Archive of Our Own

The air’s already cloyingly thick with the scent of petrichor when John walks out of his room, and the humidity clings to every single speck of air by the time he makes his way off campus. He rolls up the sleeves of his hoodie, shaking his hands to rid them of the sticky stray threads that managed to coil around his fingers. A more rational person would have checked the weather, he thinks. A more rational person would have probably been in bed by now.

It is two hours past midnight, three and a half past their curfew, and a few seconds till John screams and punches a wall or throttles some worthless piece of shit who has the misfortune of running into him. So yeah, the weather is only getting worse, but so is John. Ergo, he makes the strategic decision to flee take a break from Wellston.

He winces as he feels that familiar tug of aura as he walks out of the front gate. It's so inviting, and reassuring in the way that a tactical nuke is in the arms of an incredibly stressed teenager. Without the ability, he feels cold, vulnerable, and more than a little bit desperate; leaving himself out in the open, with all his flaws and weaknesses on display. John grits his teeth.

You're so fucking pathetic, his brain reminds him. One minute without any abilities to lash out with, and you turn so desperate. There's only one word for it, really. Pitiful. Are you scared? Of being the monster whose fangs have been yanked out? Of being the wretched creature that has its metaphorical Achilles' heel out on full display because you tore out all the protective casing yourself?

John isn't scared, if he's being honest. He's just…exhausted. There's not much point of fearing the inevitable, anyways. Monsters like him will always be put down at some point or the other. He just hopes that when the day comes, they make it quick. John knows that it's about as selfish as it gets. He doesn't deserve to wish for anything after all that he's done.

And he knows with all his heart, that he will get excactly what he deserves in the end.

He stops walking. John can just about make out the quiet thrum of Keene's aura if he closes his eyes, and even then, the ambient aura from the rest of the block that he's wandered into seems to drown that out. At that moment, he remembers what Keene's ability is. A field. Fuck, he probably knows that I've left the dorms.

But that whole rule was for the safety of the general student body, wasn't it? To make sure no one was out in the dark, and so that everyone could be accounted for. John can pretty much guarantee that all of Wellston would feel much better if he got lost, or better yet, stabbed in some random alleyway. In his defence, he doesn't give the slightest damn about what any of those fools think. They're all as worthless as him, and he doesn't pay much attention to trash. He never would have minded being the victim of a failed mugging or whatever it'd pan out to be, but his spite overwrote those thoughts. Mostly. Partly. Sera's presence had taken care of the rest.

Yeah, no one would mind that he wasn't in bed at this point. What day was it, again? Thursday, now, technically. It didn't make the slightest difference whether it was Monday or Friday at this point. The sky was above him, the ground was below, and he wasn't getting any more likeable with time. There was a whole club dedicated to making sure he was gone for good, too.

Of course more people were joining it.Power in numbers was a thing too, right? Remi, Blyke, Isen and whoever else was part of that stupid Safe House were probably waiting for the right chance to strike, to outnumber him and get rid of him for once and for all.

"The Safe House is open to everyone, and ranks don't matter," Remi had said. "John, you're welcome to join us next Monday if you'd like."

"Hah," he laughs. "What a load of lies that was."

He can't tell where Wellston is anymore, and the flickering lights do nothing to help him gauge his general vicinity. "I should have gone, I guess. Am I so much of a coward that I wanted to prolong things even more?"

A drop of something cold lands on his forearm. "Ah, fuck. It's raining."

Unlike what every other person walking around in the rain would have done. John doesn't move. He stands there, like the water could have absolved him of his sins. The rot runs too deep, and nothing short of immolation could fix that. The ashes -if a monster wouldn't just return to nothingness after it was killed - would still be tainted. For a moment, however, no matter how foolish the farce is, he can pretend.

He can pretend like he has a future, he can act like he's someone who people could care about, he can- was that a fucking cat?

John blinks. He rubs his eyes. He stares at the distinctly orange blob that's trying to shrink into itself and melt into the foliage around it. That was most definitely a cat.

And if to assuage any lingering doubts, said blob lets out a forlorn mewl, waits for a second, and cries out again. He sprints towards the cat, and crouches down by the bush.

What was he supposed to do?

In the back of his mind, John hears a familiar, low, mellifluous voice.

