continued...

This time, there was more to it than usual. His mother had been acting flighty, like she was hiding some world-ending secret. His father wouldn't even look him in the eye. And when their camping gear was packed up, when the fire was completely put out, Logan's father took his hand and dragged him not to the suburban they drove but towards the river with a current so strong that park rangers had thrown up warnings throughout the campgrounds. Logan unwillingly verified their precautions when his father threw him to the frigid torrents like a ragdoll.

Why had they done that? Logan had no fucking clue.

Why did his mother only watch the events transpiring? No idea.

Well, Logan kind of had an idea. A sickly one drenched in rot and venom. It wouldn't have surprised him that they'd seen the Shades and, perhaps, even the hound before he did. Pair those two ghoulish entities with Logan's deathly shade of skin against the warmer tones of his parents, and there was a rather high possibility that they viewed him as some otherworldly creation that needed to be expelled.

Did it warrant execution by drowning? No. Had it happened anyway? Yes. So, whether it was justified or not didn't matter.

Regardless, that series of events had led him to Aden. The pudgy, goofy kid that managed to haul Logan's ass out of that river and into the lives of the Kellingtons. Their residence had once been home. Logan hadn't really cared enough for Aden's siblings—they were older and too busy with their own lives—and he'd had…disagreements with Mary. Bernard and Aden, though? They were the closest thing to an actual family Logan had ever had, and he once reveled in it.

Even as a kid, he knew his attachment to Aden would grow into something more than a platonic friendship. At eleven, he wasn't exactly able to pinpoint what was happening. All it took was a solid dose of hormones for his feelings to become more transparent.

For a while, the feeling felt mutual. Aden's eyes were brighter when Logan was around, duller when the young child had to go to a school on the far outskirts of Blue Fields. Aden had held Logan close to him when the nightmares first started, calmed him when he woke up screaming from fear. Or pain. Or both.

Eventually, it got to the point where Logan always switched beds after the Kellington parents had gone to bed and woke early enough to sneak back to his room. Sometimes, the opposite happened, and Aden would join Logan beneath his galaxy-decorated sheets.

And then…their first kiss. It wasn't particularly grand, just a quick peck from Logan and another slightly longer one from Aden. The gesture showed their true feelings were mutual, and it was the happiest day of Logan's life. But they weren't the only ones to witness it.

Then, the very next day, the pill-shaped black car entered the estate. Mary explained that Logan was going to a new home, that he'd be welcomed back whenever he desired. For a blissful moment, Logan believed that better things were headed his way. He was wrong. Oh, so very wrong.

And Aden? He did nothing to stop that vehicle from leaving the estate with Logan secured behind its metal exterior. He did nothing to pry Logan from the orphanages that wanted nothing to do with him. Aden wasn't there when unwanted company brought an inescapable void of fear and pain that would never heal. And Aden wasn't even there to help Logan off the streets he was thrown onto at seventeen.

Logan shook his head, a scowl pulling at the corners of his lips at the memories. Looking around for any place that wasn't crowded, he found himself in an alleyway. It was cold and damp. The smell was atrocious, trash bags decorating the sides of their respective buildings while mucus-textured slime covered the concrete in foul colors of murky greens and grays. Logan was confident in the existence of something dead at the other end, but that was what made it perfect.

Perfectly alone, he screamed. Tears bit down his cheeks, dripped from his jawbone to collect in the puddles of grime at his feet. Logan's feet struck out in all directions, sometimes catching the trash bags, other times wracking his slight frame as they smacked the brick walls. By the time he had exhausted himself, the wall behind became the perfect companion for a trust fall, and Logan slumped backward, sliding down the mold-ridden brick.

When the weeping stopped, the anger fully expelled, the physical pains rose again. Logan's head screamed with the voice of a dying woman, and his bruises pulsed beneath the painted skin. He sat there for a while, just letting the pain remind him that he was still alive. But, as the scarce light grew even scarcer, Logan decided it was about time to head home. Or, well, as much of a home as he could get, anyway.

