It is said that some humans are much like fire.

Enchanting, from afar.

Destructive, up close.

Mesmerizing; all consuming; sustaining; terminating.

Just like some humans are - sometimes in selected aspects, sometimes all in one.

Sometimes so comprising, in fact, that they might be the embodiment of fire itself.

I had the...eh, fortune, I suppose, to be acquainted with such an individual. Although, not too sure if 'fortune' would be the right term, and blatantly chalking him as a mere 'individual' would be criminally underestimating his very being.

It was for a period of no more than ten years, since he came into my life and left to his own, during which I honestly didn't take much notice to him and mostly lamented the fact he was appended to me out of the blue. Even so, he still left quite the impression, no matter how much I tried distancing myself.

Guess he really was like fire - you can't really ignore it when it's right in the next room.

Well, I should probably make it clear...or clearer, that it's not just a metaphor. After hearing the news, I believe it was quite literal from the very beginning, and that I should consider myself lucky to still be alive.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. I'll start by telling you what I know and heard about it all.

Under circumstances I do not remember by now, I've been appointed by my younger sister as a legal guardian to my nephew - her only son, Thomas. 'Just to be on the safe side', she said, but I've always had a feeling there was more to this decision than that. Still agreed, though. Wouldn't turn down such a request from my own sister, and who knows? Once the kid hits legal status at the age of 18, he's not my problem anymore.

Can't say I've ever liked the little bugger. Ever since he was a little kid, something about him just irked me. That ginger-red hair and eyes with a golden shine, staring, as if there was constantly a flame burning in front of them. It's like I suddenly understood why red-heads were considered to be the Devil's children. Freaked me out whenever I came over for a visit.

He always had a penchant for fire and flames, my sister said that it seemed to be the only thing that made him excited, otherwise he'd had the same blank stare no matter what he was presented with.

'At least he's being responsible with it', she'd always argue, and it basically meant that her 8-year-old hasn't burned any of the furniture in the house or in the back yard. Yet.

That was the gist of it, other than him being a good little pupil, quiet, polite etc., as if trying to mask every other infernal activity he dabbled in.

I kept seeing him once, maybe twice a year, on birthdays and holidays I couldn't excuse myself out of, and even then I never stayed for too long. Doubt he even remembered my name with the amount of effort I put into not being around.

And it went on for a couple of years, during which I picked up a habit of asking my sister if the kid burned anything nice recently, whenever we got to talk. We only talked slightly more often than we saw each other, and even then - she would somehow always have something new to tell in that regard. Whenever I brought up my concerns, she would say it's 'just a phase of childish curiosity'. Didn't really bite into that, but she wouldn't let me have much of a word in it, getting pretty defensive.

So I still brought it up as a joke, but stopped commenting on it, simply laughing it off as she endearingly did as well.

Until one day, I was surprised to hear that nothing happened. He was either cleaning up his act, or getting better at covering his tracks. But my sister sounded genuinely relieved so once again, I held my tongue.

The next time I've heard of her was from a police officer, after both she and her husband died when their house spontaneously burned down, trapping them inside. Apparently Thomas was out at that time, still in school, I think, so he was spared the sight, and probably the same fate.

I have to admit, my first thought was that the kid did it. Got a little too ambitious, perhaps, set up something to spark and catch fire. All that quiet time, probably spent planning.

But all of his alibis have been checked out, no connections between him and the house fire, and even his fiery pastime wasn't deemed criminal. Plus, he was still a minor.

If I could have avoided that funeral, I would. I conquered my spite and went there. A small funeral for a small family; made it all the more unnerving being around the Devil child.

Some said he was being quiet and distant because he was in shock, that his whole world turned upside down and he couldn't quite process it. I didn't buy that. I saw how people look when they silently grieve, and I saw how he was looking at his parents' grave - with the same emotionless, cold gaze. I was willing to bet my money that he just wished he was around to watch the blaze.

But regardless of what I was thinking about him, it slowly dawned upon me that he's now my responsibility. I couldn't possibly throw him around, as no one else seemed to be able or want to take him in, and since I was legally obliged, and...Well, I guess it's what my sister would've wanted.

Better start picking up some parenting books.

"I'll go duplicate you a key later this evening. The guest-bedroom is now, well, your bedroom...Um...feel free to use whatever's in the fridge, there are some take-out menus in that bowl..." I looked back upon hearing the door close. Thomas was standing there with a backpack of what little belongings he had left hanging from one shoulder, as he looked around the apartment.

