Archive of Our Own

"Right this way, sir."

"Oh, u-um, thank you…"

I stumbled awkwardly through another spotless hall of ceilings three times my height, dizzied by a slight headache. The walls were made up of winding red wood, and the distinct sound of my shoes against the ground could have told me that the floor was cold marble without me needing to look down. It was Daguanyuan.

I wasn't totally out of place in an estate like this, and knew well that I could fit into these foyers of unimaginable wealth much better than the majority of my coworkers. After all, I had an idea of what clothing would garner second glances among this class of people, and I could use the right pieces of silverware in the right order when it came down to it. Yet Hong Lu's homeplace was certainly still intimidating.

"You have a guest, our most venerable Hierarch."

The refined-looking servant knocked on a massive, delicate door. Without a lick of hesitation, a firm "You may come in," was given from the other side. My escort opened the door for me with a practiced bow, and I gave him an awkward wave of thanks as I made my way inside, feeling stiff under the weight of so much respect after a year on a bus that had none to spare.

The room was a gigantic office with plenty of empty space, clearly without as much furniture and books as the architect had anticipated this Hierarch needing. I immediately spotted Xichun and Mister Wei. They stood beside the main desk with their heads tilted in a very slight, respectable bow, making the guest feel welcome without giving off a weak impression. Not sure whether I was expected to, I also moved to dip my head in greetings.

"What wo–" Xichun began with dignity, before finally turning up to give her guest a proper look. "–Sinclair?!" She spat the name out in surprise and relief. Wei's eyes widened in a similar fashion.

Assuming it was my turn to speak, I smiled at her. "H-hey, I–"

"Thank the Wings it's just you…!"

"Haha, we–"

"Wei, throw him out immediately!!"

"What?!"

"Yes, Milady…"

Just like that, before I could get out even a single meaningful sentence, Wei had grabbed onto my arm and began escorting me from the premises with a firm grip and a number of regretful apologies.

"...Despite everything, I hope that you will come and visit my lady again soon."

"Of course… stay safe."

Another door clicked as it closed in front of me, stealing Wei from my view. I stared at the wood absentmindedly for several seconds before slumping my shoulders and breaking into a sigh. With nothing better to do, I began walking in a random direction, aware of the continued panging in my head.

Today had featured a highly abnormal morning. When all of us on the bus had gathered near the front in familiar routine, neither Faust nor Dante had been there to greet us. After an unheard of thirty minutes of waiting around without instruction, Faust had finally darted toward us from the Backdoor, spouting off small but worried words about the manager, who seemed to have tripped and disrupted the workings of their prosthetic head. When Outis heard this, paired with the news that Faust hadn't yet figured out how to fix the issue, the 12th Sinner had stormed off toward Dante's room with curses and heavy footsteps. After that, Faust had followed after her, leaving us again without a chaperone and only concerned gossip to keep us occupied. It was another ten minutes before Vergilius greeted us with the news that we were being allowed a free day out under the condition that we all keep away from Mephistopheles until the evening.

This was actually my very first "day off" since joining the company. We'd had countless days of lounging around without tasks, and other days where the tasks could hardly be called work, but there had never been any such thing as a free day. We weren't told exactly what had happened, but Hong Lu suggested that Faust simply needed a lot of space as she attempted to solve a large and unanticipated problem, which made the most sense to the rest of us. Obviously, the situation made me anxious. Very much so. But Rodya had encouraged me to trust in "Fau" and "Outie" and go out and enjoy my day, so I figured I would give some relaxation my best shot despite the guilt that made me feel.

Of course, because we were still in H Corp., I decided I'd go visit Xichun. It had been less than two weeks since we'd finished up our training together, but I had nothing else in mind and had thought it would be a nice gesture… Apparently not. From what explanations I received from Wei, she could not have been more busy as the District's new Hierarch, to the point that every distraction was actively painful. I had been a welcome visitor only because she, supposedly, wouldn't lose anything by rudely running me out of her office so she could continue working. I wouldn't hold a real grudge against her for that, but it didn't inspire me, either. With my plans to hang out with Xichun thrown out of the window, I was left with absolutely nothing in particular to do.

As I walked through the streets, I was moderately aware of the fact that my head had been hurting a lot lately. It was aching. No, more like tingling in a disruptive way. And though it was easier to call it a headache, I also knew that it was always in the same oddly specific place. With another sigh, I stopped, placing my hand on my forehead. Then I shook it off and kept walking.

I tried to enjoy myself. I really did. Wandering decorated sidewalks, listening to the songs of the passersby, checking out the food stalls lined in satisfying rows. I even ran into Don Quixote at one point. Yet I couldn't seem to immerse myself in my day off. I kept glancing around, looking for something. My forehead wouldn't stop stinging.

It wasn't a totally new problem. Since… my "turn", I'd occasionally suffer from these bouts, but much less frequently and on a level that was much less distracting. Both of these things had increased at some point in the last few months, and then had gotten even worse only a few weeks ago. A result of me improving in some area, most likely… I didn't dislike the feeling on its own–it didn't hurt or distract me enough for that. What bothered me was what I was sure it represented.

I'd had no clue what it was at first, and when I'd finally made a connection between it and my mark, I'd just labeled the feeling a weird sign of my growth. But meeting Sansón at La Manchaland had finally opened my eyes to the pattern. The tingling was like a sensor indicating the presence of other mark bearers. This meant that I could only look around grumpily every time I was struck with that sensation, frustrated with the knowledge that Demian was there but refused to show himself to me.

"Are you that interested in my day off…?" I mumbled under my breath in a dry tone I didn't use very often. "I'm not really doing anything, and I'm not really expecting to, either…"

With snappy steps, I took a couple of weird turns in an attempt to find myself a private place to sit. If I was going to talk to myself, I might as well do it where other people couldn't judge me for it. "But you know and saw that, right? Mmph… Was it funny seeing Xichun kick me out?"

As I continued in search of somewhere worth stopping, I said something that wasn't exactly a sensible follow-up to that previous comment. "Heh… she's my bestie, y'know. M-maybe you're jealous that in only thirty days, I must've spent more time with her than I did with you over the course of several months? I'm sure I learned way more about her, too… Too bad you've always had s-so many secrets, huh?"

I couldn't pinpoint how aware I was that, if he really was with me, I certainly shouldn't be saying these things. It was like I was sure enough he was there to air complaints to him in the first place, but not sure enough to hold myself back from saying anything mean. Prattling on with taunts felt cathartic, despite the fact that I couldn't stop myself from stuttering even now. I was acting like I was drunk on nothing but built up annoyance.

Finally, I found a surprisingly nice, private-looking location. I must have ended up on the outskirts of Daguanyuan, where everyone involved with the great four families would just be inside the place, and the average Nest citizen wasn't comfortable approaching. It was a small, outdoor square where I could sit quietly, watching the slow-turning landscape without hundreds of lights and electronic billboards fighting for my attention directly in front of me. My mind cleared up as I situated myself on a wooden bench. I would have felt entirely at peace in that solitude if I hadn't been so sure that I wasn't really alone.

"Demian…?" I called out without much enthusiasm or volume. I waited patiently for several more seconds than most people would have before declaring myself unacknowledged.

"Uh, Max?" I tried. It differed around the City, but in District 11, it was custom to refer to others by their family names. That said, it wasn't like anyone's given name was a secret. If a classmate of yours never told you theirs, then finding out was as easy as looking at one of their worksheets or a seating chart. Without a doubt, he knew mine, too. When was the last time someone had called me Emil, though? I wondered if maybe the unfamiliarity or affectionate connotations of using his first name would get me somewhere. It did not.

"Humph," I finally exhaled, cupping my chin in my hand. Trying to show that I was unbothered, that I was giving up and moving on, I closed my eyes and attempted to zone out. And then the stabbing in my forehead immediately grew to at least four times worse!

How long would I be played with like this? It was unbearable! I ground my teeth together and furrowed my brows, not even knowing if it was a natural reaction or me trying to make my annoyance exaggeratedly clear to him. The poking feeling went on and on still, as if my very being were a device getting spammed with messages until I responded to the sender. But you're the one not letting me respond, aren't you?!

I had next to nothing to go off of, but I figured that the feeling might've been growing more intense with increased proximity, like a metal detector. So with one last shameful attempt, still with my eyes closed, I imagined that my smug old friend was right in front of me and threw my arm out to grab him with a bitter grunt.

Just like that, I caught something. It was fabric.

Suddenly, I was horrified. In the end, I must not have been expecting such a futile effort to produce any results. Thoughts of simply letting go and moving on crossed my mind as sweat started to build up on my skin. But I knew that there was nothing else I could do in this situation other than the obvious. As if I were starring in one of the horror films I hated, I slowly opened my eyes and craned my head upwards.

"A commendably strong wish," he said to me, with a steady smile and confident posture that made it painfully clear that he had purposefully let himself be caught.

"D-D-D-D-Demian?!?" I stammered as I flew backwards in shock, letting go of his scarf and nearly stumbling right off of the bench. I scrambled desperately to get myself back on my feet, terrified that he'd use a single beat of broken eye contact as an excuse to buzz away again. Unfortunately for me, that added reason for panic made me all the more disoriented, and I was soon achieving the nigh impossible feat of tripping over myself while sitting down. At last, I fell forward to the earth, then banged my head hard against the bench as I tried to move in the opposite direction mid-fall.