With a groan, Logan stood to his feet, his hand straying to the mess in his hair, and a grimace rooted itself over his expression. Antibiotic goop still lingered atop his head, twined into every strand in copious amounts. His jeans were soaked through the bottom with the wetness of the alley, and all too quickly, he realized he'd be looking absolutely atrocious as he made his way to his destination. People already had enough reasons to treat him like a freak, and here he was, giving them another one.

Swiping his hand off on his jeans and throwing a hood over his humiliating condition, Logan trodded out of the alleyway and onto the bustling street. Lights began turning on, little amber gemstones in the approaching evening. The sun still peeked through skyscrapers in the distance, but down here, so much shade was cast that lights were needed after the sun was obstructed by higher towers.

Now out of school, young kids were begging for sweets at the confectionery shop across the street. The little old Thai woman who ran it with her husband would often sneak them small boxes of sweet mango sticky rice or a couple mung bean candies shaped and colored like glass apples. Teens took pictures of the setting sun, the changing colors, or themselves for whatever social media was popular now. Even a few couples enjoyed the brisk evening touch out on a coffee shop's patio.

None of them would ever know the envy Logan had toward them. How badly his frustration burned at the inability to be as carefree as them. He picked up his pace before his anger could outpace his frustration and turn his mind into a hazy mess again.

The shed appeared as a dull shack in a forest of scarlet-leafed maples and golden aspens. Comfort settled the turmoil in Logan's head just at the sight of his cozy little nook. It might not have been much, but it was the only real home he'd had since the Kellington residence, and it was far better than the chilled curb. Insulated and made surprisingly cozy with the help of the owner, Mr. Haroldson.

An esteemed restaurantier, the man himself hadn't been the one to find Logan. Instead, it had been Gerard, the groundskeeper and family butler. Logan hadn't meant to nearly give him a heart attack in their first meeting. Hadn't expected to be found at all, if he was being honest. But the elder had immediately called Mr. Haroldson and escorted Logan inside the main estate. Oftentimes, Logan wondered if it was his pitiful, starved, near-death state that moved Mr. Haroldson to help him. As months passed and Logan helped Gerard with miscellaneous tasks whenever the elder requested, he came to a more somber conclusion.

Logan looked eerily similar to Haroldson's youngest son, Gabriel, who'd passed only a few years ago.

Whatever the actual reason was, Logan didn't care to find out. Gerard had been tasked with helping Logan put in insulation and electrical circuits for lighting and another outlet with a heater to keep the small space warm in the winter. They'd managed to fit a small twin-sized bed, a mini-fridge, and an end table into the compact space. A more than suitable living space that didn't require the vice of lechery.

As if all of that wasn't enough, Mr. Haroldson had no qualms about sending Gerard to Logan's little abode laden with leftovers from a variety of the wealthy man's restaurants. According to the aged butler, the food was too old to be sold in a professional environment but would be safe for consumption for another few days. It nearly destroyed the necessity for a weekly grocery trip, saving Logan's meager wages to be put away for the day he could afford to stop leeching off the Haroldson's kindness. He hadn't yet saved up much, but he had a goal in mind, and he'd do everything he could to reach it.

"Logan!"

Logan yelped in surprise as Mr. Haroldson's voice arose from scarlet and gold, stout body shadowed in Logan's peripherals. Gerard followed his employer closely and offered an apologetic nod when he realized Logan's distress.

Logan found himself unsure as to what they were doing all the way out here. It lit his nerves on fire in an all-encompassing sense of paranoia. So many negative words could be hiding behind Mr. Haroldson's sealed lips, and Logan wasn't prepared to hear them. Especially not today.

"Good evening, Mr. Haroldson," Logan managed to choke out.

"Jumpy today, are we?" he joked, not realizing exactly how much he'd scared the younger adult in front of him. Narrowed eyes traveled over the few areas of Logan's exposed and bruised skin, stopping at his thin waistline. "Have you been eating properly, boy? You look awfully skinny. And pale, too. You seem like you're losing more and more life every time I see ya. And what's with those bruises?"

The onslaught of questions grew aggravation in Logan's gut, but he did his best to shove it down when he noticed the genuine concern on Mr. Haroldson's expression.

"Sir, if I may," Gerard started, his gaze never leaving Logan's, "I believe we've startled our guest, and it is unwise to begin berating him with questions regarding his ability to care for himself."