"Just bring your fingers together and say pspsps"

"Sera, that sounds so stupid. The cat is going to bite me if I try that."

She smirks. "Watch and learn, scaredy-cat."

The cat pads up to her outstretched hand and nuzzles into the touch. "See, it's pretty simple. Now you try."

John kneels next to his friend and whispers, "Pspsps."

The cat scrunches its nose with obvious distaste and scampers away. Sera clutches her stomach as she falls onto John with the force of her laughter. "Sera, c'mon," he whines. "Do you have to take pleasure in my misery?"

She wheezes. "When it's this comical, absolutely. Hey, at least it didn't bite you."

"Seraaa, this rejection hurt more than any physical wound could."

"Oh, you'll heal."

He's terrible with animals, naturally. It shouldn't come as a surprise that they're more perceptive than humans, and as such, are wary of him. That's not a concern right now, though- there's a cat that's shivering in the cold and the rain seems to get more unrelenting as the seconds tick by.

John places his hand in front of the kitten as slowly as he can, whilst his other arm hovers above it in a poor mimicry of a shield from the rain. He braces himself for the rebuke that is sure to follow, only to be met with something slightly warm and soft instead. Huh?

The cat lets out a soft purr, and the gentle vibrations brush against his wrist. He cards a palm through the soft, downy fur along its spine. Great, but what the fuck was he supposed to do now?

He moves his arm away from the cat and tugs his hoodie off as quickly as he can. The rain soaks through his shirt in a flash, and he winces as the cold clings to the nape of his neck. John puts the jacket down in front of the cat, and two round, electric blue eyes meet his. He pats the jacket. "Hop on in, you're going to get soaked."

Damn, he was really losing it, wasn't he? Here he was, talking to a cat. Worse still, he expected the cat to understand him. Considering that the cat hadn't scratched him yet, it clearly wasn't a paragon of wise choices. Okay, that was mean, and he had no right to judge the cat's intelligence.

"Alright, I'm sorry but this is the only way to keep you from any soggier than you already are ," John narrates as he scoops the cat and places it into his jacket. In a twist that is getting less and less shocking with time, the cat doesn't protest this movement, and instead curls up into a very content ball after a quick investigatory sniff.

"I'm going to take you with me, 'cause I don't think there's anyone else coming for you right now," John continues as he begins brisk walking back. "I guess we're both alone."

Well, at least the cat didn't deserve it.

The rain stops. John looks up ceiling. Ah, he's back. If it was up to him, he'd avoid going into the dorms, but there's a tiny cat in his arms and that practically invalidates any agency he might have had in this situation. Once John's done fumbling with the lock, he looks down at the cat, who seems to have somehow slept through the entire journey. It's a little drenched, and probably hungry, but looks none the worse for wear.

How adorable, his mind supplies, and for once, he doesn't want that part of him to shut up. John sets the cat down on his bed as he rummages through his drawers for a towel. He skips by a couple that are far too large, because he's already dealing with a soggy cat, and he doesn't want to deal with one that's lost in an endless sea of cloth either. Finally, he finds a small one, stashed away in one of the corners of the drawer, and he pulls it out. Yeah, this'll do.

Speaking of which, John realises, I should probably name the cat too. It was getting tiring calling it "the cat" in his head.

"All right, what do we call you?"

The yet-to-be named cat blinks at him. It purrs. And blinks again, because that seems to be all that the cat wants to do at this point.

"Thank you for the input."

John continues rubbing the cat with the towel, and the cat continues leaning into it. "Well, considering that you're orange and all, how about orange?"

Orange nope, that's not the name looks unimpressed. "Okay then, do you have any better ideas? Huh? Yeah, I thought so."

"Cheeto, then."

"…Please don't scratch me," John says a moment later.

John racks his brain for any name that might fit, only to fall miserably short. He never really had a knack for that, but he doesn't want to burden this poor, innocent cat with a terrible name. "Hang on, what do you think of being called Mango?"

Mango preens at the new choice. "It's settled then."

So now John has a new roommate in the form of a sleepy Mango, which is an absolute relief because he loathed every second of rooming with Blyke. Red beams of aura. Golden eyes. Fuck, he shouldn't dodge the next time Blyke aims at him. Maybe this time it'd actually go right through his skull for real. It's what he deserves, after all- to be put down like the foul monster he is.