"Auugh…" An unnatural color flashed in front of my eyes, and everything was blurry by the time I had them open again. I was now lying against the bench from the ground, half-propped up and pathetic. I looked up again. To my horror and delight, my new conversation partner was still staring down at me, smile wide and back arched.

"Good afternoon," he spoke.

"H-h-hey…" I blinked.

"Would you like me to help you back to your feet?" He offered with a nonjudgmental tone, but without yet extending his arm. He wants me to hold his hand? I thought, tempted, with the additional distracted speculation that his hand would probably be very cold. After another second, however, my brain began to run again, and that more functional Sinclair was feeling far too petty to accept such an offer.

"I-I'm good… thanks." Trying to maintain some dignity, I pushed myself up and off of the bench until I was finally face-to-face with him. "Umm…"

With that, I got a good look at the man for the first time in forever. Demian was slightly taller than me. Of course he was. Regardless of height, he was floating. His hair was parted in the same slick way that it'd always been at school, and his outfit was that familiar muted vest and deep blue scarf I'd seen him wearing back when Kromer had died. I felt my face fall at the memory, but not yet ready to tackle that, I quickly readjusted my expression to approach him with what I hoped seemed like a respectable and unconcerned attitude. Yet I was subsequently stalled by his imperceptibly deep, dark eyes, bearing a hole into me with his full attention, and every word I had stuck together in my throat as I met that striking stare with nervous awe. Wow… Then I remembered where I was again and collected myself for a second time.

But despite my efforts, I still felt horrendously awkward. I didn't know if I was supposed to be happy or angry that he'd shown himself like this. The seconds kept passing.

"Did you feel bad for me…?" I mumbled at last, breaking eye contact by bringing my gaze to my feet.

"Would it matter if I did?" he replied fairly, "you called with enough conviction that I decided I'd break some personal rules and give you my afternoon. Maybe that was because I pitied you, or because I wanted to make you happy, or because I could hardly stand to hear any more mockery—who's to say? But you won, Sinclair—you caught me—so I suggest you make the most of that."

There might have been other things in his words worth commenting on, but I just flushed at the acknowledgement of the fact that I'd been bullying him right until the moment he made his appearance, regretting it already. "S-s-sorry, I-I just, you know…! I'm sorry!! Forget that, okay?! I didn't really mean it!" What else? "I… I had something to drink, so…"

"You understood that I've been with you the entire day, and you'd still lie like that?" Scheiße!

"I-I, umm…" I broke into a slouch, surrendering. "Again… sorry…"

He took a step toward me, bending down slightly to better meet me with my head still hung.

"Come now, Sinclair. You think I don't know that you have an irritable side, and that you have things to be angry about? I can't recommend that you go around greeting people like that, but I will settle the matter by telling you I forgive you. So let's enjoy our time together." When I finally looked at him again, his expression was easygoing and unperturbed. Amused, even. Though I was in the lifelong habit of dwelling on things for much longer than need be, something in me managed to swallow that compulsion and proceed without shame.

"Then… will you go on a walk with me?"

It turned out that nearly the entire perimeter of Daguanyuan was as empty as that courtyard. It made me hope that Xichun would later be able to make her people comfortable enough to come near it (after all, it felt like an obvious side effect of Jia Mu's intimidating reign), but for the time being I was glad that it gave me the opportunity to be alone with Demian. Not only was it reminiscent of the few times we'd walked home from school together, but I also felt like he probably didn't want to be seen by other people. That said, I was almost positive that this mysterious bundle of abilities would be able to pull out some kind of "selective invisibility" power if he really wanted to.

"So, can you tell me why you spend so much time following us around?" I asked, feeling that was a reasonable place to start.

"It's what interests me at the moment. I have big expectations for Limbus Company."

"You want us to end up with the Boughs, right…?"

"That's right. Perhaps that's somewhat of a relief, given how many others are always trying to take them from you."

"Mm… T-to be honest, not really. You guys aren't exactly forthcoming… And, well…" I sighed, worried about my choice of words, "Well, I'd say that I'm okay putting some trust in you and seeing what happens, but the others don't really seem to feel the same… Plus, I don't know what was up with Rim, but Sansón never quite… made a good impression…"

I'd never gotten to formally discuss it with the other members of the LCB, but I was almost certain that these three were allies of some kind. Maybe Rodya's old friend back in J Corp., too? Confident, and relieved that I didn't have to explain myself in any way, I let these presumptions become facts as I spoke with Demian about it. He praised my accuracy by leaving my guesswork unacknowledged.

"I understand. I suppose I will say that we don't always end up with those we'd fit best with in life. Your own coworkers are prone to doing any number of things you disagree with, so you've experienced this firsthand. Though you may perceive this as an excuse, I'm doing what I can with what I'm given." He didn't appear upset or disturbed; there was nothing indicating that he felt shame from associating with outwardly cruel people, and he wasn't necessarily saying that he really did condone their actions, either. Demian did, however, look genuinely thoughtful, more than willing to consider that he might be worth criticizing if the words came from me. He continued, "Additionally, my "faction" is made up of people like myself, who have personal connections to one of you on the bus. But frankly, I am much fonder of you than they are of their own acquaintances."

"Uh, t… th-thanks," I sputtered as my heart jumped, with no idea how else to respond. Many times my former schoolmate would leave countless questions hanging in the air, and other times he could be so strangely straightforward. There was no sound but my own unaccompanied footsteps for the few moments it took for me to put on a straight face again.

"...Are you just interested in me, then? Personally? Y-you just… want to see what I do each day? That's why you're around so often?"

There probably wasn't a right answer to that. I would have taken either a halfhearted or an insistent response as a sign that he was merely teasing me. Maybe he could sense as much—he just gave me another smile. Although his expressions were so painfully subtle, I thought it looked something like gentleness or pity, and I felt my own visage soften under that look. I bit into my lip with slight force as I felt the familiar whirl of butterflies in my stomach and accepted that there was probably some truth, or at least something he was looking to communicate, in the shamelessness.

I chose to change the topic. For that, I started by taking a breath.

"...Then, are you enjoying where you are now?"

He moved his head. "It's not about enjoyment for me, though I understand that most people care a considerable lot about it in order to keep sane. What I, and I think most individuals of the caliber that I'm willing to entertain, care more about is the opportunity to further my studies. "Studies" meaning much more than required academics, naturally." Then he seemed to notice that he was drifting from what I'd actually asked, and began making his way back to it. "But in that regard, I may be able to call my present life enjoyable. I learn and think a lot, as any good man should."

"I'm seeing a lot of opportunities for all kinds of things, too. But… a-and maybe I'm just speaking for myself here… but, well, with the mention of academics and everything… It's kind of a shame that we're here instead of in school, huh? We’re at just the right age to be stressing over textbooks, and that couldn’t be further from what I do each day…" I wanted it to sound like a more general, almost objective observation, but I just couldn’t keep the glumness out of my voice.

"I don't believe that school is everything in life, but I agree nonetheless. Missing out on higher education is a particularly big shame. If there comes a time when attending university is the right way for me to be living, I will certainly take that opportunity." Demian said this like he meant it, hand on his chin.

It didn't feel as weird to talk with him like this, after all of this time, with so many unspoken words between us, as I might've feared. Before I knew it, we were falling comfortably into the same sort of conversation and reflection that we would busy ourselves with whenever we spent time together in Calw. I looked down, and began absentmindedly kicking a stone down the path as I strolled.

"To be honest, I did try. To go to school, I mean. They still gave us our diplomas even after our last year got cut short, after all." I kept my gaze on the ground, a bit embarrassed. "But my heart really wasn't in it. You know how good my grades were in high school, but at that fancy private university I ended up at, I was about to flunk out by the end of only the first semester… And then at that point, I met Miss Faust and received my offer with Limbus Company. Th-though I'm sure she'd say she met me, haha…"

What had happened after the incident on Christmas Eve? Much of our town had been destroyed, but not all of it. Many innocents had been murdered, but not all of them. From what I understood from the Wing reports they played on the news, the Inquisition had done what they could before abandoning ship. They left survivors and fires small enough to be put out, but stole away the opportunity for legal retribution against their hellish reign. And regrouped back at N Corp. before returning two years later to finish the job… I guess.

That was undoubtedly the worst time of my life. I ended up living with an aunt of mine in an eastern District, but it didn't go well for either of us. As much as she tried to help me, she was like my parents, with a full body prosthetic; it was neither of our faults, but it was obviously the wrong kind of environment for me to be in at the time. The trauma was all too much, and I frequently threw up just from the sight of her metal face. With nothing else to be done about it, I ended up moving out to live by myself, indescribably miserable but with no shortage of inheritance on my hands. From the standpoint of today, the year and a half that followed feels like a mirage. I cried, I drank, I slept, I wasted time. Then I tried going back to school under a major I didn't care about. It didn't go well. Then I received my job offer.