"It's alright!" Logan rushed to defend his benevolent landlord. Obviously, he didn't feel the way he claimed, but he wouldn't risk being returned to the streets because of something as irrelevant as that.

Gerard seemed to know better, though he didn't object.

Despite the copious amounts of disdain Logan felt after seeing Aden again, he found himself incredibly thankful that their earlier encounter left him clean of all the blood he knew had speckled his body. There wouldn't have been time for him to clean it off before this encounter, and Mr. Haroldson wouldn't have let that one go with a bullshit answer. There would have been far more prying into a life Logan didn't want him to see.

"I eat whenever I can, sir. I always make sure to use the ingredients you bring me before they expire, though, I guess, sometimes it is unavoidable, but I do try," Logan hastily added as Mr. Haroldson quirked a bushy brow. "I pack lunches almost every day, and as for the bruises…just a clumsy day at work. You know how it goes in the kitchen…."

"That a boy!" Mr. Haroldson exclaimed, swinging his arm up and around Logan's shoulders.

Logan cursed himself for flinching at the seemingly warm embrace. Gerard's worried stare grows bolder. The old man opened his mouth to speak but didn't get the chance to say anything before Mr. Haroldson continued.

"You outta be more careful at work, though, Logan. There are some nasty wounds you can get if you work with too much recklessness.

"Now, I'm sorry to bother you, but I was curious as to whether or not you'd like to come to the house for dinner this evening. New cooks for the restaurant are being tested, and I'd love another set of taste buds to see what they got," Mr. Haroldson requested with a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

Any warmth Logan had in him fled, and he trembled at the idea of being stuck in a room full of people who lived a whole world away from him. "I'm sorry, Mr. Haroldson. I don't have much expertise in that arena. I'd be more of a nuisance than a help," he tried, desperately hoping Mr. Haroldson wouldn't press.

The hope for that died when Mr. Haroldson's reply was belted-out laughter. "You can eat, son, can't ya? That's all that's required for this course."

"Sir—"

Logan forced a nervous laugh before Gerard could say anything else, looking to the ground. He decided to try a half-truth instead. "What about Mrs. Haroldson and the kids? They…they don't seem fond of me being here in the first place, let alone allowing me in the house."

Mr. Haroldson tensed. "Tch," he scoffed. "I'm the one that pays for the luxury they live in, and therefore, my opinion of which guests enter our home is the only one that matters. Don't worry about anything but bringing yourself to dinner, my boy." He gently patted Logan's shoulder.

The flinch wasn't as bad as the first one, but it still rattled Logan's small frame. If it wasn't Mr. Haroldson's shed that housed Logan, he probably would have snapped at him long ago. Followed by some snarling sound that gave an actual insight as to how Logan felt about joining the whole family in their broken castle of glass and stone.

Gerard eyed Logan skeptically as he said, "Okay. Only if you insist." He wasn't used to kindness given without payment. The few times it had happened, it was short-lived and died with misery.

"Aha! Fantastic! I'll see you at dinner," Mr. Haroldson said, a large grin creating even deeper wrinkles across his face.

Without another word, Mr. Haroldson walked away with a new spring in his step. Gerard, usually quick to follow in his employer's wake, stayed where he was, his eyes softening as they examined the tense way Logan was standing.

"You understand that saying no is an option," Gerard said, warmth encompassing his withered voice. "He will not tell you to leave just because you chose to stay behind instead of forcing yourself into a situation you don't wish to be in."

There was no malevolence when he spoke, no indication that he sought to destroy Logan as others had. But it didn't stop the worms from squirming in Logan's belly and chewing on his stomach lining.

"It's alright, Gerard. I-I think I'll be fine. Just nervous, that's all."

Gerard didn't believe it, and Logan felt ice pricking the back of his neck. The old butler chose to reign in any argument he had as he gave a slight bow and began his trek back to the mansion, standing above the trees in the distance.

Hands shaking, Logan tried to dismiss the feeling of perturbation as he unlocked the shed door and tucked himself into his cozy bed. Mr. Haroldson never designated a time, but Logan already knew they'd start eating in just a little over an hour. He had time to prepare for what was about to happen, and it began with a little bit of rest.