“Hey, you’re home late,” Kyle said as I walked through the apartment door.

“Hah, yeah.” What day was it again? Oh yeah, Thursday, this was a ‘working on that extra credit’ day. *wink wink* “I had to stay a bit late to get some extra work done on that project.”

He glanced up from his phone to give me one of his patented skeptical looks. “It’s taking a while. Are you almost on the final stretch?”

“Ah, no.” I removed my shoes before the snow I’d tracked in became a lake beneath my feet. “We were just a bit behind on stuff, so they needed me to stay late to get back on schedule.” I flung my sopping sneakers onto the shoe mat, hoping they’d be dry by morning. I’d made the dumb decision of wearing running shoes tonight rather than my trusty snow boots. How foolish. 

I slung my backpack onto the floor, letting it hit the ground with a whump of responsibilities and demands. It was going to be another late night. It didn’t help that I kept adding fuel to the ever-growing mountain of regret and questionable decisions that’s always chillin’ behind me.

I grabbed some water and sat across from him. I’d found this other chair last weekend when I was biking past an apartment building in the ritzy part of town. It didn’t match in any way, but then again, neither did the rest of our stuff, so I decided it could join our fun little menagerie of foundlings. After a quick glue-job, it was back to being a functional wooden chair of love. Someone had actually carved “LOVE” amongst the beautiful design on the back of the chair. Kind of a pity, but it’s now our “chair of love.” Kyle thinks it’s weird, but he thinks most of the things I do are weird, so what’s new.

“So how was your day?” I asked, since Kyle had been considerate enough to be curious about my own.

He leaned back in his chair and brought his phone closer to his face. “Ahh, it was alright.”

“That bad, huh?” I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. “Do tell.”

He glared at his phone. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s just been a long day,” he answered, tone sharp in warning.

Yeah, I doubted that. Just look at him, all coiled body language, tight shoulders, and the focus on his phone rather than me. He was obviously trying to distract himself rather than face life’s problems. It was textbook Red Pathways Body Language 101.

“Okay,” I said. Something was obviously off, and it had me shifting in my seat. I really wanted to know. Maybe needed to know? Ya know, for criminal reasons.

He finally looked up at me, irritation creased between his eyebrows like he hated the fact that I was even sitting across from him. Which was, frankly, quite rude of him. I’d just gotten here.

A few seconds passed. Not able to handle the silence any longer I asked, “So is this about volleyball stuff? You guys are gettin’ close to wrappin’ up your season right?” That seemed like the most probable frustration at the moment.

His frowned deepened, somehow. I mean he’d already been frowning pretty severely up to this point. He should do a talent show bit on frowning, maybe he’d win.

“I really don’t want to talk about it, Sawyer. Just drink your water and leave me alone.” He went back to his phone, raising it to block me from his vision.

Oh. So now a phone was more important than me. I knew I never rated high on his list, but losin’ out to a hunk of plastic and metal hit a little sharp. I wrangled the anger trying to escape. Now wasn’t a good time to blow my lid, especially with him being as distant as when we first met. And I thought we were making progress here.

“Not gonna elaborate for me?” I asked with feigned disinterest. He inhaled, blue eyes flaring before I stood, chair scraping the well-worn linoleum. I moved to scour the kitchen for something to eat. “I was just curious. You could be a little nicer.”

He slammed his palm on the table, making it rattle. “Just back off would you!” His voice rang through the tiny kitchen.

Wow. I paused, my back to him and a hand on the fridge door. I felt nothing at his outburst. Maybe the Red Pathways really had done me some good.

“Ya know, it helps to talk about these things,” I said evenly, not turning to look at him and, frankly, not wanting to.

“Why is it so important to?” He accused.

“You need to—”

“You want to know what happened? Fine! All that ever matters is you, anyway. So yeah, sure. I’ll do whatever you ask.”

I flinched. I wanted to be angry at his outburst. To be scared, or worried, but the feelings that settled in my chest were hurt and disappointment. Months of living in the same apartment, and he was acting as he always had. I didn’t have any words. I don’t think he wanted me to say anything, anyways, so I didn’t.

I pursed my lips and opened the fridge in silence, grabbing an apple off the top shelf along with the left-over quesadilla next to it.

A very heavy presence sat at my back as I walked to the hallway.

There were other ways to get the information I needed. Though, Red Pathways thing aside, I had been genuinely curious about his irritation. I suppose I shouldn’t have pushed it. That one’s on me, but damn, did that guy have zero emotional control. And that’s sayin’ a lot comin’ from me.