I was doing much better now, I could say that much. I felt very bittersweet the day I sent my aunt my first genuinely positive letter a couple of months into my contract with Limbus Company, telling her that things were looking up in a very new and bizarre situation, with a picture of me and Dante attached and an apology for my struggle with her appearance the last time I'd seen her. I also sent Demian letters, of which tended to be a lot more pitiful. But I never received a response from him. This had left me frustrated for a time, but I was eventually willing to admit to myself that he had probably just moved out of Calw, like I had.

"I was a business major for that short time," I continued after thinking for a while. "That was what my father had always expected me to pursue. Now… when I can, I think I'll go into education."

"A teacher," he gave me a nod, invested even after having to wait a while for me to wade through my thoughts. "That's admirable. I believe that I would find myself in psychology or philosophy, but I can easily see the appeal of teaching."

"Right? You're practically already a teacher from my point of view, so maybe you should consider it," I said cheerfully. Thinking about it, it could be fun to attend university with Demian, I found myself imagining. It would be interesting to get to be in the same class for the first time.

Demian closed his eyes and grinned, replying to something I hadn’t said aloud, “That’s true. I’d be interested to see what it’s like being in a class with you, myself.”

”W-wha…?! ...Mmph...” All I could do was stutter a bit at his show of mind reading before remembering who I was dealing with and letting out a small sigh. I didn’t even have a retort or anything particular to add.

"Your job proposal is one I’ll keep in mind as well,” he continued with a warm expression. “That month you spent training alongside the new Hierarch left you with a lot to dream about, didn't it? You always seemed to enjoy school." Then because he could never help but analyze me, he added, "You're also the type to rely rather heavily on structure and consistency to make the most of yourself. Never knowing what task you'll have to do tomorrow on this job is difficult for you, isn't it? You mustn't give up on it, though. We don't grow inside our comfort zones."

"Um… yeah." That one made me feel a little awkward, in a funny sort of way. I just nodded along, wondering how much of my life I'd spend on the growth he always spoke of.

I wasn't given the chance to fall back into my jumbled thoughts, though. Suddenly, there was the sound of crying.

"H-huh?"

We turned a corner, and there stood a very young boy wailing at the fence dividing the general Nest from Hong Lu's family estate. Demian watched as I quickly ran up to him, the instinct to help acting before anything else in me.

"Hey, b-buddy… Are you okay? Where are your parents?" I asked, scanning him up and down as I bent to meet him at eye level. The cultural clothing of District 8 was undoubtedly different from what I'd grown up with, but I could still tell that he was from a well-off family. That meant that he belonged in the Nest, at least.

"My… my… Wauggh, sniffle… m-my ball… Mommy's gonna yell at me, if, if, if I lose it…" The boy sobbed, staining his robes with snot.

Oh, I remember going through similar things as a kid… Losing something and disappointing my parents always felt like the end of the world. Although I preferred indoor games, so it was stuff like leaving a stuffed animal of mine at a restaurant rather than losing a ball over a fence.

I was shocked that the great four families didn't have some kind of fence technology that would propel back or incinerate objects that came into contact with it (maybe Xichun had turned it off?), but I decided to trust that the child's toy really had made it over the ridiculously tall fence. I turned back to Demian, who stood several armlengths away in the same unconcerned pose he always used. I whisper-yelled at him as I tried to console the young Nest dweller.

"Could you grab his toy from the other side?"

He cocked his head at me with a neutral expression, and the way he silently seemed to say "I don't really want to, and I don't quite see the point, either" was something I couldn't tell if I thought was sad or hilarious. I sort of furrowed my brows at him as a way of showing insistence, and he gave a minuscule shrug before vanishing out of thin air.

"My friend knows a magic trick that can get the ball back for you, so hold on just a second, okay?" I hushed the little kid. As promised, Demian was at my side within seconds, and he handed off a small, definitely expensive toy to me. I offered him a smile before pressing the ball into the tiny grasp of our sniffling guest.

"Whuh… Ah!!!" He cried happily. But before we could hear any thanks, another high-pitched voice rang out.

"Ming!!" A girl a year or two older came storming over from between several buildings. Without so much as an acknowledgment of me and Demian, she, who was clearly the older sister, grabbed her little brother's wrist and scuttled off with him as he whined. "I told you not to come over here!!! Why are you crying? Come on! Don't make me tell on you."

It all happened very quickly, and I stood stuck in place as I watched them leave.

"Ah… That surprised me."

"...You look pleased, though."

"D-do I? Well…" A knot in my throat formed with the acknowledgement of something difficult. "It's nostalgic, that's all. My…" I was already swallowing in an attempt to keep my emotions in check. "I know you never met her, but my big sister… when we were kids, we definitely had a relationship like that, haha. I bet you could picture it pretty easily."

For several moments, I was bathed in memories that were happy yet agonizing to recall. When I looked over at my conversation partner again, I was taken aback. His expression seemed almost the same as mine.

"...Demian?"

"Does it hurt, Sinclair?"

"...I… …Yes. Of course it does."

"You have to make that your reason to grow. As hard as it may be."

I didn't respond. A soft wind slowly swept through the city as we were silent.

"It's unfair how much I’ve picked up about you, and how little you know about me, isn't it?" he finally responded, before looking away, toward the landscape. Then he let out a small huff, like a chuckle. "That girl… My sister was like that, too."

"Y-your sister?" I gawked.

"We weren't blood related, so whatever image you're conjuring within your mind is probably incorrect. She was a sassy little thing though, with big opinions and a great smile." Demian turned back to me with an expression I wished he would wear more often. "I suppose that sentimentals aren't really my priority in life. But I hope you won't feel ashamed to reflect on them in front of me."

For a time, all I could do was blink at him. The words that finally came out might have been a little exasperated, but the tone was friendly, like a suppressed laugh.

"Demian, do you even know how confusing you are for me?"

"And what do you mean by that?" He smirked, encouraging me to keep thinking.

Together, we carried on with our walk.

Regrettably, I opened with a sigh.

"You're just... difficult... for me. T-to wrap my head around." I confessed, with my eyes trained on my feet. Somehow, we really did continue on with that topic after a couple of other verbal detours. With that, we extended our attempt at circling Danguanyuan, the attention now on me. "I'm mostly around people who make some sense to me. Or people who just don't want to be understood at all. But... I guess you're like a puzzle that wants to be solved, and that's different. I-I've never had anyone ask something like that of me before. Well, if I'm getting the right impression, at least…"

Time had been passing. I enjoyed the warmth of the angled sunlight, settling my hands snugly in my coat pockets while squinting my eyes against the harsher rays. Feeling more comfortable after he'd given me a couple of small glimpses into his personal world, I was weirdly open with Demian about how I felt about him, and he listened with great interest from his spot at my side. The brooch on his chest glinted in the sun while his scarf trailed after him like it had a mind of his own, the two of us traveling aimlessly along an orange-hued street. Though we'd moved on from any discussion of siblings, there was still a soft ache in my heart, and I felt that I could see something subtle and similar in his own face.

Just like that, a thought occurred to me for the first time.

"Are you lonely, Demian?"

It was a strange and overly straightforward question, but despite that, there were no theatrics. He parted his lips for a moment, then broke into a small smile.

"I think that, perhaps, the current state of things is a breeding ground for loneliness and isolation. And that I have had too much experience with it."

Even though he could have been referring to all sorts of things in the context of the City, somehow, I knew exactly what he meant. "The Mirror," I replied softly. He looked increasingly pleased.

"Good. Good. Yes, the Mirror." He looked away for just a moment, before turning back to me, "I want to hear your thoughts on it."

I felt a little stiff in that moment. I knew he was looking for something serious, something critical and thoughtful. It was weird, because I did have all kinds of complicated thoughts on the Mirror Worlds our job is so entrenched in, but... no one had ever asked me for them before. Something about it excited me.

"I've... seen the Mirror do some really awful things to people." Experiences at the manor flashed through my mind. "Even though we treat it as an everyday thing, it’s... scary, if you actually let yourself think about it. Really scary." I paused in thought for a second, and then let out a slight, sad laugh. "You know, I’ve seen a lot of different Mirror Worlds. Sometimes... I meet versions of the other Sinners that I like more there. Outis and I really don’t get along, but there are worlds where she’s a lot calmer. And there are worlds where Don Quixote’s still, and q-quiet, and it sorta takes away all of what makes her who she is, but I still feel a little satisfied knowing she won’t burst my eardrums for a little while... Oh, and there’s a world where Ishmael is way easier to talk to because you can bribe her into all kinds of things with food, like she’s Rodya. Haha..."

It was nice that I could talk to someone other than the usual bunch without having to explain all kinds of personalities and context. I stared down at my hands as I mindlessly twirled and interlocked my fingers, rusty gears turning in my mind.

"The Mirror allows for direct interaction and influence with 'oneself', too. Sure, th-that can be a good thing. You could get a pat on the back from someone who can truly empathize with your situation, but... I also think it would also be easy to be controlled by someone who knows your thoughts and feelings so well," I paused. "We even saw someone who, uh..." I made empty hand movements, trying to jog my memory. "They were... Like, I think, when with the Mirror, they, with it and, well, t-the other..." I had something right on the tip of my tongue, but all of a sudden, I was drawing a total blank. It was like trying to piece together the events of a dream I'd had years ago. "Um... N-no, I guess I don't know, sorry..." I shrunk in shame, frustrated with myself and sure he'd be disappointed by my inability to express my complete thoughts. But when I looked at Demian, he seemed sympathetic.

