Aden

Fading sunlight cast streaks of gold through the overhead windows of the academy as twilight began taking over the sky. Rosy granite columns soaked up the luster, small shards of quartz reflecting tiny specs of light onto the matching walls of the building.

The shimmering dance was mesmerizing. Always had been. Usually, the sight helped ease anxiety and muscle pains from a day's excursion. Today, though, it did neither. Worry and doubt still created a foggy haze in my mind that I struggled to sort. And my groin throbbed painfully against the hard wood of the bench I sat on as I waited for Henry to exit his evening course. I'd shifted uncomfortably and adjusted myself in an attempt to prevent further damage to my nether regions. I don't think it's working, though.

"There ya are!" the overwhelmingly cheerful Irishman greeted me as the class let out, his straight red hair surprisingly bouncy on the top of his scalp.

How that man achieved such volume, I'll never know.

Henry's grin only widened, clearly noticing my awkward movements as I stood to my feet. "A wee banjaxed, are we now?"

Nausea rose as I shook my head. "We can talk about it later. After I've drowned myself in alcohol."

There was a momentary falter in Henry's smile. A second where his deep blue eyes softened with understanding. Then, it was gone, replaced with his usual cocky grin.

"Oh, here to take my money then," he stated, rather than questioned, clapping the back of my shoulder and gently guiding me towards the exit. I welcomed the distraction.

"Nah," I replied with a smirk. "I'm bringing you with me, so I don't need to exhaust my efforts taking it from you." I chuckled, a weight lifting from my shoulders.

"Think you're a gas lad, doncha?" Henry retorted. "Eh, whatever. Let's get some whiskey in you. You seem worse for the wear."

"Whiskey? I thought we were just going to throw back shots all night?" I ask in mock surprise.

Henry grumbled as his shoulders slouched, and he looked ahead with tired eyes. "Aye. Today was a bloody nightmare. Straight whiskey for me." He straightened up and looked at me with a smirk as we made our way through the glass doors of the academy. "Though, you're free to start with you're fruity wee lady drinks, sure."

"Just because I like to enjoy what I'm drinking doesn't make it girly."

"You're right. It can apply to gay men, too," he grinned.

"Asshole," I spat back at him.

"If only now."

I lightly shoved him, making him stumble down the short set of stairs leading to the parking lot. As soon as he steadies himself, a look of sheer, sarcastic terror morphs his expression in a laughable way.

"Ya nearly killed me!" he shouts. His facade doesn't last, though. And, soon, we're both chuckling like the idiots we are.

Despite his seemingly offensive banter, Henry was well aware of my sexuality, and he never actually looked down on me for it. As a matter of fact, when the more important things came up—like my first messy breakup or the severe depression that came with my inability to locate Logan—Henry was the one keeping my head on straight. That didn't mean that our friendship started out peachy, but it did mean that it had been hardened through weathering the turmoil we'd made back then.

Even now, it was Henry keeping the pain of the last few hours at bay.

We kept up our foolish banter as we drove to the nearest bar, a little place called Shot in the Dark. The little building was often hard to find if you weren't from around the area, secluded in a grove of sycamores and small pines. That made it my favorite place as it purposefully excluded annoying city brats and out-of-town vacationers.

It probably also helped that the building was far older. The wood was clearly weathered and likely in need of replacement. Various weeds grew rampant through cracks in the damaged concrete and asphalt of the small parking lot. The trees surrounding it were overgrown, some branches outright laying over the roof. A once-vibrant sign was now faded to illegible marks of what could only be the bar's name.

To many, it probably seemed cold, maybe even vacant altogether. My current studies even warned me of the apparent safety violations of the place. Still, inside the seemingly decrepit building was the warmth of familiar bartenders and regulars that you got to know the more you frequented the establishment. It was the only place I felt safe enough to let go.

Callie greeted us as soon as we entered. It was still a little early in the day, so she was flying solo until Max arrived for his overnight shift. Her smile was pleasant, despite her teeth being out of line. Blonde hair was tied back in a messy bun that bounced as she swung from one side of the marbled bar to the other.

"I'll be right with you!" she chirped as Henry and I took our seats.

"No rush," Henry replies with a wave of his hand.

There's a slight need to argue with his words. There is a rush. A rush to get me plastered, so I'm not thinking about today's absolute failure.

But Callie's words are true. It takes less than a minute for her to have our desired drinks resting before us. Henry nods his thanks, and we both drink in silence.

It takes only two of the bright blue beverages to get me to the place I want to be, my vision only slightly dancing and my body feeling light. But Henry pushed for more as he placed order after order, something about "the gay drinks being weaker."

Callie seemed hesitant to give in to the obnoxious demands of the Irishman. Even I knew the hangover would be horrific, and Captain Kohler would have a field day with me when he found out. Still, the pain and distrust in those coal-black eyes haunt me, making my desire to delve further into the abyss irresistible. Especially considering it's Henry's wallet being drained instead of mine.