Mango purrs, and finally rolls out of whatever burrito John had accidentally wrapped it in. Now, it tries something new; namely, experimental nibbles directed towards John's fingers. Fuck, where was he?

Shit. He had a cat to take care of. And he still didn't know what to do.

Oh right, he could just look it up.

John opens up Guru, and begins typing frantically into the search bar.

hwo to tka care of ac at

The first result is a video on how to take care of an air conditioner. Dammit, that's not what he wanted!

A few aggressive taps and the search is quickly rectified. John clicks through the first search result.

First, create a safe space for the cat. It'll take time for the cat to feel safe and comfortable. Next, provide it with running water and food. Cats don't like stagnant water. Take the cat for a health checkup as soon as you can.

John pauses at the second point. Of course he had forgotten that the cat needed food. And it wasn't like he had any cat food on hand. John gets up and pushes the curtains aside. The rain had stopped. "That's good."

He looks at the time, and feels his eyes automatically water as he notes the fact that the shorter hand is slowly approaching the midpoint between four and five. He's not sure whether the convenience store nearby is even open at this hour, but it's worth a shot. Still, he doesn't want to leave Mango alone, so he pulls open more drawers and cupboard doors until he finds a moderately large cardboard box.

Once he's done padding the box with some shirts, he calls out, "Hop on in, we're going shopping."

Somehow, Mango seems to understand this - and maybe it's just cats being smarter when there's food involved- and John beams at their synergy. He doesn't realize it until they're a couple steps away from the shop and his face aches. Pain- that he's pretty used to, but this feels warmer and softer.

Fortuitously, the store is open, so John wanders around the place until he finds an aisle stocked with cat food and the likes. Mango's head pops out to look at their new surroundings, and immediately retreats in response to the fluorescent lights flickering violently above them. In that period of time, John's pretty sure the cat's managed to go back to sleep too, and he really doesn't have the heart to wake it up again. Mango's going to have to survive on whatever I find, then.

John picks out two moderate packs of cat food- one wet and the other dry- after the bleary eyed cashier takes pity at John's plight. "Food for the cat over there?"

"Its name is Mango," John responds, with the eloquence and accuracy in answering akin to that of a tank in a small enclosed space. As an afterthought, he adds, "I just found the cat today, and I'm kinda lost on what to do."

"Ah, that explains it," the cashier nods. "Take a pack from the bottom shelf then…No the one to the right. Yeah, that's dry, and then pick out one from the row above- the wet food, I mean. Put both in two separate bowls and see which one Mango likes more. You can get more later once that's sorted out. And don't forget to keep your cat hydrated too. Make sure to refill it pretty often so that the water stays fresh. Also, do you want any toys as well? We don't have a lot but I'm sure some enrichment would be pretty neat. Wait, I'm sorry, I'm talking too much, aren't I?"

No one had tried to get more than a sentence out around John normally. "I… No- Go on, please. I need all the advice I can possibly get."

All the tension seems to dissipate from their shoulders. "Well, I'd say you're doing pretty great so far, kid. Don't stress out over the other details too much right now, and focus on getting some food and drink into that little guy's stomach. There's a couple toy mice over to the side if you want those too."

"Yeah, I'll take them."

John brings his, no, Mango's haul over to the counter, and the cashier hums as the last of the goods are bagged up. "Thanks for shopping with us. Anyways, good luck with taking care of the cat. Feel free to pop by the store if you need anything else. I won't be here all day of course, and I'm hoping a kid like you doesn't have to come by here at such a late hour, but in the unlikely scenario that you do, I'll be here with more cat advice."

"You have cats of your own? And you don't have to call me a kid, aren't you in college or something?"

"You got me there, kid."

Mango must have some weird brain numbing ability of its own, because John is mock-scowling at worst, and is nowhere close to the apoplectic rage he might've had if anyone in Wellston was enough of a fool to disrespect him to his face. There had been enough of that in New Bostin, where every alternate student laughed at John for that very fact.

"A second year as the King? Who'd follow an immature, arrogant brat? He's nowhere as good as Zirian was."