"Yes. There are even some who, convinced that their fate should be shared by their other selves, would attempt to wrangle their reflections into the same sort of conclusion. There is hardly a greater weapon for those suffering from self-hatred to wield," he replied. I nodded at him. The recollection was vague, but I think that was about what I was going for, and I was grateful for his prodding.

"Right. Isn’t that... awful? No one on the bus ever talks about it, avoiding the topic, treating it as normal... but I know that we’re constantly devaluing each other, and we know that other people are changing their lives because of it, too. And perhaps we all think that, just maybe, that version of that individual is a little more bearable than the normal one... It makes me feel like a terrible person.”

"...I’m pleased to find that this is something you’ve spent time on. Your thoughts are very similar to mine."

"Yeah? It’s kinda against the current, so... I thought maybe you’d think something like that. You’re always chasing after some new idea, then mulling over it until you can talk about it like you’re a lifelong expert in the field."

I was grinning. But his eyebrows flattened a bit and his mouth grew ever so slightly smaller, like he was pouting.

"That is because time spent questioning the norms and expectations we surround ourselves with is always time well spent, Sinclair. I do not act nor think with the intention of standing out."

"S-sorry, sorry, that’s what I meant, yeah..." I held back a laugh. I was fascinated seeing him get a little moody, and over something so meaningless, too, but I couldn’t really say that. Swept up in the conversation, I kept going after a deep breath, taking in the distant sounds of the Nest.

"But, you know... I may know many different versions of the people I spend each day with, and it may affect the way I see them, whether or not I really want it to... but I only know one of you. When I think of 'Demian', I'll never picture anything else," I smiled sheepishly. "Isn’t that kinda romantic?"

Or... wait, is that too much? It's not like I meant it like that, but...

Instinctively, I began to backtrack. "Th-though I guess it's the same with most people I've encountered, a-and even the manager... It's not like I've seen other versions of everyone. But, it's just different, overall, is all I mean..."

"I agree with you."

His voice was gentle. I swallowed. "Y-yeah?"

"I think knowing only one of someone is an incredibly valuable thing. The kind of thing you don't know is important until it's taken away from you."

"...Do you know other me's, Demian?" I wasn't sure if it was the right question to ask, but I was suddenly too curious to help myself.

All at once, he didn't look quite as measured as he had been, and he began to quietly scan me with his eyes like he was trying to decide how to respond.

"I have no attachment to them," Wait, there's an implication in that, isn't there? "But, yes. Very... very, very many. That's just the nature of my experiences with the Mirror technology," he said, stretching his wrists while shooting a glance at the scenery, "But please, don't think that diminishes my opinion of you. This is my world. Not any of the others. I am actually quite averse to the idea that any two people should be the same, or at least that they should have any inkling that the other exists. I am quite certain you already understand what I'm getting at, but for the sake of presenting my complete thoughts, I'll tell you that I usually think of it as a matter comparable to gardening."

"How does that work?" I asked, stepping over a rock.

"A farmer should get to believe, wholeheartedly, that his beloved plant, or his cattle, or his fox, or anything else, is the most unique and precious in the entire universe. Never... should he have to discover that there are a million others just like it. Because even if they look the same as his own, they will never, ever be his. Even if they have grown better and stronger and healthier, it was not by his hand, so it should not matter at all. Yes, he should never have to know of others in the first place."

I nodded. "And you have plants, and cattle, and foxes, Demian?"

He seemed pleased to see me falling in line with his analogy. "Of course I do, Sinclair."

And because I felt like I shouldn't ask any more than that, and perhaps because he didn't want to fill my head with any more thoughts that weren't of my own creation, a silence settled in. I would be lying if I claimed not to be at least a little on edge, but I was much more comfortable strolling and staring wordlessly out at the landscape with him than I would have imagined. I recalled it being much harder for me to spend time with him a couple of years ago, back at school. He never spoke to me about sports, grades, or what kind of prosthetics we wanted. Nor did he lure me into a space to admit that I never wanted any prosthetics at all. Rather, Demian... spoke of concepts, ideas, and perspectives, attempting to procure my interest with a new way of thinking of something everyday, and if unsuccessful, settling on the hope that one day when I heard someone else bring it up again, I would call back to what he had told me of it and then give it more thought than I would have otherwise. To be honest, it was hard to hook a sheltered seventeen-year-old onto that kind of thing, much less during one of the most difficult times of his previously warm and simple life. But, in the long run, Demian had won. I could recall a time I’d gotten into a short argument with Ishmael over the worth of the Outskirts compared to the City. Another time where I’d had the gall to question our distinctions between human and nonhuman, or whether our level of reliance on the Mirror was safe. Most likely, I'd just needed to grow into myself and experience more of the world in order for his words to actually mean something to me.

Still...

I felt a lump in my chest. Or maybe my throat. There was a sense of dissatisfaction. Of course I had wanted to talk to him again, of course it was nice to talk some things through, to feel better about where we stand! But there would always be a hill with Demian. One that I didn't know if I could ever hike over. And the warm feeling faded as I let those thoughts back in, tangling and untangling my fingers, sitting on a sense of frustration. Without thinking about it too much, my steps began to slow.

Despite that, the silence continued on for a while. I knew he knew what I was feeling. It must've been that he was giving me the chance to speak first... and eventually gave up on that hope after too many sorry seconds had passed.

"What can I do for you, Sinclair?"

"...Don't you already know?"

"I would like it if you communicated with me."

I let out a small huff, even having known that he would respond like that. As I allowed myself to indulge in more and more of my worries, my mood continuously soured, breaking the peace we'd had only minutes ago. There were a number of things that I was willing to overlook for the sake of a friendly reunion, but I was inevitably unable to maintain a sense of satisfaction with our largest elephant unaddressed. Without thinking, I set my hands apart and brought one of them to my mouth, chewing at the thumbnail under my gloves.

"You're doing something big now... I can tell... That's–that's fine! I-I can trust that it's a good thing, or, I don't know... but... I just can't get over it. The past. I don’t know if I can just… stand here and ignore it."

".........."

I finally hit a still with my pace, and he followed my halt, stopping in place a short distance away. I spoke again with a weighty tone.

"Why... did you do that?"

Demian's eyes were serious as he looked fixedly at me. He knew not to ask for clarification and just allowed me to continue.

"You know what you did. With... Kromer." It came out hesitantly at first, but as I kept talking, my tone grew more desperate and exasperated.

"It's okay that you killed her. I understand that there's no perfect world where I failed against her and then got to come back for a second chance. But, i-if you were always so smart, so powerful, why...!" Without my gloves, I would've been making serious dents in my skin and nails with my teeth. My words elevated to a shout. "Why did you allow her to exist at all?! C-couldn't you tell?! You knew she hoped to hurt us, didn't you?! Or maybe you just couldn't be damned to bother with anything as worldly as that, huh?! It's sick!!!"

My voice was cracking, and I felt that my pointed gaze was about to burn holes into the ground as I yelled without meeting his gaze. Out and beyond us, lights continued to blink, and buildings continued to rumble in unpredictable intervals. It all seemed to slip away from me. I was most aware of the feeling of the ground beneath my feet out of everything. My chest heaved, but began to slow.

"She... she took everything from me," I cried, somewhat faintly. "My life has changed so much more than I ever could've wanted it to, in a way more wretched than it possibly could've been fair to put me through... Why... didn't you help me? Why only play the role of some kind of hero once it was too late? Why..."

My voice faded into the wind. I was holding myself back.

Out of the corner of my vision, I could see him straighten up. He took one of his pale hands out of his pockets and twisted to stand more parallel to me.

"I did not know of Franz Kromer's exact intentions," he began, and only then did I turn to face him with hesitance. "For a long time, it was very clear to me that she was a wicked individual. I understood that she thought of you as more of a plaything to reap excitement and gratification from than a peer to find understanding in, but I could not know to what extent she might go for her fantasies or if she would even have the manpower to carry them out." He turned to look straight at me. "Understand, Sinclair, that I by no means ever liked her. In fact, from the beginning, I felt you would be better off inviting her to the back of the schoolyard and caving her skull in with a shovel, rather than continue to squirm beneath her grip. If you had asked me, I would have been happy to help you rid yourself of her, no matter how dirty the method." With a thin expression, Demian closed his eyes. "But you never asked me for anything. ...So I remained on standby. I only ever hoped you would push off against the ground and soar sooner or later. If it was sooner, you would have gone to me, your parents, a teacher, even, and reported Kromer's questionable behavior, and some kind of preventative action could have been taken. But it was later... And, of course... as fate would have it, that road was much more uphill."

I was trying to listen with fairness. I didn't think his words were malicious. Yet it was unfathomably difficult not to jump into full on aggression, pointing fingers at him for his inaction and deflecting as much blame as possible from myself. His words and the lack of accountability possessed an undeniable cruelty, regardless of if his excuses weren't incomprehensibly unreasonable. My chest grew hot with anger and frustration, and emotional habit led me to wrestle with my fingers still, continually attempting to pick at my skin through my gloves. The setting sun flashed uncomfortably in my eyes as I teetered in place.