"So, enough faffin'. What's on with you?" Henry asked, seemingly unaffected by the two glasses of whiskey and the three kamikazes I knew he had consumed.

"Wut dija mean?" I slurred. The last few drinks were a mistake.

Henry's face flushed red from the lack of oxygen as he basically laughed his ass right off the stool he sat on. "Bloody hell, mate! That didn't take ye long." He wiped tears out of the corner of his eyes to reinforce his point. "I mean your face lookin' all shitty and your langer bein' smashed to wee bits."

I couldn't tell if it was the alcohol or the fact that Henry realized that my genitals were still throbbing from Logan's minor sneak attack, but I felt heat radiate from my cheeks. Ignoring his question, I chugged my fifth bright blue beverage.

I could see Callie watch on with concern as she refilled a beer glass for a biker at the other end of the counter. She exchanged a few words with the patron before making her way back to us. "Aden, honey, I warned you about those blue ones. They're called Adios Motherfuckers for a reason. They'll have you forgetting last week if you aren't careful."

I shot Henry a glare as I set down the curved glass. "I didn' evnorder 'em," I slurred.

Her eyes also moved to Henry. "He's right. You should be more careful with him." Her gaze returned to mine, sympathy clear in the deep green of her hazel eyes. "Even if he's tryin' to get over a heartbreak."

Was it seriously that obvious?

Henry let out an audible groan. "Sorry, missy," he apologized.

Callie smiled. "It's quite alright," she replies, making her way back down the bar, "just don't let him slip too far."

With Callie no longer around to hear my words, I find a moment of clarity and the confidence to open up to Henry. "I finlly fine him…an' he breaks mah nutsh."

Henry sipped at his own drink. Just in case anyone forgot, this is the fucker's fourth glass of straight whiskey. Yet, somehow, as his eyes shift thoughtfully, I can see a coherence that I feel shouldn't be there. "Perhaps the lad doesn't want to be found?"

My eyes sting at the truth in Henry's words. It sure as hell seemed to be the case, considering how naturally hostile Logan had been immediately after waking up. But he was still so…skinny. Sure, he wasn't necessarily that tall, and he'd never seemed to grow much muscle, but picking him up from the ground took almost nothing. Logan was so malnourished that the mere thought of him going without food tonight made me sick to my stomach.

None of that even mentioned how little Logan seemed to care about his injuries, how nonchalant he acted around the subject of his assailants. How often had he endured similar situations to develop that kind of attitude towards them? Was that an everyday occurrence?

I grit my teeth. "Even if he don't wanna be found, he needs someone…someone to protect 'im." A single tear formed in the corner of my eye, and I wiped it away sluggishly before it could roll down my face, exposing me as the crybaby I was when intoxicated.

"Hmmm." Henry hummed softly as he went back to sipping his whiskey, a thoughtful expression on his face.

If he had seen me wipe that tear, he didn't say anything about it, and I was grateful for it. My chest hurt, and I wasn't sure I could continue talking about Logan for long without breaking down and sobbing like the drunk fool I was. The feeling made me yearn for more distractions.

However, as I lifted my hand to wave Callie down, Henry gently pulled it back.

"I need more," I whimpered, quiet as I looked to my lap.

Henry shook his head, giving my hand a comforting squeeze. "You don't need more alcohol in your blood, lad. You need be home, now." Henry's soft blue eyes comforted me, almost as if he was already aware that the pain in my heart exceeded that of my groin as he carefully guided me to a lower seat.

As soon as he was sure I was secure, he turned back to pay the tab. I could hear him flirting with Callie—probably trying to knock down the tab's absurd total—but I couldn't actually focus enough to know for sure. Through the alcoholic haze, those dark eyes peered back at me, dull and pained. Soft black hair matted with blood and a smile that used to be radiant was nonexistent. In its place, grimaces and scowls.

How bad had his life been while I was out of it? Was that why he was so bitter? So timid? Obviously, he didn't get adopted or put into foster care. But why? Why did he flinch every time I got close? Why did he run? Why was he so scared? What could have happened that brought him to that point?

As questions whirled through my otherwise slow mind, an irritatingly familiar voice broke through.

He is panicked, frustrated, it murmured with a faint rasp in the confines of my head.

How do you know? I asked, far more coherent in my mind than aloud.

The connection we share is powerful. Xyjczyka. He paces in distress because of Logan, it answered as it became agitated itself.

Chills rapidly spread over my skin, and I swallow hard. Is he in trouble?

The voice was silent for a moment. Maybe it was feeling out the situation more. Or perhaps it was contemplating how to reply. But the time it took to answer seemed far too long.

Not as far as I can tell. He seems to simply be in emotional distress.

Emotional distress… that could be caused by anything. And I would never even know what it was.