Aden

I wake with a start. The reminiscent cold from memories of the past follow me into the waking world, making me shiver as I run my hand through messy blonde hair. Those black eyes, that pale skin decorated with such odd birthmarks.… I haven't seen them for over a decade. My heart clenches at the thought.

I grumble as the moment of horrific nostalgia fades, heaving myself out of bed and throwing on a plain black shirt. The only detail on the otherwise simple, scratchy fabric is a small, shield-shaped insignia printed over my left pec. It's not entirely comfortable, but it's required, and I'm not about to challenge the one who makes the rules. I bear with it.

A loud hiss escapes my lips, the hologram from my phone nearly blinding me as I pull up the clock to check the time. Six forty-eight. A growl escapes me as I realize I'm not going to be as early as I had wanted to. It seems today, I've become a vampire, hissing and growling as if it will somehow help my mood.

Initially, I'd planned to get a head-start to beat the crowd to our exceedingly rare but immensely appreciated field day. I most certainly wasn't going to be the odd one out that missed repelling down the sides of Green Snake Canyon. But I was going to be the late one, walking in as others watched on from afar. Fantastic.

The struggle to maintain optimism as I head towards the front door of my apartment is ever-present. It fights me as I grab my black shoulder bag and leave the room. A moment's hesitation at the front door is all I need before deciding that I'll most likely need something to eat and a few water bottles for the day. As quickly as I can, I double back to the kitchen and whip open the refrigerator door planning on grabbing one of my protein shakes.

However, instead of seeing the contents inside, I am greeted with the "open" sign of a bakeshop hanging on a glass door. Yes, we're open is written in neon pink letters with girly handwriting, a dainty cupcake drawn on the side. Beyond the door, people bustle back and forth to serve their customers quickly and efficiently. They don't seem quite busy yet, considering the time. But I can only concentrate on the reflection of that glass door and the coal-black eyes looking back at me.

A sharp intake of breath snaps me from the hallucination as I stumble through the apartment, out the door, and down the stairs, booking it towards a nearby bakery called CupCakery. It's only a few blocks from my house—thank God—but I'd been there before, and I know that sign.

Upon reaching the small, nearly empty lot, my eyes flicker over every car, every person entering and exiting the small shop. I watch for anyone moving beyond the glass door and windows of the bakery. I even take a chance in looking down the alleyways on either side. No matter what I want to see, I don't. He's not here.

I take only a moment to stew in my frustrations, letting my anger out by sending a gravel-sized rock skittering across the black asphalt before me. As my breath returns, I turn and begin a much slower jog back to the apartment.

Soon, my rage is displaced by a raw bitterness as I trudge up my staircase. I no longer have time to pluck what I need from the refrigerator, but I still require my bag for the day's class. Grabbing it and shutting the door, I walk back down the staircase and towards my car. There's no way I'm arriving even slightly on time this morning.

I am pleasantly surprised that the bitterness fades upon arrival and is all but gone once Captain Kohler starts the training. I don't know if it is because I'm not the only one late—making me early by default—or because I find myself lost in thought the entire time. A bad idea, it seems, when I unexpectedly drop ten feet before the Captain forcibly halts the line with an uncomfortable jerk knocking wind from my lungs.

"CAREFUL!" he barks, clearly angry. "This isn't a God damn rock climb, Aden! You're gonna get yourself killed if you don't PAY ATTENTION!"

I feel warmth envelope my cheeks as the entire class looks down at me with scoffs and judging eyes. Not a lot of them liked me in the first place, considering the family I came from. Not that there's anything wrong with their hostilities. I don't like the family I come from.

"Fuck," I curse under my breath as I finish repelling and wait for the rest of the class on the canyon floor below.

There's another instructor here, and I focus on listening as they begin talking about first response extractions from canyons and crevices.