"I...!"

But suddenly, I felt myself deflate. Maybe it was inevitable, given how quickly I'd gotten myself worked up. A wave of guilt crashed into me with full force without warning, drowning out all of the heat with a murky tightness in my throat. I could now only think of myself.

"You... G... Hic..." my voice cracked pathetically. Very quickly, my narrowed eyes welled with tears, and I seemed to give up myself up to self-hatred. "I know... I know it was my fault," I lamented. "Am I just... a horrible son? I... I sh-should have told someone... or back then, just managed to kill her myself, somehow... Wh-why couldn't I..."

I began to choke out wretched sobs in my attempt to speak. Demian did not act immediately, but instead remained still. Something close to a minute must have passed by with tears sliding down my face and him gazing silently at the landscape. I was embarrassed that I had seen him again after all of this time and had almost immediately started saddling him with all of my trauma, guilt, and rage, but at the same time, I didn't think I cared at all. It might've been because I was seeing a distant face. Ultimately, the seconds were slow and heavy. There were no sounds but that of nature and my weeping.

"We've all made mistakes in our lifetimes," he eventually said. He must have moved closer to me without me looking; his hand hit my shoulder and patted it a couple times before settling on my upper arm. I forced myself to look up at him.

In that moment, some of my anguish gave way to confusion as I watched him take an uncharacteristically long pause. The peculiarity was only exasperated by his decision to call all of my attention to him before this speechless intermission, and not knowing what to do, I remained locked in this posed staring contest with him for longer than felt natural. Though I looked at him earnestly with my creased face, I couldn't see anything he was trying to communicate with me in his eyes. He'd just stopped all of a sudden, with his eyebrows marginally furrowed and mouth just barely ajar. He blinked only once.

It was probably wrong to project the volatile feelings I had as a human being onto something like him. But to me, as a person, right then and there, how strange it was—that he just seemed like he couldn't find the words he was looking for.

Yet, for as much as the pause stood out to me, it must have been no more than three seconds. At last, he removed his hand and opened his mouth softly. What came was a conclusion that I never would have anticipated from him.

"I'm sorry that you had to go through what you did, Sinclair."

And there I found myself forcefully drawn out of a trance of sorts by his unexpectedly sincere response. I stared at his visage with weary eyes and blurry vision, trying to decide what I felt and what I should do about it. I instinctively knew that he meant what he said, despite the near-blank expression he wore. Or if he was so detached from this world that he didn't, or couldn't, mean it... It seemed as if it was a sincere attempt to meet me at my level.

When the tears began welling in my eyes again, I think I realized that was enough to convince me of something.

At that point I could only sniffle with shaking shoulders before finally letting my composure leave me once more. I flopped my head roughly against his chest and found myself continuing my sobs there. The action wasn't so much of an attempt at a hug or a grasp as the kind of headbutt a pet might engage in when quietly asking its owner for attention. Vulnerable yet restrained. I felt pathetic nonetheless. Here I was, looking to fill a void of physical affection and reassurance that'd been created with the death of my parents. Maybe this wasn't something I should be doing with him, but I certainly couldn't imagine doing it with any of the people I spend each and every day with.

I felt him freeze up under my touch, until he eventually found it in himself to move again, and placed his arms over my convulsing shoulders in a mechanical gesture. There was no warmth to his skin.

.........

...Heavy thoughts began to file in.

I've always tried to extend as much pity to the people around me as I can. Someone who’s acting against us but seems to have understandable motives. Random encounters on the street that I have a hard time believing are a result of only malice and greed. People trying to get by in this scary, absurd world. Why wouldn’t I, when losing things is so hard? There’s always someone waiting for someone else to come back home. I don’t want to believe that the common man is so bad that they don’t deserve my kindness.

And then there are those I can’t find it in me to forgive. Kromer. The Inquisition as a whole. People whose smiles are not even disguises, but only pleasantries tacked on top of ulterior motives. People like Cesara and the captain Ishmael hated so much.

It really might be an oversimplification to allow everyone you meet to fall into these basic categories of forgivable and unforgivable. I know this could be considered childish, but I still allow myself to divvy up the world with lines too straight for the task.

Because... it’s comfortable.

So you cause me nothing but anguish with an attitude that I can’t decide should be met with understanding or anger. You, who fascinates me. You, who evades me. You, who makes me dream of more than I am. You, who has wronged me somewhat... are difficult to fit into a box.

And the only thing worse than that is how much it enthralls me. How could others not be enraptured by an individual whose smile seems so shallow yet whose eyes appear the deepest in the world?

But these complicated feelings just led me away from the sorrow and back to frustration. When I found it in me to speak again, still leaning against him, the words were impure.

"You never warned me, even though you knew what was coming..." I ground my teeth. "You’ve always looked at me like there’s more you want to say... You... only took Kromer away from me once it was too late, once I’d tried to do it myself... I... loathe you, you know."

When I didn’t finish the sentiment myself, he added to it in a small voice.

"...But?"

".........."

So we both soaked in the silence of an incomplete thought, filling in the empty space ourselves. That's right. Because if you're so good at picking apart the cogs in my brain, then you don't need me to say any more than that, anyway. Maybe you'll just get a laugh out of my immaturity.

When I finally separated myself from his hold after wiping my eyes, stepping the other direction to look back up at him from a short distance away, Demian appeared amused after all. After a moment of shock on my part–even despite my expectations–all I could do was scowl at him with stained cheeks. This only seemed to amuse him more, and he cocked his head at me.

"You can't help but assume that I am judging you for these feelings, but it's an important quality to be able to express oneself, even if only partially. What matters to me is that you are thinking," he tapped his head. "Sinclair, if your conclusion is entirely honest, perhaps the product of many weeks' consideration, then you are free to hate me as much as you want. I have no intention of molding you into something desirable for me."

"B-but, you're... always pushing me towards something, aren't you...? Am I supposed to believe it's not in the direction you'd like the most?"

Even if my voice wavered with the words, I remained a little snappy. He closed his eyes in thought for a moment before continuing with a somewhat commendable patience.

"I want to see you grow. From my perspective, you have things somewhat backwards. It's not that you're going somewhere, leading me to steer you in a particular direction, but that you're already going in the direction I favor, so I'd like to see you get there."

I couldn't tell if that was any real reassurance.

"It... kinda scares me, to have someone who can apparently see so much of me, so easily," I confessed timidly, breaking from his gaze. He moved so that his face would once again be in my direct line of vision, and made for a low blow:

"Yet it interests you greatly, does it not?"

"Ah..."

There he goes, reading my mind again. Demian extended his hand in an elaborate gesture, and for a moment my heart rate spiked, as I was sure he was about to pull me back into his arms. Instead, his hand landed on my forehead. I relaxed for a moment before tensing up at the realization this was hardly any less embarrassing. The touch of his frigid hand just above my eyes was enough to make my face hot, and I could only sit breathlessly as he carefully pushed back my hair and traced lines I couldn't see.

"You interest me, too. Very much so. You understand that I treat you differently than everyone else?"

"W-well," I started, my foot tapping with anxiety. Suddenly, I was having a hard time remembering to be grumpy with him as I felt the pull of an attempt to make peace. It gave me a complicated feeling. "I... guess... You... weren't kind to Kromer, but she definitely deserved that. And I never really saw you talk to others at school, but I figured they might've bored you, or you didn't have anything in common, or something. I wasn't really talkative, either." Even though the uncertainty was real, it was a somewhat avoidant answer, and I was no longer making eye contact.

"Are you suggesting you felt that way yourself?"

"Oh...! I... don't know..." Did I let something slip there? He seemed to think so. "I-I mean, there were always people I could chat with if I wanted, but... especially the older we got, I guess I felt a little left out. Or, not that they were excluding me or anything! I just didn't fit in on my own."

"You never told me any of this."

I glanced up at him again, and was surprised to see a slight shift in expression that almost seemed like disappointment. Again, he was pointing out my lack of communication with him during those days. For a second, I remembered the times back at school when I'd been able to tell he wanted to know more about me, and yet I'd continuously held myself back, drenched in worries and shame. But he couldn't possibly care about that. So in a cheap refusal to admit guilt, I grew defensive. I didn't want him to be right, and I didn't want to be buddy-buddy with Demian so soon after venting at him.

"You can just read anything from me anyway, can't you?" I snapped.

He stared at me like he was conducting an examination for several seconds, and I felt guilty under his gaze until he eventually broke into a small sigh. He took his hand off of my forehead.

"You shouldn't assume that any man knows everything. In fact, if someone ever tells you they do, that's all the more reason not to believe it." Miss Faust came to mind for a moment, but I just allowed him to continue without interruption. "What you can gather from others without speaking to them is important, yes, and a skill that might be used to assess potential, or possible companionship. But when people must build off each other, it should not be done through assumptions. Those of us that are being read by others need also not grow complacent, forgetting how to express themselves. Besides, I would like to hear more from you. Do you think I would enjoy talking to someone whose every thought I could read, Sinclair? The reality is that sometimes I may detect dishonesty from you and lend greater merit to my own assessment, but so long as you are true to yourself, what you have to say on your own thoughts is far more important than what I could ever make of them. Just like the process of taming an animal, where one party might inevitably put in more effort, laying out treats and conducting a schedule... the animal must still understand what the sound of those familiar footsteps suggests, and step forward to take the food from one's hand. The construction of a relationship is mutual."

