The following two weeks went just about the same with decreasing interaction, and by the third we were back to being strangers to each other. I even stopped asking about the counseling, since he was clearly not up to talking about that.

At days I would return late from work or he'd return home late, usually on counseling day, I sometimes forgot he was living with me. Walking around like a ghost and hardly ever talking, it was easy to think that.

But one of these days when I was the one to stay out late, I returned home to quite an unexpected sight. Well, it started as a sound, the sound of rushing water coming from the bathroom. Thinking this might have been some sort of leak or even a burst pipe, I rushed over to find Thomas standing hunched over the sink, head leaning against the mirror with his eyes closed shut, face contorted in pain. Even though his slow and controlled breathing suggested he was trying to focus his mind beyond that, it was to little success.

I had to shake off the shock of seeing him expressive in any way for the first time to refer to the cause of his pain and distress. His hands were positioned under a stream of water running from the sink's faucet, and around him were various items that seemed to have been taken out of the first-aid kit and scattered around after some struggle.

"Hey, Thomas!" I called, earning no response. He flinched when I grabbed his shoulder to get his attention, staring wide-eyed for a few seconds before getting caught by another jolt of pain that made him wince.

"What happened?" I asked, turning off the water when he didn't answer, grabbing his wrists and taking a closer look at his hands. They were covered in red blotches ranging in shades from light, nearly pink to bloodied red; some spots were starting to blister, and the edges of some marks were still somewhat black, even after being under the water for quite some time. A better inspection of his arms and face revealed some more black marks, looking more like ash stains.

Looks like someone was playing with fire, and lost.

I could feel his hands twitch slightly, now that the water wasn't soothing the sting of the burn marks.

Letting go of one of his hands, I reached to the closet to grab a clean towel, carefully dabbing it over the burns to dry them. "You really are your mother's son." I looked around the scattered medical supplies for some clean gauze and antibiotic ointment, applying it to the afflicted areas before bandaging both of his hands. "You can thank her for the fact you're not getting rushed to the hospital right now."

Thomas looked at me throughout the entire treatment, completely silent, with the twitching of his hands slowly subsiding. "Did she also used to...test for flammability?" he asked, resting his bandaged hands on the edge of the counter.

"Not that I know of, but she had her fair share of misadventures." I started picking up the rest of the supplies, putting them back in the first-aid kit before putting it back in the medicine cabinet. "Enough for me to take up a course in first-aid, mostly to keep our parents from being on their toes whenever we were left alone."

The kid remained quiet and looked down at his own hands. For just a brief second, he reminded me so much of my sister from the time we were both about Thomas' age, when she'd find herself scathed and bruised almost on a daily basis. She'd have some sort of a guilty look in her eyes whenever she came to ask for help from her own dedicated 'paramedic'.

Only difference that whatever look Thomas had in his eyes, it wasn't guilt. More like a criminal being caught. But then again, since I never saw him express any sort of emotion, it could've just been how his guilt looks.

I took a deep breath and put one hand on his back, and he immediately flinched again, still surprised by the touch. "Do you think that I don't know about your little arson games?"

He returned a cold gaze, donning once more that same expressionless mask I came to know him by. "Do you?"

"To an extent. Your mom kept me posted." I leaned against the door frame, running one hand through my hair. "At least of whatever she knew, or of her suspicions when she had any."

"Do you intend on repor-?"

"No, I won't. if your mom didn't see a reason to, there probably isn't one for me, too." I assured him, even if he didn't appear to be concerned. "Besides, you're not hurting anyone right now, except yourself."

"Huh..." he hummed and looked down at his hands again. "Guess you're right."

I let out a quiet sigh and move away from the frame. "Well, that initial treatment will at least prevent infections. If it starts hurting again, there are painkillers in the closet. I'll check it again tomorrow morning, to see if we need to have you see a doctor."

"Alright." he nodded, glancing at me while barely moving. "Thanks, Kevin."

The next day I took the kid to see a doctor, as the burns showed no signs of improving, but luckily enough, it wasn't getting worse either.

He was deathly quiet at the doctor's office as well, briefly answering whatever questions he was asked, mentioning a rather vague mishap with flammable substances when asked about how he got the burns.

An examination of the burn revealed no severe damage to the joints, but mentioned the possibility of long lasting scarring and some lingering local pain or sensitivity.

Once he made that clear, he prescribed Thomas some more medicinal ointment and antibiotics, which I stopped to buy on our way back home from the clinic.

I kept making sure the burns were properly treated, while teaching Thomas how to properly change his bandages, wrapping them in just the right tightness. Additionally, I gave him a pair of gloves sturdy enough to keep his hands from getting further damage and, ideally, protect them when he decides to take on a rematch with the blaze.

Once he learned how to tend to his own wounded hands, we grew apart again - no talks or sharing of other common interests, or even any interests, in general.

Can't say I missed these talks, though. Every time he gained that cold, blank exterior, it'd send shivers down my spine.

The next month, through steady recovery, Thomas was coming back later and later from counseling, so I decided to not wait with dinner. Once the dishes were all clean, I decided to go out to my porch, taking a cigarette and a lighter stored in a little wooden box, set on a small table outside next to a recently emptied ashtray.

My sister never liked me smoking, especially around her and Thomas, so to this day I kept smoking only while being out, or when the kid wasn't around.