Except, the cashier had no idea who John was, unless his classmates ran to a random store to complain about their homicidal King. Considering that they were smiling and their voice held no trace of vitriol or spite, he was pretty inclined to think that it wasn't the case. He groans, "And you're still doing it."

"Naturally. My grandparents had a couple cats, and I'd spend my summers with them," they smirk and answer apropos to his previous question. "I haven't gone back, but I'm pretty sure there hasn't been some species-wide update in their behaviours over the last five years."

"Thanks," John begins. There's a beat of silence. "What's your name, by the way?"

"Call me Wren."

"John."

He picks up the bag and turns to leave the store. Wren's voice rings on his way out. "Hey, John?

"Maybe it's a little presumptuous coming from a sleep-deprived college student, but take care of yourself, kid."

"Thanks." John doesn't find anything else to say, but he turns to nod at Wren one last time as he leaves the store, with the bang hung from one forearm, and cat box held firmly in both hands.

The pitch black sky slowly ebbs, and he can make out the faint beginnings of tendrils of golden and amber making their way across the base of the horizon. Eh, what would Keene care if he was out a second time during the night- no, morning, now, technically.

The sky is pretty. Far too pretty for a thing like him to admire, anyways. He looks down at the ground, or tries to at least- the box with Mango blocks his view of the asphalt. He wonders if Mango's woken up from the movement, and quickly shuns that thought once he remembers that the cat happens to have a far better sleep schedule than he does.

The rest of the walk back is eerily silent. Nothing but the soft thudding of shoes, the occasional rustling of plastic against cloth, and the muffled crinkling of cardboard edges. There's no obnoxious teenagers or those raucous fucking birds that seem intent on perching on the windowsill at some ungodly hour and hooting non-stop.

And its for good measure too, if he's being honest. John supposes he'd slam a fist into anyone's face if they woke Mango up prematurely. Always so eager to bite, aren't you? So, so, violent. You'll be put down soon enough, monster.

For the second time this night, John finds himself hastily unlocking the door, this time juggling even more cargo than the prior attempt. He opens up the boxes, and busies himself with setting up a couple bowls filled to the brim with the cat food. "A buffet fit for a king, huh?"

The royal sweetheart of a cat trots up to the food, and inspects it with a haughtiness he wouldn't have thought possible in a pint-sized kitten. Well, you see something new everyday and all that. Mango gobbles up the wet food with a concerning amount of gusto, and follows this feat up by licking the edges of the bowl clean. Once the dishwasher spirit the cat's summoned ebbs down, it makes its way back to the dried food.

Mango does not take as well to the dry variant. Quick, breathy sniffs are followed by a cautious bite. There's soft chewing, and then a much louder retching sound. "All right, we'll get you more wet food next time."

John moves to grab a tissue and wipe up the mess, before disposing of the leftover food in the bowl. He decides to pour out a glass of milk for himself whilst he's in the kitchen. He feels a piercing gaze as he does that, and the owner of that look seems to be perched on top of the counter. "How the fuck did you even get there? I looked away for one minute and you've scaled a whole counter-top. What?"

Mango blinks. John stares. Mango peers at the carton of milk.

"You want some of this? I'm not sure whether that's good for you," John frowns. "You're already so tiny - I don't want to risk you getting a stomach ache or anything like that."

Mango continues to stare through his soul and then some. "All right, let me search it up then," he relents. Gosh, how powerful was this cat? Scaling walls? Mind control? And now this creepy soul-staring thing that makes him feel so guilty?

Unfortunately for John, it turns out that milk isn't very good for cats, and he tries his best to relay that information to Mango. "I'm really sorry, dude. But zero milk for you. You got it? Ze-ro."

There's no point in going back to sleep, John realises belatedly. I might as well go for a quick run before school starts.

He tucks a few pillows under a blanket to create a makeshift play area, fills up a bowl of water, and then steps out of his room for the umpteenth time.

By the time he jogs back, he's half expecting the dorm to be razed . Shockingly, it's not, and Mango seems content to remain curled up atop the pile of blankets. He peers at the clock, which reminds him that he still has school to get to. How unfortunate.