It was a little difficult to take in such a long string of words, but I was putting in my best effort. Eventually, I replied, looking down.

"...You wish I would meet you where you've always been, huh." There was no immediate response from him.

I'm really... just the worst. Making way for the death of my family, the death of my entire town... Running around my parents' backs when they were alive, questioning and looking down on them, admitting to Kromer that I'd felt that their bodies were worth much less than ours. Living aimlessly and joining a shady company because they promised me something I needed in the midst of my haphazardness, taking a little too long to find out that the job didn't fit me at all. Struggling against that wretched bitch, only to fall short... And you. What am I even doing with you? Should I despise you for the strange, bystander's role you've played in my suffering? Or should I just disregard all of that and admit that I'm inexplicably fond of you, with your riddles, your prodding, and your own bias towards me? I don't get it. I can't fathom why I'm always hoping to catch a glimpse of you on our adventures or why I've mourned the fact you weren't visiting me yourself. I don't understand why you think so much of me out of everyone else in the City. I don't get it at all.

...But I guess I'm finding, that despite all of these conflicting thoughts, I vastly prefer getting to clash with you like this over the long and frustrating gaps in our relationship.

I want to get along. I want to understand you. I want you to talk to me.

You're the only thing in this entire world remaining of my old life, you know?

In the end, all I could do was sink my head down into my collar, taking away his ability to see my face. And I sighed with great exasperation, as muffled as it was. "Oh, Demian..."

He then allowed me another moment of contact by placing his hand atop my lowered head. Not a pat or a ruffling of my hair, but just a tempered and quiet reminder of his presence. Despite the absurdity of the situation, I was plenty embarrassed and emotional over the feeling of his hand gently lying against my scalp. It almost felt as if I was being absolved of something.

"I hope that you can come to resolve all of your worries, dear Sinclair," he spoke, with a tone that didn't sound disingenuous. I bet you're well aware that you're the source of many of them, I thought regardless, with some level of scrutiny. Still, maybe despite my better judgement, I felt considerably happy overall.

Some awkwardness hung in the air after that, at least on my end. At this point we were no longer walking, but just standing and watching as the sun set and the shadows made their attempts to encapsulate the land, neither of us speaking nor moving. I felt a little heavy, like I always did after crying. I thought that he might want to bail after my little outburst, but that didn't seem to be the case yet. I glanced over at him.

Back at school, Demian had had this habit of ending conversations very abruptly. I kind of doubted that it had anything to do with his social battery, but it was reminiscent of introverts suddenly realizing that they had no more desire to socialize and making a very curt and unexpected exit. As if he was deciding that the conversation had reached the limit of its usefulness, he would let me know that he was done for the day, sometimes to the point of cutting me off, sometimes with thoughtfulness and sometimes with a degree of frustration, before simply taking his leave. Of course, this was an annoying habit, even for Demian. Yet I had little hope of shaking someone with so much conviction out of this quirk, for he was undoubtedly one of the most obstinate people I knew, at least at the time. As such, I'd settled on teaching myself the signs that he was about to withdraw. He was always advising me that eyes were the window to the soul, and true to his word, I was eventually able to tell when he was reaching his limit just by studying his.

That was to say that I was starting to see that familiar cloudiness settle into his usually striking pupils. I didn't feel offended; I was actually very surprised that he'd been with me for several hours now. He must have been trying to be considerate of me. It made me feel moderately cheerful, as I was also trying to be considerate of him, avoiding certain topics that I was horribly curious about but imagined he didn't want to address right now.

"Would you be open to doing something with me, Demian?" I finally asked. He would probably leave me feeling somewhat sour if he were to take off right here and now. As much as walking around and talking was enjoyable, I thought it might be fun to end with some kind of actual activity.

"I suppose so. I could offer a suggestion or two, but I assume that you have something in mind?"

"Yeah… Well, this is what I was planning to do with Xichun, but…" I began rummaging around in the large pockets on the inside of my coat. Rodya could fit rows upon rows of snacks in her pockets, so it was no surprise that I could hold as many paper sheets and colored pencils as I was. "Because of all of her new stresses, I thought that she'd want to do something simple and relaxing if we were going to hang out. So I actually have a whole bunch of drawing supplies with me."

I made my way to the side of the path—not that I anticipated anyone bumping into us here, anyway—and began setting everything down. I didn't have anything unexpected. It was two clipboards, a bunch of blank paper, a couple of coloring sheets, and then an assortment of writing and coloring utensils grouped by their particular shade. I sat down on the pavement, laying a clipboard and a sheet of paper on my lap, then looked at him with a welcoming, if somewhat shy, expression, like a peace offering after our early interaction. Like I hadn't spent this entire evening flip-flopping between being happy or angry with him.

"C'mon. Remember how we used to draw back at school?"

"Of course I do." He took a seat at my side and began grabbing a few supplies of his own. "How could I forget the time you were goaded into drawing a rude caricature of your mean old history teacher by a few of your more ignorant classmates, and were subsequently caught and put in detention for it? I remember you cried and cried, as old as we were, because it was the first academic infraction of your life."

"H-H-HEY! LET'S NOT…! BRING THAT UP, OKAY?!" I stammered with a jump, voice cracking. "That… that was… it was just a misunderstanding…"

"Mm. My bad, then," he mused, entertained and not the least bit convinced. His gaze was no longer on me, but intent on the white sheet of paper before him as he began to draw thin strokes with his pencil.

"I mean… we'd sometimes do this at lunch, wouldn't we? I a-always liked seeing your landscapes, Demian. I can make something look like itself, and that's about it… You were always really good with the details, like the shading and hatching and stuff."

"There's no need to tear down your own work, Sinclair. I was quite impressed by many of your own creations back during those days," he said, still looking down. "In fact, I must admit, at the risk of disappointing you, that my art has shifted to a style much more similar to yours over these past couple of years."

"What?! Why?"

I received no response. For about half a minute, Demian just continued sketching in silence. Finally, he lifted his head back up, and held out his drawing in front of his chest.

"What is this, Sinclair?" He asked. On his canvas was what appeared to be a familiar animal drawn in minimal, abstract dark lines.

"Well…" I hesitated, wondering if the question was as straightforward as it seemed. Unless he was trying to trick me, which was a possibility I was open to, the answer was obvious. "It's a bird."

"Good. It's a bird. But it hardly looks like the real birds that you come across every day, does it? There are no feathers drawn, no colors, two fewer toes, and only simple shapes used. In fact, this drawing is only composed of what—five, six very stylized lines? Yet you could still tell it was a bird. I've come to feel that this kind of art is far more impressive than just imitating life with as many strokes as possible, spoon-feeding the subject of the artwork to the viewer. You helped me realize that."

"Eh? I did really like your old style, though…" I admitted sloppily, letting my disappointment at the change seep out. It was less that I disliked what he was showing me now, but more that it was hard to see Demian stooping to my level as anything but a downgrade.

"I can still draw that way if I'd like. I've found more fun in making things like this and seeing others guess at them, however."

"I-is this just a roundabout way of teasing me for the sheep thing?" I asked about an old and embarrassing memory in a low voice. I was self conscious enough to not really buy into what he was saying.

"Of course not!" Demian asserted, with a little more emotion than I was used to seeing from him. It was enough to startle me somewhat. "That was genius, Sinclair. Depicting an animal without actually drawing it, trusting the audience to fill in the blanks? That was inspiring for me. All good men should learn to see with their hearts, rather than their eyes."

"Ah… Thank you," I spoke warmly, starting to believe that he really meant it. Then I fiddled with the pencil in my hands and decided to work on something of my own.

Back at our high school in Calw, drawing was one of the few things that Demian and I would do together. Like we had today, we spent most of our time talking, strolling around the campus courtyard or sitting off in a corner of the classroom discussing the philosophical, but if we were going to do more than that, it would usually be art. He was the type to draw from life, and he was quite good at it, too. Back then he was in the habit of doodling during lectures and getting scolded by teachers who never actually punished him for it; after all, Demian had always teetered the line between acting as a model student and a miscreant, securing impressive grades and treating the staff with great politeness while also breaking the rules he didn't feel fit him without a hint of shame. Although we weren't in the same class, I got the impression that art was somewhat of a social activity for him. No doubt that he used it to further his personal introspections, but I think he also enjoyed hearing other people's impressions of his work and finding out how they viewed the world through their own pieces.

On the other hand, I had taken up drawing as an independent hobby. It was something that my parents had disapproved of, perceiving it as overly feminine, and I could recall my father chiding me after catching me doodling on more than one occasion, exasperated that his only son wouldn't pick up a sport or take any interest in his work as a businessman. This had made me feel somewhat misunderstood and detached from my parents at a young age, and was perhaps the precursor to our ultimate disconnect in my later teen years. Those events had led me to retreat into myself, nearly dropping art altogether, and when I did draw it was exclusively at school, carrying enough guilt to build a museum out of the distress that came with not fitting into the pre-established role my other family members seemed to be. It was only by some pathetic coincidence that Demian had discovered my suppressed love of art and brought me back into that world by encouraging me to keep up with it. His support ended up meaning a lot to me, for as long as it took me to realize as much. It was both relieving and beyond terrifying that someone was around to compliment my abilities and criticize my parents for their shortsighted views. Because of him, I kept drawing throughout and out of high school, maintaining it as one of my pastimes of choice even today, and relying on it as a therapeutic endeavor across many of my lowest circumstances. How strange it was that Kromer's direction against my family had saddled me with a comparable amount of anxiety and guilt, yet my willingness to follow her lead had ended with an indescribably worse outcome.