After the last few days I’d had, I was done playing mind games with people. Even ones that live in the same space as me. Especially the ones that live with me.

I was a few steps into the hallway, mind already on the research book Professor Sundberg had suggested for me to read when I heard a soft: “Sawyer.”

I stopped, contemplating if I wanted to do this. “Yeah?” I finally asked. I stood there, waiting for whatever it was he had to say this time. More insults? Better not be.

“Can I tell you something?” His voice was calm and collected, though a little rough from the yelling.

 My stomach dropped because my mind went immediately to Nightmist. He wouldn’t. There was no way I’d be so lucky to have him just tell me. That is if he was Nightmist.

With a deep breath, I turned back to the kitchen, choosing to hover in the doorway. I wasn’t keen on being close to him right now. “Sure,” I said. Short and to the point. Let’s see if he had anything good to say.

He took in a deep, steadying breath, chest shuddering slightly. His eyes were focused on an old stain on the table. “My…  father isn’t a great person. And I’ve been spending so much time trying to fix what he created. It’s part of why I’ve been missing volleyball practices and sleep. I’m so tired. But if I don’t do it, no one else will. And the world will be worse-off for it. But at the same time, I don’t want to lose the things that are important to me.”

He still hadn’t quite looked at me, and that was okay. Because what the cheese? Daddy issues? I was not prepared for this subject. I needed a lot more vanilla wafers and hot cocoa for that.

But now I had even more questions. What had happened with volleyball? Since he was team captain, I hoped it wasn’t much. And who was his father? I’d never seen a single family photo or even a mention of family. And what had his dad done that was so terrible his son had to fix it for him? This new information had just made everything more complicated.

I looked at Kyle, really looked at him, maybe for the first time since I’d ever met him, and he looked utterly exhausted, sitting there in our crummy ramshackle kitchen on cast-off, paint-chipped furniture. I studied the bags under his blue eyes, the slope to his shoulders, the dirt scuffed shoes, and the small hole in the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Maybe I’d been wrong about him. Maybe the Red Pathways had been wrong about him. How could a guy like him be taking on some of the most deadly people in the nation? Alone? Without family? Without support? The Red Pathways had money, power, and means. Far beyond what a struggling college student could ever muster, no matter how many all-nighters you pull.

I wasn’t sure what to say as these thoughts and more swirled through my mind like a tv-show money machine. So I said nothing. I slipped across the room to sit on the chair across from him until he was finally ready to say more, or call all of… this a night.

He inhaled deeply through his nose, hands clutched tightly under the table. “I know it’s not an excuse for yelling at you, but I’ve got a lot to deal with right now. And I… it’s hard to talk about. And if I’m being honest, you’re not really the person I’d like to talk to.” Kyle raised his weary eyes to mine.

“Fine.” I gave a brief shrug. “But you could do with a little less yelling about it.” I was serious, which might’ve been a first for me.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, isn’t an apology.” And wow, maybe I’d been hanging out with the Red Pathways a bit too much. Not like I had much of a choice, though. His shocked expression was a balm to the sting of his words from earlier. It felt good. Really good to hold my ground on this.

A soft scoff came from his mouth, paired with the smallest of smiles. “Yeah, it’s not,” he conceded, straightening his posture and holding out his hand over the table.

I stared at it dumbly before I realized what he wanted.

Reaching out a hand of my own, I grasped his and shook it.

Then he said the words I had demanded but hadn’t expected to come so soon. “I’m sorry, Sawyer.”

I thought about declining it just to decline it, but that would leave us in another verbal battle, and I’d had enough of those today. So instead, I said, “Accepted,” in return.

As I walked back to my room, my mind was whirring like an overused laptop. I still wasn’t sure what Kyle had meant by the father part, but I had the feeling he wasn’t going to tell me any more about that for, well, maybe never. These last few weeks had had me seriously beginning to suspect Kyle as this Nightmist guy, but now I wasn’t sure. It didn’t sound like the confession of some vigilante Syndicate lone wolf who was out to cause trouble to the status quo. It sounded like someone who had been fighting some personal battles for a long time, and tonight had been a mere crack in the foundation.

As I turned the light off in my room and climbed into bed, I realized I was unsure of many things. Of my involvement with the Red Pathways. Of how much they were keeping from me. Of Kyle. Of how much he was keeping from me. Of how I was gonna make it to graduation. Of how I was gonna sleep on this bed with all my recently washed clothes still piled high from two days ago.

I was so unsure of everything.