There's not too many personal effects in his room, so anything Mango does won't be too much of a problem. Still, he moves all the fragile items into a drawer and hopes that the cat's paws wont manage to reach them after that. John is, however, a complete novice when it comes to dealing with cats, so he walks around, pushing back any other objects and finally stops at the window. Best to keep that locked for now.

Once he's all ready, he grabs his bag, slings it over one shoulder and steps to the door. This time, Mango follows him, tail raised. "You can't come with me," John reminds the cat, but kneels down to scratch under its chin anyways.

Mrooooww, Mango replies.

"Very, very persuasive, but you gotta stay."

Mango obliges, turning back towards the comfort of the plush fortress.

John leaves for school.

Nothing much happens during the first half of school- John walks to class with ease since everyone else is keen on giving him the widest berth possible, John fails to comprehend a word of whats going on in his maths class, and John forces himself to stay awake. And, John tries his best to avoid that leech, Zeke, but it seems like he also has an ability to be a complete and utter stalker alongside his Phase Shift. Eh, at least the ability is useful enough, he decides one day, after finding the blue-haired imbecile walking right next to him.

His final objectives seem to be going well enough as far as he can tell. Mrs. Mardin hasn't launched a piece of chalk at him, so clearly something's going right. John walks down the hall after class, occasionally drowning out the surrounding noise to check for familiar aura. He's not paranoid about getting jumped, or anything- he'd be impressed at anyone's lack of self preservation if they tried. No, he was scared of something much worse. Zeke.

Unfortunately for him, Zeke stands at the other end of the hallway, and they lock eyes. John looks away whilst Zeke smirks oh wow his face sure looked punchable. Surely he could just indulge in some senseless violence here. Fuck, he did not want to walk around with him.

Just one punch would be perfect, John thinks. I could do enough damage with that. And then, No, you fool, you've tried that before and that clown keeps coming back. He must be a masochist or something because who follows someone else around like a lost puppy after they send them to the hospital and then pours cola on their head?

Zeke, apparently.

"John," he greets.

John clenches his jaw and glares. Sadly, this show of malice is ignored - is he being deliberately obtuse? Zeke smiles and flanks his shoulder. They proceed in relative silence to the open grounds. As he rounds a corner, a conversation sticks out in the sea or murmurs.

"Ugh, those assholes came after me again. I'm so sick of getting beat up all the time. Fuck!"

"Hmm," the other responds. "Have you considered giving the Safe House a try? I went there yesterday and I kinda like it to be honest. Some of the members make me nervous, but everyone just does their own thing."

"Uhh, didn't John put a bounty on all of its members though?"

"Yeah but it's not like he has the time to track all of us down. Zeke already tried causing problems on opening day, and he got kicked out for it," the voice continues. "So I don't think there's anything to worry about. Plus I don't think John cares that much. I wouldn't be surprised if he was just bluffing"

The boy's voice trails off as they round the corner. John's eyes narrow at the purple-haired one, who he judges was the one yammering about that pathetic place. The one with bandages on his face swears. "Shit, do you think he heard us?"

They exchange a look and start walking, trepidation welded into every step, right past where John and Zeke still remain standing.

"Hm, going somewhere?" Zeke crosses his arms, looking incredibly smug.

The first kid lets out a confused noise before Zeke's arms are engulfed in cerulean, and he barely registers the arm coming out to grab him before he's slammed into the wall. Zeke holds him in place by the collar. "Still think he's bluffing?"

John turns to look at the other one, whose eyes bulge before he immediately turns tail and sprints away. Coward. John doesn't make a move, though, and his hands remain in his pockets. The student makes it about ten paces or so when Zeke taps into his aura, enhances his speed, and catches up to him in a flash.

Bandages looks stunned. "You really think you can outrun me?"

He never got tired of putting on a show, did he? The faster Zeke took care of those cowards, the faster he could be out of here.

Zeke's expression was borderline gleeful. He grabs him by the scruff of his collar. Was that his go-to move? Bandages screams. "Nope!" exclaims Zeke as he tosses him all the way back to where he started running. Both students lie in a crumpled heap in front of John.

Zeke's theatrics continue, much to John's chagrin. "Have a look everyone! This is what happens when you join forces with the Safe House and wage war against our King. So you all better steer clear, got it?"

