If you walked in clean you’d stand out.

“Go sit.” He points to the table where his friends already sat.

“I’m getting food,” I say confused.

“No, I’ll bring you. Go sit.”

And really I should argue because letting him believe that he can control me is risky. But I’m weak so I say nothing and just walk over to the table.

“Noah, finally decided to join us!” Wade puts out his fist and I awkwardly fist-bump it.

“Didn’t have a choice,” I say gesturing to where Ten stands, talking to whoever is serving the food.

“He always gets his way.”

“Guy’s a genius.”

I head nod the other people at the table, not bothering to introduce myself. My eyes feel heavy and I struggle to keep them open.

I rest my head on the table, absolutely exhausted from the long strenuous day. A few seconds later, the sound of a tray hitting the table alerts me. I eye the food Ten has put before me.

“I can’t eat all of this.”

“You can and you will. You need to eat more.” He pays little attention to what he is saying while he begins eating the plate of food he brought for himself.

I look at the other two for help but they are too busy eating.

The plate has four slices of bread, nearly half of an entire chicken, probably two cups of rice, and a whole side of green beans. I sigh and pick up my fork, beginning to eat an insane amount of food.

“If you want me to eat, you need to stop staring at me,” I say as I realize Ten has been staring at me.

He goes back to looking at his food.

Why does he care if I eat? I think as I chew through the chicken.

“Ten, the pictures have been working. I spoke to my brother who spoke to his friend who said his girlfriend said that she hasn’t gone out with any other guy.”

This again? I try to give Wade the benefit of the doubt, I mean, he is a Cybat, after all. But damn was this a stupid plan. Sending pictures wasn’t going to work forever. I try not to think about the picture. That picture. I wasn’t expecting it. I mean, I knew, but not really. How could I have known it would be like that. Fuck. I bite down on my lip, fuck is right. And how was I supposed to look at him after seeing that? How was I honestly supposed to be able to look him in those goddamn sparkling ass blue fucking eyes? How- just how? 

That’s why I have to keep avoiding him. I have to make sure I don’t-

“What’s your phone number?” Ten asks, interrupting my thoughts.

“Why?”

“I can’t have your phone number?”

“I didn’t say that. Just, why do you want it?”

“To text you? Call you? The usuals.”

“Why would you want to text me?”

No one else is paying attention to us, Wade and Terry discussing some kind of fighting technique.

“I don’t know? Maybe I’ll send you some pics,” he mocks me.

I roll my eyes, “Fine, give me your phone.”

He unlocks it and I write out a text to myself. When I hand him it back, he laughs. I had written You don’t have to finish the chicken 

“You do,” he says as he adds my name into his phone.

“Ten, the meeting,” a guy says from down the table.

He quickly puts his phone away as he says “Shit, I forgot.”

“Do we have to? It’s not like anything productive happens during them.” Wade complains as he shoves another bite of food into his mouth.

“Yeah, it’s about next year.”

“What meeting?” I try not to sound like I’m butting in.

“Cybat meeting. We’re late, sorry Noah.”

They all gather their trash and begin to leave. I stare down at my half-eaten tray of food. I look around the room. So many people…so lonely…and then I feel a hand on my shoulder and look up to see Noah standing over me.

“Stay and finish.” His voice isn’t commanding and I try not to think about why it sounds like a plea. But it’s easy to not be able to think about that as his hand remains on my shoulder, a soft grip. I stare at, caught off-guard by his touch. He notices how still I’ve become and immediately removes his hand.

“Sorry, I just- it would make me feel better if you finished.”

And because I can’t form any proper words, I nod. He smiles and jogs to catch up with his friends.

Later that night I text him a picture of my empty plate to which he replies good boy

I roll my eyes and don’t respond. I place my phone on the nightstand beside my bed. I stare up at the ceiling. I listen as the three other boys who share this room with me breathe heavily in their sleep. I’m used to this, sharing a room. It’s the only way I’ve ever lived. But this feels different. I shift in my bed, the metal bed frame squeaking as I do. It feels lonelier here. I don’t know why. Shouldn’t it feel the same? But the guys here aren’t orphans. They have a family and a home to return to. This is just school for them. While Westford was lonely, it wasn’t this lonely. This loneliness is suffocating. 

After a few minutes of trying to fall asleep, I think of texting Ten. But when I try to think of what to say, I come up with nothing. I could just write, “hey” or something. Maybe I should ask him about his meeting. No, that would be weird.

I take out my phone and download Instagram. I’ve never been one to partake in social media. I quickly make an account. I then search “Wade Jordan” and find an account that has a profile picture that could be him. Thankfully his account isn’t set to private. I go to who he follows and type in “Ten” and the only account that shows up is under the username “Tenoutof10.” I roll my eyes. Of course, that’s his username. I pause before I click on his profile. This is a bad idea. This is a bad- too late. I click on his account. His profile picture is of him with that goddamn half-smile. Dammnit. I’m not even surprised that he has over ten thousand followers. Though, I assume he doesn’t even know fifty of them. The only thing in his bio is “I’m Ten but I’m 21.” I smile while I roll my eyes again.

His gallery is overwhelming. It’s too much of him. The first post I tap on is his most recent, posted a week ago. It’s of him lying in bed, eyes closed. The caption reads “No more late mornings,” but I highly doubt he ever wakes up late, even during the summer. The comments are ridiculously thirsty. I scroll through them, annoyance increasing with every second. I go back to the gallery and tap on the one where he’s casually standing, shirtless, in a pair of grey gym shorts. His body glistens with sweat, highlighting the ridges of his muscles. Fuck, he’s absolutely ridiculous. I turn off my phone and pretend that I’ll be able to fall asleep.