The sun has set hours ago, leaving the sky dark and the autumn air chilled to perfection. Being at the 3rd story of this apartment building granted me a nice view of tonight's full moon, flooding the city below in a ghostly, white glow.

I lit up my cigarette and leaned on the sturdy railing, staring into the brightly illuminated orb hanging in the abyssal sky, letting my thought wonder. I owed this to myself once in a while, especially this past year, or I would've lost my mind to my own panic and paranoia long ago.

True, there were better ways to deal with this situation, both physically and mentally, but this was the most accessible and honestly the easiest coping mechanism in my disposal.

A couple of long drags and slow exhales later I became lost in thought, watching the swirling wisps of smoke dissipating into thin air, entranced, letting my mind fade as I watched the stars glimmer and dance above the rooftops.

"What are you doing?"

Almost choking on my cigarette, I never even heard the front door open and close when Thomas came back. I coughed, trying not to tear up when gasping for air for a few seconds.

I looked back to see him standing at the door leading to the porch, and almost instinctively replied, "Nothing".

"Hardly." He rolled his eyes and stepped outside, tilting his head to better see what I'm holding in my hand, almost like he had a heat-seeking vision. He soon fixated on the flickering orange glow of the cigarette's embers. "I thought my mom told you-"

"Don't even start." I interrupted, pointing my smoke at him. "She only said not to smoke around her...or around you." seems like it had to be clarified, as my sister's rule made it appear as though I couldn't smoke at all. "But the only way for me to not smoke around you right now is...I dunno, jump over the rail." I sighed and looked down to the street below. Not much of a choice for a legal guardian.

He stepped up to lean on the rail too, for the first time having something other than a blank expression since the injury. He looked puzzled. "Why would she tell you that?" he wondered, and even without looking I could feel the ember-eyes piercing like an ice-pick through my temples.

I shrugged and took another drag. "She never liked it in the first place. Guess that because it's unhealthy, too." I exhaled downwards to the street, watching the hot air slowly rising up.

"And yet, you're still smoking." how can he be so different from her, and sound just the same, was beyond me. "Why's that?"

Was I really about to open up to a kid...teen, about my innermost turmoil? Maybe just a little. "It's calming. Helps me think...or, not think." I kept it vague, not wanting to really go into detail with someone who was almost a stranger to me. "Somehow the smoke helps me settle my mind, whether I need to sort things out or just clear it out."

There was a long moment of silence before I heard something that nearly scared me out of my skin. It was a quiet, brief chuckle, but it was so unexpected that it threw all of my prejudice mindset into a terrified frenzy.

"Ironic, isn't it?" he was even smiling, looking up at the moon with a content, half-lidded gaze. "How smoke provides clarity of any kind."

"Yeah, I guess it is." I sighed and ran my hand over my face. We stayed there in silence, and all that while I noticed something has changed in his face. His expression didn't appear to be as cold and emotionless as before. Even though that smile wasn't making him look happy, it did make him look more...human.

I took slower drags, hoping to maybe take long enough for Thomas to call it the night and go to sleep, but he didn't budge. It was almost as if...he was enjoying this time outside. I couldn't think of what he could possibly enjoy so much out here, since I never saw him sitting on the porch or casually staring at the night sky.

As the thoughts pooled in my mind between one inhale of smoke to another, a shiver went down my spine when Thomas looked over my way again, and I took another quick drag before looking over.

"Can I try one?"

I wasn't expecting such a direct question, even less after making it clear why his mother was so opposed to it.

"This won't make you cool or something, you know." I clarified, narrowing my eyes at him. "I may have been smoking for years now, but it was never to impress anyone."

Thomas was unfazed. "Of course." he spoke with clear conviction. "I couldn't care less what my peers think of me. But you said it grants some sense of calm."

"And...?" how could someone that didn't bat an eye at his parents' funeral possibly need to calm down even more?

He kept staring like he waited for me to figure it out, or come up with a better excuse. Either way, looks like he knows he's on the winning side of this argument.

I had no chance in this staring contest. Got to admit, it's a contest I wouldn't want to start in the first place; not against someone who looks like he can steal your soul through your eyes.

"Fine." I rolled my eyes with a sigh and stuck my cigarette between my teeth, turning around to get another one from the box on the table, along with the lighter. "I don't have to teach you how to use a lighter, right?"

Thomas chuckled and took my offer. "You better be joking." his smile somehow made it sound so much more ominous than any teenager should ever sound. He turned back to lean on the porch's railing, and after some struggle to get a flame started with the gloves on, he managed to light up its end, inhaling slowly.

Even considering the short cough as his airways readjusted to the influx of burning, ashy air, it was the smoothest first smoke I've ever seen someone having.

Almost like it was natural for him. "Is this really your first smoke?" I questioned, taking another drag myself.

"Yeah." he shrugged and let the air out, looking almost mesmerized as he watched the bright smoke. "Why?"

I looked over again once I noticed his voice became a little distant. Something changed in his features, they appeared more relaxed; no longer the stone-cold mask they usually formed. It was like the smoke has lifted something off his shoulders, or maybe burned it off. "No reason." I shook my head and looked down again before eye contact would be reestablished.

He chuckled again, closing his eyes and taking another drag, putting the last nail in this conversation. We both stayed on the porch until the embers died out completely, going back inside without a word.