There's a sizeable crowd of students onlooking. Then, purple-hair interrupts. He shouts with as much volume as his lungs can muster. "Y-You're wrong. You don't know anything. Nobody's waging any wars!"

His voice raises in volume as he looks John right in the eye. "I joined the Safe House because I wanted some peace! I'm sick of getting picked on and I'm sick of being so scared all the time! This is the only decent thing that's happened since you guys took over- Guh!"

His rant is cut short by Zeke's fist meeting his face. They come back reddened with blood. "Hoh," he exclaims, as the crowd of students gathered erupt in a cacophony of screams and their initially large crowd dissipates rapidly. Cowards, the bunch of them. So damn eager to watch until there's the slightest threat of violence directed at them. "I knew the Safe House was up to something. They've got their members talking back to us now."

Bandages whimpers next to his unconscious friend. John stands where he is, not making a move to attack. And doesn't that make you the bigger coward? You're so much stronger than Zeke and you're just letting that kid be beat up?

The louder, more traitorous thoughts whisper, Being all nice has never got you anywhere, now, has it? So what if he's getting beaten up; it's not like anyone ever stopped to help you out of the goodness of their heart. This is what they all deserve.

Zeke continues jeering. Bandages looks even more terrified now, if that was even possible. "Please," he begs. "Just let me go. I'm not even part of the Safe House, and I'm never ever going to join it."

Any further arguments are silenced when Zeke tugs at the boy's collar. Seriously, was he a one-trick pony? Did he have a thing for it? He kept doing it, and neither answer was nice to think about. "Oh? Then why did you try to run away earlier?"

The boy's blubbering continues, and then John senses a familiar aura. Zeke -on the other hand- does not, and gasps when a beam grazes his fingers.

Blyke yells, "Hey, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

Zeke sweats, all earlier bravado wiped away with that shot. "Look who's here to save his little club members."

"Get away from them, I'm warning you."

Fucking hell, why is Blyke here? The Safe House was getting on his nerves more and more. They were just waiting for the right moment to put him down. Why chose to step in now? "Or what?"

Blyke's eyes widen as John begins to step towards the two prone forms. Zeke, looks equally as stressed. If there's students still screaming, John can't hear it. There's only the slow tapping of his footsteps. Blyke's aura is still active, he notes, and then he mirrors it. Not that he needs it for what's to come next.

His palms remain balled in his pockets, and the nails are pushing through the crescent-shaped indents they began forming. He walks until he's right in front of the brunette. And then wait what are you doing? Why are you doing that? Monster. he kicks right at the ribs.

"Stop it!"

Yes! Why do you want to hurt them? It's not too late to stop. Shut up shut up shut up. Molten gold eyes meet Blyke's. "What the fuck are you gonna do about it?"

Monster.

Blyke glances towards the two students, but doesn't say anything more. Instead, it's Zeke who continues with his yammering. "Hm, you caught me off guard last time, but now that I'm aware of your tricks, I won't lose so easily."

He lunges towards the red-head and Blyke dodges an incredibly sloppy punch. Zeke's slammed into the wall after a pulse of aura collides with his unguarded side. "You really have no one else to turn to? Choosing to work with someone like Zeke? You're that desperate, huh?"

You know for a fact that you don't deserve anyone to begin with.

"Me? Desperate?" John moulds his aura into an amalgamation of Blyke's and Zeke's. "I'm not the one hiding away in a classroom with my shitty little friends."

Blyke dodges the attack by propelling himself away with his beams, and then he turns tail and runs. That can be fixed easily enough, John thinks as he shoots two well aimed beams right through the middle of Blyke's thighs. He catches up to him and knees his spine. Once Blyke's on the ground, he kneels over him. "Whatever you and your little Safe House are planning, it won't fucking work. I'm going to destroy that place if it's the last thing I do."

"Why? What the hell did the Safe House ever do to you?"

Punch. "It's a piece of shit and it doesn't deserve to exist!"

"You-" John cuts him off with another punch to the jaw, but he continues speaking anyways. Shut up. "You say that when you haven't even seen it. Even on our opening day… You sent Zeke to scout us out instead of coming yourself! If you want it gone so badly, why not end us personally?"

"Your pathetic club isn't worth the time of day."

