The clock ticked in inaccurate beats by the shadowed corner. By Sylvan's curled figure. 

Ian sipped the steaming cup of watered-down milk, throat bobbing as warmth seeped into his stomach.

It was an evening unlike anything he'd ever experienced before.

But always, would he remember those quiet nights, when two children would curl in the loose vent, listening to the passing guards. His sister had been warm. A small, fragile child woven of all things lovely. 

His gaze lowered, fingers gripping the mug. 

William set down his cup, smiling. "Can you tell me, Ian, where you've come from?"

Ian only knew that his existence was an abnormality. Espers and Guides existed on the surface with varying degrees of freedom, under the ruined skies. The Underground seemed cloaked in mystery, or was buried entirely.

"Somewhere far," he said finally.

William didn't press, breathing softly. "Why do you need to go to the Center?"

That was a question he could answer. The younger man's words came gently, but prodding. Insistent and carrying traces of wariness. 

"I need to find somebody."

"A friend?"

Ian faltered. The center held the keys to all the secrecy surrounding his little sister's death. But there was another reason. The hazy outline of a softly smiling boy, one year older than him. Sometimes, he seemed distant, but he'd approached them first.

The boy was allowed to leave, unlike them. But always, he'd return with pieces of the surface to show them. From strange shells, toys, or even live bugs, like spiders.

Until he'd stopped showing after that day. 

Ian had suspected the boy hailed from a high-ranked family, so could he be there? Could Ian dare to indulge in the delusion of somebody waiting? He couldn't. But even so, with his destination pinned there, he hoped to meet him.

"Somebody important," he breathed, unwilling to cling to temporary moments of the past. "Somebody I'd like to meet again."

In the corner, Sylvan groaned, his pitch keening as he squirmed. His hands clutched his stomach tightly, as if plagued by pain. William hurried to him, gently drawing the limp body into his lap.

He caught Ian's stare with a weary smile. "He has nightmares like this often. It hasn't been easy." Affection-soaked fingers gently brushed away Sylvan's hair. "I'm sorry to interrogate you, Ian. But if your past brings danger here, I'll need you to leave."

The younger man exhaled. "He likes helping, always blaming himself for the death around him. I don't think you're a bad person, really. I just... I can't risk him."

Ian didn't flinch. "Understood."

He gulped down the lukewarm liquid, turning. William's hand shot out, grasping for his pants' hem. "Wait, wait, wait. I didn't mean right away! We made you a promise, and you have nowhere to go.  You're not being chased, right?"

Ian's figure blurred in the shadows, obscured by the waning light. William let go, readjusting Sylvan into a comfortable position with a soft sigh.

"I don't need your sympathy," said Ian calmly. "If you have something to protect, then don't let outliers bring danger."

William shook his head, frowning. "That's not what I meant to imply."

"It is." Ian didn't give him any leeway. "You're not comfortable with me here, and I don't have a hobby of lounging where I'm not wanted. Don't beat around the bush."

The pink-haired man had a personality that likely attracted those who abused his kindness. William, despite appearing gentle, likely took to warnings at the sidelines. All to protect him. 

It wasn't something that needed sugarcoating or pity.

William's head hung, clasping his hands together as guilt wrote over his solemn face. The light cast harsh shadows against his profile, dark angles that made him appear somber. 

They were younger than Ian; individuals who lived polar lives.

He walked over,  looming over the two. His gaze lowered softly, and though no smile tilted his lips, his voice was a soothing murmur in the night.

He stared at the whorl of hair and crouched down to ruffle the other's dry but voluminous strands. "You're better off knowing what you want to save than to juggle more than you can. If killing me became a necessity, I wouldn't blame you."

"You've done well to survive until now."

William stiffened, unused to the act of comfort. Sylvan and he protected the children, standing as unwavering adults who shielded them from the world. In turn, they protected each other in a bubble nobody could penetrate.

But Sylvan's mind was a fragile thing, despite his loud theatrics and cheery nature.

William could never mind caring for that radiant sunlight, the last remnants of warmth in the cruel society.

His neck bent, head hanging low over Sylvan's sleeping face. Warmth covered his head, and Ian's words felt like a blanket of comfort, both reliable and steady.

When he glanced up at the older, yet youthful-faced man, he saw a bottomless black that reflected nothing, carrying all arguments and all agreements simultaneously. William felt certain, then, that this man would definitely bring danger.

Because nothing that he abandoned wouldn't seek his return.

"Do you understand?" murmured Ian.

William swallowed, nodding. "Thank you, Ian." His lifted gaze carried a newfound certainty. "Please allow us to accompany you to the first rift."

"I already said—"

"It's not pity," said William hurriedly, smiling. "Please allow us to."

Ian frowned but nodded. "Thank you."

William tilted his head, folding his hands together stiffly. "Ian, you give the impression of somebody devoid of care yet full of it. It's a little unnerving."

Ian raised an eyebrow. "You're honest. What happened to all your politeness?"

A smile flickered across the other's face. It carried traces of mischief and amusement, buried beneath his facade of reliability and calm. "Haven't we become a little closer?"

"Treat your seniors with respect, brat," scoffed Ian.

Sylvan rolled, mumbling under his breath as his eyebrows furrowed. He gripped onto William's clothes, tossing a long leg haphazardly over. William caught the leg, tucking it back under the blankets, and bent down to listen.

"Bastard..." groaned Sylvan. "Stealing my cabbages, are you? Come here and I'll show you how to use them... ugh..."

William laughed fondly, brushing his hair away. "Alright, Syl. I'll go grab your cabbages."

"No—stay away, that's my prey. Shoo, it's my cabbage... not yours..."

"Not ours?"

"Mine..." murmured Sylvan grumpily, fisting William's clothes until they stretched. William attempted to remove himself, but the other had the vice of a baby that had found a new toy. Impossible to pry open. 

Instead, he shook his head helplessly. "Let's rest before tomorrow. Thank you for accompanying me for a chat."

Ian's gaze lingered on them, curled against each other as if fitting two puzzle pieces in their place. He turned and rolled onto the thin mattress, dragging blankets over his face. No doubt did the Guide-Esper bond connect them, often swaying emotions.

But he'd be a fool to ignore the depth of their connection. Threaded in millions of fine strings, desperate to remain knotted together. 

The luxury of emotion; of companionship.

He'd only known beneficial relationships between Guides and Espers. Rarely did it come willingly.

But then his thoughts strayed to that frosted, devastatingly beautiful face. The Esper whose power strummed, wrung around him in a serpentine trail. Telling of madness. Of chaos. A trace of pain skimmed his back, the phantom of a chilling touch. 

He shifted beneath the thin sheets, rolling onto his back. He couldn't love an Esper purely. But that intoxicating power, that irrefutable arrogance—

—he wanted it.