The pencil fidgeted uselessly through my fingers in the meanwhile, me giving my work skeptic squints. This eventually gave way to a sigh.

"Mmm… it's just not happening for me today," I said at last, taking my eyes off of my paper riddled with scratches and other vandalism of unsatisfactory sketches. I imagined that I would've been able to draw just fine with my expected partner, but I felt a little more pressure to produce something impressive with Demian, and I had been failing to meet my own expectations for that. With a quiet sigh of resignation, I set the clipboard down and flopped down onto my back. It didn't feel amazing to lie on plain pavement, especially in comparison to the grass we'd sometimes spread out across back in the schoolyard, but it wasn't all that bad. Beside me, Demian remained seated.

"All that reminiscing and you're not going to produce something proper?" He asked without looking up from his work.

"R-reminiscing?"

"There was no shortage of nostalgia on your face. Were you thinking about how challenging yet rewarding it was to have someone encourage you not to pay so much heed to your parents' wishes about art?"

"H-hey…" I retorted meekly, staring at his back from my position on the ground.

"Don't feel ashamed of it. It's good to think about that sort of thing." Then he turned around to face me. With an offhanded tone, he asked, "Want me to draw you?"

"When I'm lying on the ground like this? Not really…" His offer didn't sound serious, so I didn't bother rising to it. If I were to try to draw Demian, it would've been an incredibly lengthy, thoughtful endeavor; I had to imagine it would be the same the other way around and that he was just ribbing me.

He moved his head a bit in response as if to say "Ah, you got me", and with that, he laid down next to me after setting down his own supplies and placing his neatly folded artwork into his pocket. His back hit the pavement, and from his position to my right, he turned his head to face mine. We weren't any closer together than before, but there was something more embarrassing about lying side by side compared to just sitting. I felt a little disarmed in this overly casual position, and somehow it was only by that thought that I actively recalled the fact that I was dealing with someone who was probably incomprehensibly powerful. Someone who could kill my scariest foes with just a flick of his wrist. I just stared at him and the way his dark hair fell into his eyes as my heart rate began to spike and I put more thought into the situation. This was safe, right?

"I don't think you should be scared, Sinclair," he told me unprompted after we had spent a while looking at each other.

"I-I guess not… You're pretty intimidating though, Demian."

"Yet you've been rather comfortable for the majority of our outing. Enough to lambast me somewhat." He raised his eyebrows a little as he said this, then settled his expression to something casual again before continuing. "That's a good thing. Don't give others the power to subdue or silent you. That's how you get taken advantage of–one must always know how to stand their ground."

"........."

For whatever reason, there was something about those words that I found somewhat annoying to hear.

Rather bravely, I stuck out my hand and then grabbed his without warning. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him emit something akin to surprise, and it flooded me with a wave of smug satisfaction. His hand was limp under mine. I wrestled with it until I was holding it with a firm finger on his inner wrist. Several seconds passed like that.

"...So you do have a pulse," I said, dropping his hand. "Then you're right. I could stand my ground against you like anyone else."

In some ways it felt like a conclusion to our earlier discussion. I have some qualms with Demian. I don't always understand or agree with him. But if he really gave me a reason to abhor him, I wouldn't just let that pass. We would fight it out.

There was no shortage of interest in his eyes as he looked at me. Eventually, he smiled.

"Good for you, then."

"Mhm," I smiled back, perhaps a little cheekily. "...Ah."

I turned my head back toward the sky to discover that the Sun had finally set. Though it was now dark, it wasn't a problem in the way of getting around. We were just barely illuminated by a nearby streetlight, and even outside of that, there was no shortage of fluorescent billboards lighting up Hongyuan in a kaleidoscopic array of dots. I knew that lanterns also lined the inner fence of Daguanyuan in a similar fashion, which was surely supplying us with a small backlight that I just couldn't catch from my position. What did make me regret how early night fell at this time of year, however, was the realization that I could barely see my feet. There wasn't so much light near us that I would be able to do anything intricate.

"There goes the day," I mused into the depths of black and navy. "I guess we couldn't draw now even if we wanted to…"

"That's true. But there's something refreshing about the primitiveness of being restricted by the time of day," he spoke, looking up alongside me. "To think that mankind spent so long like that, and now we have the option to spend every single hour we have in utter radiance if we so desire, sleeping and waking up whenever we please. I couldn't live every day in such a way, of course, but I do try to hand nature that old control over my schedule every once in a while."

"Ooh…" I might have thought that was a little stupid coming from someone else, or even if I just thought about it more deeply, but at that moment, told to me by Demian, it sounded like a very respectable and intelligent thing to do. "You'd probably go to bed pretty early like that, right? Well, like, super early… I mean, I don't really think of myself as someone who goes to bed early, but some of the other Sinners like making fun of me for my routine, so, in comparison to me, it'd have to be… N-no, I'm just getting distracted. It's not that that actually really means anything there, uh… the thought just came up, is all. Sorry..."

"I see. What does your routine usually look like?"

"Oh, umm… I'll usually go to bed sometime between 10 to 10:30 and then wake up around 7. N-not that I'd be able to wake up much later without it messing with our intended work schedules, but I'm not lazy like Heathcliff or Rodya, who would sleep in past noon given the chance... I quite like the early hours of the day, actually. They're quiet and comfortable."

When he didn't reply right away, I glanced over at him to find him thinking with an ever-so-slightly furrowed brow.

"...I don't agree with the idea that something before 10PM, much less after it, should be considered too early a time to retire for the night," he said.

Looks like Demian has his own opinions on what should count as a socially acceptable bedtime… I wanted to laugh. We should've had a sleepover back in the day–I'd finally be with someone who'd end up falling asleep before me. I just made a small, friendly noise in response.

We were quiet for a long time after that. Both of us lay with our gazes trained on the heavens, wordlessly allowing an inevitable exhaustion begin to set in. I could tell that he was more tired than I was, yet from my side I could catch his eyes continuing to twinkle with unyielding interest and introspection at a night sky that wouldn't twinkle back at him. Still, those dark pupils of his were very cloudy by now. Worried about the chances of one of us falling asleep like this, I made to sit up. He watched me as I did and then followed suit.

Hongyuan kept shifting in the distance, now lit by only the artificial illuminations of its countless vendors. When the Sinners and I had first arrived here, I'd spent my time watching the turning landscape with incessant anxiety, horrified at the thought of innocent people falling from the comfort of their homes and to their deaths. Yet after seeing Hong Lu admit to wanting a kinder future for his District, and Xichun vow to institute something like that, I wasn't so concerned with keeping my eyes trained on the public tragedies that I knew were happening somewhere out there. Even if the land was yet to be blessed with those promising changes, knowing that progress was being made seemed to calm my heart.

"The air is stagnant here," Demian finally spoke. If it weren't for the strange solemness between us, I would've been a lot more surprised to hear him say something so akin to small talk. Actually, the entire exchange we just had was a little less academic than he tended to prefer, wasn't it?

"I r-realize now that it was a luxury..." I replied, "but I really miss all the trees and nature that we grew up around. The air was so much more full, and even just the ground itself felt different." I caught his eye momentarily, which quietly clicked something obvious into place for me. After a slight hesitation, I gave him a sad smile. "...No, but you didn't grow up in K Corp., did you?"

Demian gave a small shake of his head. "No. We may still be quite young, you and I, but everything considered, our time in District 11 was still a very short period of my life." Squinting into the twilight, he looked up. "The sky here is rather dull, with nothing but manmade allurements to show for itself. There were so many stars in the Outskirts…" He had a strange look on his face. Then he continued.

"I, too, have things I miss, dear Sinclair. From my perspective, Calw was quite lacking."

With that, he promptly stood up.

"Wh-what? But I think it was pretty great...!" Without any thought, I stood up after him, blurting out something rather stupid. I then watched, in painfully real time, as his mouth curved into a familiar smile, wordlessly making fun of me.

Maybe I'd been acting too unlike myself for too long. I fell into my usual messy behavior, reddening. "W-w-well, I just mean, um..." I let out a pathetic sigh and continued in a small voice. "Sorry... Um, obviously that doesn't change your opinion or anything..."

There was something unique about the appearance of someone under just one warm lamppost amongst a sea of blackness. He just continued to laugh at me with his dark eyes, and that look of his almost made me feel like I was flying. I really liked his face.