"Bullshit! Then you wouldn't be attacking it. You're avoiding it on purpose. You're avoiding the Safe House while trying to get rid of it because you can't accept that the 'high-rankers' you hated so much have actually made some progress!"

John pauses.

"You don't want to admit that we're not all as shitty as you are! You're-"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" John grabs Blyke by his hair and slams him into the ground. The violence does very little to numb that feeling of utter revulsion he feels when he's reminded of another person who once did the very same to him. And deep down, he knows that Blyke, at the very least, doesn't deserve the same as he did. He really was horrible.

Blyke lies surrounded by splatters of his own blood, and John can see the bruises blossoming on his face as he gets up. "Who the hell do you think you are? Don't talk like you know me."

Pathetic.

John stomps on Blyke's chest one last time for good measure before turning away. He presses his nails back into his palms. They come back warm and covered in red, leaving behind eight even, semi-circular gouges in their wake.

He walks out of the courtyard and shoves his hands deeper into his pockets.

His room is still intact by the time he gets back. Mango sits on his bed, having decided the pillow fortress on the ground was too plebeian-like for someone of its status. Small victories.

Mreowww, greets Mango. That tone implies a "look I've been so amazing by not breaking anything whatsoever, give me a ton of fancy food" vibe. Speaking of food, he'd need to get some more for Mango.

Do you feel any guilt? Monster.

There's something soft and fluffy burrowing into his shins. He blinks. "Yeah, let's get you some food. I'll just go change first." He bends down to pet the cat, but that action is paused when Mango bats at his hand with his paw. He flips his hand over and Mango sniffs at it. "Ah, they'll heal, don't worry about it."

"Before I go in, do you want to have some fruit? Wait- why am I asking? I'll put some fruit and you can try it if you want."

Not that there's much to work with- a couple apples and a lone banana lie on the counter - but he gets to work anyways. He pares the apple, cuts out a slice and chops it up further. Once he has a ring from the banana, he places the offerings on a small plate and pushes it towards Mango. "I don't have any actual, y'know, mangoes, but I suppose you might not be the biggest fan of cannibalism."

Mango nibbles cautiously, and promptly devours the slice of banana. John gets up and Mango whines. "Uhh… I- What's wrong? I can get you some more pieces but not too much, I'm pretty sure that's not good for you."

Mango nudges the plate towards John. "Oh. I'll have the other apple pieces if that'll make you feel better."

Once he's eaten the fruit, he turns to look at the cat, who looks chuffed enough, so John supposes he's done a good enough job.

The cold air hits John's skin as soon as he steps out, and the towel wrapped around his neck does precious little to shield him from the chill. He walks towards his room when he stops in front of the entrance. He can almost visualise the other pausing and waving at him. Then, it changes to something more familiar, more recent.

"You're avoiding the Safe House ", he yells with blood dripping down his face. "Because you can't accept that the 'high-rankers' you hated so much have actually made some progress! "

Shut up! John slams his fist into the wall. It comes back purple and blooming with blood. Avoiding the Safe House? You should be grateful I let it survive this long.

Coward.

Just you watch. Tomorrow, I'll expose you frauds for what you really are!

He hears a faint sound in the distance. When he turns to pinpoint the source, he sees Mango walking down the corridor, mewling with distress. "Oh."

He crouches to the ground in an attempt to lure Mango closer, but the incredibly cuddly cat doesn't make a move to approach him, instead choosing to curl up in a corner. The ground feels frigid beneath his feet. "Fuck, I'm so sorry, Mango."

You had one good thing going for you, albeit undeservedly, and you still managed to fuck things up? It's not a surprise though, is it? Monsters like you are only ever good for breaking things, and now the cat finally sees you for what you actually are.

John presses his back into the wall, ignoring the way the solid-ness seems to push right into his shoulder blades, and slides down, almost mirroring Mango in the way he tucks his knees close to his chest.

It's cold.

And he's tired

He doesn't know how long he spends on the floor like that. Eventually, Mango makes its way over to him - not that he realises, until there's something warm nestling into his side. Why did Mango come back?

He knows he doesn't deserve it, and he's always taking and taking. Mango doesn't deserve to be burdened to something like him. A glimmer of gentleness in the world, and he can't be the one to ruin it.