"Well, mate, that was the most hilarious fucking thing I've seen in a while," a man says, his Irish accent breaking the surface of his words. His dark auburn hair was relatively short, tiny wisps of the strands bouncing as he walked over uneven ground. Crystal blue eyes sparkle with mischievous antics.

"Me dying is hilarious to you? Wow, and here I thought we were friends, jackass," I retort with a scoff.

Henry is a cocky, self-indulgent Irishman who kinda inserted himself into my life when I first started at the academy. He is two years older than me, but he never actually brings up the age gap or prattles about how experienced he is compared to me. It's a pleasant change of pace from the typical jerks I've dealt with my whole life. I feel that—like me—he knows no one actually has their shit together until they're in their thirties, and he wasn't going to pretend like that didn't apply to him as well. As if he didn't have flaws just as every other human being does.

"I don't recall that conversation. Would ya like to remind me of this proposition?" He rubs his stubbled chin as his lips curve into a smirk.

I snort, momentarily being distracted from my earlier—apparently killer—thoughts. Henry's one of the only people I've ever met that can keep my mind in order when it devolves into chaos.

"How's about a drink tonight, yeah? I have an evening class for me that gets out at four, and I'm free after that," he offers.

To many, it's a simple scenario of friends going out for a beer. But I see the concern in the tiny worry lines he's fighting not to show. Maybe it's the lack of ever having a Henry in my life until now. Because, yet again, I'm astounded by how well he reads me and how quickly he leaps on the opportunity to cheer me up.

"Uh, yeah. That sounds pretty good, actually," I answer without hesitation.

Regardless of the compassion behind the proposal, a part of me warns that it isn't good for me. Especially with physical health being essential for my chosen career path. Another part of me says fuck it. I've had an irritating, depressing, bullshit morning, and I deserve to have a drink with the friend who's made it his mission to cheer me up. Who am I to deprive him of success?

"Bloody fantastic!" he says, excited to satisfy one of his greatest indulgences. Well, aside from wooing women that, for some reason, I'd never seen him follow through with.

Having been put in a slightly better mood, I'm finally able to enjoy the field day in the beauty of the lush green canyon as the Captain and his assistants work with us for a few more hours. Sweaty and sore, I followed the rest of my class out of the canyon, Henry and I bantering while we awaited the climb back up. When it is finally my turn, my arms screech in retaliation as I force them to hall my six-foot-two body up the steep wall. Thankfully, I can accomplish it without almost dying this time.

After we are dismissed, Henry waves me off, and I return to my vehicle. Settling down in the seat, I start the long drive back home.

Unfortunately, most of our fieldwork is done on the exact opposite side of the city. Driving through Blue Fields isn't entirely fast, either, with slow out-of-towners, traffic jams, and accidents generally halting my commute back to my little apartment. And that's if I'm lucky enough to avoid any of the multiple construction projects the city has going on nearly year-round.

Today, though, I'm thankful that the time I'm given allows me to draw up a quick plan for the rest of my afternoon. A quick jog and a nice hot shower to wash away the soreness in my muscles before going to the bar with my best friend. Yup. That sounds like the perfect thing to scrub the memory of a not-so-great morning.

As soon as I get home, I change into shorts. I debate changing my shirt for a hot second before deciding against it to save a piece of laundry I'll inevitably have to do later. Finally, I'm able to grab the water I'd left early this morning before heading out the door.

The jog is quite vigorous despite a particularly exhausting day proceeding it. Yet, my mind still managed to wander back to this morning's incident.

For over a decade, I'd searched for him, desperately digging up information of his whereabouts after my mother threw him out like Wednesday garbage. Every now and again, I get these....hallucinations of him that generally expose his whereabouts through his own eyes. How? Well, that's…a tricky subject to talk about….

Still, even with that handy ability, I can never catch him before he disappears once more, vanishing like smoke in the wind. It's led to years of seeing but never knowing. My connection with him was so strong that it felt like new gashes tore through my heart every time I arrived at his last location, only to know I was too late. To realize that maybe I'll always be too late.