Come to think of it, this may have been his first time in this place. I gave him a quick tour, showing him where everything is, eventually showing him to his new room. Sure, it was pretty empty now, but at least the family gathered to get him some clothes and new text-books to fill the closet. Then again, the less things there are around, the less there is to burn.

He scanned the room much like how pets cautiously examine a new place they're brought into. However, I'd much rather care for a dog right now. No way I'll bring in any small animals in here, though, wouldn't to give him any ideas to work with.

Lost in thought, I got startled when I realized Thomas had turned to look at me after setting his bag to the foot of the bed. A sudden panicked jolt surged through my body when for just a split second I feared he might be a mind reader, and that I should be careful with these thoughts. Was I just being absurdly paranoid? Who's to say...

"Well, guess I'll go fix up lunch, or...order something out, if you'd like." I tried to sound as casual as I possibly could, but this would've been awkward even if he was dropped off here for one day, maybe two, but it's not like anyone is coming to pick him up any time soon.

"Anything is good, really." When he finally spoke up, his voice was just the same as it always is - calm, collected and void of any recognizable emotion. It wasn't even the distant emptiness of a traumatized person, just the way he always sounded. I didn't know if I was supposed to be angry at his apathy towards the death of his parents, or concerned by it. "Whatever you decide, Kevin." his follow up snapped me back, and I just gave a quick nod and turned around.

But before taking more than two steps, I turned back, deciding there was one thing I had to get out of the way. "Hey, Thomas." I leaned my arm on the door frame, running my hand through my hair. "Listen, if you feel like playing with fire, at any time..." I paused, examining his reaction. Nothing. "Just...take it outside, alright?"

He shrugged, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Of course. That'd be reckless to mess with fire inside." he assured me, almost mockingly. "Mom would always insist on it, too."

"Oh. Very well, then." I cleared my throat and straightened up. "Just making sure we're on the same page." and with that I turned around and went to the kitchen.

Turning to the stove out of habit, I froze for a little while, oddly rejected by the idea of turning it on. The fridge didn't have anything good in store, as I've planned to cook something a couple of days ago, before all hell broke loose.

I grabbed the bowl of take-out menus and flipped through them until finding something that awakened my appetite. I decided to order two of the same item, in hopes me and the kid have similar tastes. Can't let him starve, don't really want to go through the menu with him...and besides, he did say anything's good.

Time passed, and while I didn't get a lot more comfortable around Thomas, he usually stayed in his room, reading or studying, and kept following the only established rule between us about handling flammable things. I never set him any curfew, asked where his going or what he did when he comes back. If he wasn't back by the time I went to sleep at night, he'd always be back the next morning, with no night-calls or search warrants from the police.

As long as things were kept that way, I saw no reason to start putting down any more rules. He was still a teenager, after all, and I didn't feel like giving him something to rebel against. He clearly doesn't need me as more than a supplier of housing and food, and perhaps it's for the best. Not that I'd be better for anything else, definitely not a father-figure. Barely a role-model.

I was cooking some food for the week when he came back home from grief-counseling one evening. Someone in the family suggested that, thinking his apathy is a product of trauma, and even scheduled him a recommended therapist. I kept all doubts to myself once again, mostly assuming this can't do any harm, and if anything - could possibly unearth whatever's up with him.

"Hey Kevin." he seemed to have spoken up only to alert me that he's home. He does this often after I've almost cut up my own fingers along with some veggies when he unintentionally snuck up on me once.

"Hey, kid." I answered, gesturing at the small dining table. "Food's almost ready, grab a plate and sit down."

He did just that, and I could feel his gaze piercing my back like a blowtorch even before I glanced over my shoulder. He was eyeing me quietly while setting his plate and utensils down.

"What?"

"I'm not a kid, you know." that was the first time he ever protested against me calling him that, but I wasn't about to be intimidated by that.

"Yes you are." I put the boxes of food on the table, grabbing a plate for myself. "As long as there's '-teen' in your age, you're still a kid."

He rolled his eyes and quietly thanked for the food before putting some on his plate, and so did I.

Even though I haven't made any effort to show interest in his doings, I felt compelled to ask that day. "How was counseling?" Even Thomas looked somewhat surprised, leaving his fork stuck in a pile of diced veggies when he peered up at me.

"It went fine." he answered, looking straight into my eyes. "Therapist's a nice person."

"Good, good..." I nodded, regretting already. "Do you have another appointment, or-?"

"Next week, same day and time."

With no further questioning, we both went back to our food, and that pretty much concluded our weekly interaction.