Demian had always appeared almost inhuman, boyish and mature, masculine and feminine, with pale skin that seemed to repel whatever forces of nature attempted to tan, mark, or define it. Rusty brown hair that just dragged over his ears and eyes. Oh, I loved his eyes. I remember Rodya making fun of his appearance once in a way that really sounded like she meant it. I didn't really get that at all. Nothing was more enamoring to me than the fact that I could never see my reflection in his pupils, and it frightened me, frightened me in a way which always made me look again, supplying me with a small addictive thrill as that incomprehensibly deep void met me over and over. He looked like an empty vessel for something greater than ourselves, born to reside above the City. But sometimes I would see real curiosity or affection in his face, and it would remind me of a predator defying all of its instincts in order to let a prey animal doze peacefully, like he was constantly redefining what he was born for just because he had liked something I said. The sight left me with a heavy, incomprehensible ache accompanied with a feeling akin to grief.

It wasn't all that weird that I was thinking about that right now. I knew that I needed to etch his appearance into my brain while I could. He was about to leave again.

"Demian," I started, flattening out my hair with absentminded anxiety. "...You'll tell me about all of that eventually... won't you?"

He understood that I was still talking about personal details like our hometowns.

"Yes. I think there will come a day for that."

Although looking at him, it was obvious that it wasn't today. I had no desire to push him on it, as morbidly curious as I was. I wonder where his parents are. I wonder what his sister looked like. I wonder if he has a favorite food. With how strange he is, does he even have a sense of taste? Does he have many preferences at all? Why didn't I ask any of this back at school?

The earth momentarily left me as I lent my mind to these thoughts. It must have been far too obvious that I was giving my attention away to pointless curiosity and questions.

"Leave some thinking for later, okay, Sinclair? Thought is best spent when the mind is ready for it."

He took a step forward and placed an affirming hand on my shoulder. Immediately, I felt that I wanted to lean my head into it. But why? And there was no good reason to do that. I just stood in place, glad that I was wearing gloves. My hands were so sweaty.

"O-of course."

And he gave me another light smile before removing his hand. His final few words were curt, and very like him.

"I will be going now. You understand that both of us have things to do. I hope that you will continue to impress me going forward."

He made to move away, but then there was a pause, and he turned back toward me with a heavy stare. I could only stare back. Then he straightened up. Another moment passed before he gave me a short instruction from a curved mouth.

"Close your eyes, Sinclair."

"Wh... W-wh-what?! I–wuhh, o-okay!" I slurred in shock before the request set in enough for me to do as he said. If I were to look back on this moment, accurate assessment or not, I would be quite ashamed to have assumed such an immodest intent before any other possible explanation.

Ultimately, I couldn't say why I complied with such a request, for there was no reason that I could be satisfied with. What followed must have been the worst anticipation of my life, waiting for him to do something, craning desperately for enough sound to figure out how close he was to me, and turning up empty in the face of someone whose feet never touched the ground. I stood blind, tortured in a pool of my own sweat.

At last, I felt his fingers wrap around the back of my neck. I flinched at the unexpected, icy touch and could only keep waiting. I felt his breath on my face. I think I moved mine in response, hoping that I wasn't shaking too much. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Finally, I felt him exhale as he let out a minuscule chuckle and pulled back before meeting me, fingers dragging along my collarbone as he left me without anything to remember him by. Even though it must not have been, something about the touch was agonizingly slow and gentle. I felt an absence the moment it departed.

"I'll keep my expectations high."

I opened my eyes and saw him standing right in front of me with the same mystic smirk as always. My lower face was still warm from where he had let out that small breath. When I blinked to bring his figure into fuller focus, he was gone.

"Y-you always make me take up your turn on cleaning duty, Rodya! How about you take some responsibility for your own stuff, for once?!" I slammed the broom onto the floor. Reacquired paper and pens collided unceremoniously with each other throughout my inner pockets. "I-I have other things I wanna do too, you know! Do it yourself...!" My footsteps were loud as I moved to storm off. Rodion looked genuinely befuddled. The other few Sinners in the entryway with us took just as much of a pause.

"Well, someone's in a bad mood." Ishmael commented. Behind us, Ryōshū let out an approving whistle. Heathcliff broke into a smirk.

"What's all this then? The lad's finally sticking up for himself, eh?"

"S-S-Sinc!!" Rodya stammered after me. "Hey, hey, I was just joking, ya know that, right?! C'mooon... I wouldn't saddle you with my turn on cleaning duty... for the... fourth week in a row, haha..."

"T.A.O." Talk About Overkill, Ryōshū replied. Wordlessly, I made my way to the right part of Mephistopheles' Corridor, and threw myself past my respective door with an effective and obnoxious slam. The rooms were soundproofed for each other, but would still pick up sounds in the hallway (however that worked). Though muffled, the Sinners' voices continued to trickle in.

"You really screwed up this time, huh?" Ishmael teased.

"Agh!!! Geez, c'mon!! How was I supposed to know that he'd snap on me like that? Gosh, do you think he'll forgive me on his own by tomorrow, or will I have to come crawling to him with make-up gifts...? Ugh, and I've been spending big lately..."

"I reckon you had that coming, lass."

"Well, I guess this was kind of an unheard day for us, to be fair. Who would expect him to be grumpy? After Vergilius telling us that we're allowed to spend the afternoon as we like, so long as we stay within a couple walls of Daguanyuan? And then Dante ending up completely fine? I had such a good time getting to spend the day by myself that not even Heathcliff's excuse of a shirt-tucking job could ruin my mood, personally."

"Pfft. T.A. So on the nose, it hurts." …That one means Truly Amateurish.

"Oh yeah? Well consider yourself matched. That lousy yapping's not doing a thing for me today," Heathcliff countered. "Still, didn't the lad spend the day with 'is study buddy? You gander they got into a squabble over something or other? Tch, he better not have walked out on her..."

"Aw, what?! Shit, but I had good money on them getting together..."

"Sinclair and Xichun?" There was surprise in Ishmael's voice. "Really? I mean, come on, didn't we all see the same old scenes back in K Co–? No, you know what, nevermind... I think he's got more work cut out for him than he would with a responsible girl like Xichun, though..."

"Hmph, for sure." A puff of smoke. "Kid's got bad taste."

"If you've got other opinions, let's see you put your money where your mouth is, you two!~ Spill it!"

And the group continued on like that.

Inside my room, I sat against the door, tormented. Gossip all you want! It's not like I care...! I thought, with enough emotion to make it obvious that I did. Yeah, let's just saddle the "kid"–who is a grown adult old enough to drink, purchase explosives, and earn a Fixer license, for the record–with anything we feel like! Why would Sinclair care?

I, myself, went on like that for a while, until I eventually tired of spitting anger out at things I wasn't genuinely upset about. In the end, I held my legs and let out a massive sigh as I drooped my head onto my knees.

Honestly, I was pretty all over the place. More than that, looking back, my conversations with Demian had been totally, disastrously all over the place. I had let my emotions shift far too much in every direction over the course of our discussion. I could hardly believe it. I had had so much to be mad at him about, and yet I went into it with such an open mind, and by the end of it, I couldn't have been more ready to forgive him for anything! And now I have even more to be mad at him about! What was–what was that at the end? I don't know what I was thinking, letting him string me along like that, feeling drawn in enough to let my guard down and give him whatever he wanted, interested in what it would feel like to–No, no, no! I could only think that he wanted to torture me psychologically for his own amusement, or to relish in how much control he had over my thoughts and feelings. Yes, I was positive that he must be literally capable of manipulating how I feel. I'd considered the possibility of that back at school too, didn't I?

But that, too, was just another layer of mental avoidance, lasting confusion and betrayal from my encounter with him. I understood that my feelings towards him really were complicated enough to naturally produce an interaction like that. Well, and that he really was just a bit horrible.

Something about Demian brought out both the best and worst in me. I felt like a slave to my emotions around him, stabbed with uncontrollable regret, irritation, love, hate, and admiration; all kinds of things I wasn't dealing with in my day-to-day life. But at the same time, there was no one who left me more introspective. When I speak to Demian, I realize how many unnatural things I care about. I find that I also have some weird opinions that neither the LCB nor my family had ever given me the room to explore. Maybe what he seats me with is something akin to… vulnerability.

It was a shame how aware I was of the deep, aching longing in my chest as I thought about my day with him. Yet, he had frustrated me so much! But I'd be doing myself a disservice by writing off these feelings as purely negative. I hated that I had enough self awareness to understand that.

I broke my arm off from where it was wrapped around my knees and began absentmindedly drawing shapes into the floor. Thinking. Feeling the heartbeat in my throat and swallowing it down. I took a big, deep breath and then threw myself to my feet with a sudden motion.

"S-stupid Demian…"

I scurried over to the small wooden desk in the corner of my room and started tearing out writing supplies. The next time I see him, I'll be prepared. I won't let him get the upper hand on me for even a moment. I'll write down all of my thoughts and organize them and rewrite and reorganize them over and over again, and I'll make sure to find some other way to trick him into feeling ten times the pain and embarrassment I felt in that moment when he pulled away…! Geez, I should've tormented him a whole lot more than just grabbing his wrist!

I practically stabbed my pen into the notebook I'd produced, my non-dominant hand resting against my forehead. I would be more than ready for him when I got to see him again.

With a slow exhale, I bit my lip in an attempt to hold back the thought that inevitably came with that.

Come talk to me again soon, okay…?

And for as long as I spent on other things, that thought never really settled, cursing me to spend every day waiting fervently for him to swing by and speak with me again. Yeah. I must be stupid, too.