"I'm so sorry, Mango. I didn't mean to scare you."

Mango purrs softly in response, and John's breath hitches as he feels the vibrations permeate through his bones. "We'll go get you some food."

And the whole thing is forgiven just like that. Or some semblance of clemency at the very least.

John sets up another cardboard box whilst he checks the time. Quarter past midnight. Damn, he had been there for a while. Like a well oiled machine, the duo move in tandem, as John places the box on the ground and the cat follows suit by springing into it. "I'm beginning to guess that you just like having your own chauffeur"

Mreoww, is the response. Carry me, is left unsaid, but it's implied strongly enough. This time, under better weather, John walks to the convenience store.

"After my whole conversation with you about taking some care of yourself, you proceeded to stay up late again? Jeez, kid, you look like crap."

"Gee, thanks."

"No, I mean it. When was the last time you slept?"

"Why would you even care about that, Wren?" John responds tersely.

Wren frowns. "Suit yourself, I guess. Do you need anything for.. uh.. Mango - I think I'm remembering right."

John nods so sharply the back of his neck aches. He grabs a packet of wet food and passes it to the cashier. As Wren reaches out for it, they pause. "Your knuckles are in bad shape."

John follows their gaze. "Ah, it'll heal."

"I guess so."

He pays for the food and leaves, ignoring the way Wren's eyes look on his way out. Mango has, predictably, managed to doze off in that short period of time, so John decides that the cat wouldn't mind if he spent a little more time outside. Across the road from the store is a small alcove from the surrounding infrastructure. It's not much - a small bench with fading paint, and the ageing tree it's situated under. John places the box on the ground as gently as he can, and the lowers himself next to it.

"Y'know, Mango, even though you can't understand me and you're probably fast asleep right now, you're still the best person- uh, no - cat I can talk to. Hah, maybe I am desperate at this point.

Honestly, though, I'm not even sure what there is to say. I can't fucking tell what I'm doing anymore. All things considered, you're much better off than I am. Okay, let's get you back into the dorms and then you'll have something better than this shitty box."

Mango mewls contentedly.

John does not sleep well, naturally. This sinks in an hour or two after he wakes up from his incredibly fitful sleep- only improved slightly by Mango's presence - when he finds himself rubbing his eyes as the first period draws to a close. To make matters worse, Zeke, that fucking imbecile, manages to bump into him during his free block.

"What floor is the Safe House on?"

"H-huh? Why do you want to go there?" Zeke stutters.

"And why the fuck are you questioning me? Which. Floor." John glares at Zeke.

The walk is short- much shorter than John had hoped, and he finds himself scrambling to gather his thoughts. What do you want now? Are you going to play good for a bit and act all nice inside the club? Or will you continue to be a complete monster? Whatever you do, you aren't going to trick anyone into thinking that you could ever be good.

"Uhh, John?"

He inhales. Exhales. Then, he glances towards Zeke, and his stare does the trick in getting the other to snap his jaws shut. Another second passes. He kicks the door open.

On cue, the room is filled with a collection of gasps and incredibly physical flinches. Sera of course she's here too, everyone wants you to be put down for good stares at him, clutching a couple of cards in her hand. Cards, which he remembered playing with her before. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a stack of board games and laptops tucked into a shelf. That, that looks peaceful, actually.

Just then, someone screams. Screams, like there's a slasher from a cheap, two-bit, horror film."Aaah! It's John, he's here to beat us all up! Hurry, everyone, get outta here!"

"..?" John turns to stare at the source of the sound, who happens to be rapidly retreating from the room. See, they all know what you are. It's what you're destined to stay as.

"Don't make eye contact!"

Oh shit, it's John again!

"He'll beat you up!"

"Run away!"

Monster.

"Don't fucking move," John yells. "One more step and I'll make sure you can't walk for another week!"

Everyone stills as the screaming ceases. "Wait, isn't this place supposed to have a designated supervisor? Where are they now, huh?"

The purple haired guy from yesterday, John notes, is the only one who speaks up. "It's Blyke! He'll be back soon so don't get comfortable."

"Oh really?" Zeke leans forward. "You sure he didn't just run off because it doesn't care about you?"

"No, he wouldn't! What's your problem, Zeke? Why can't you just leave us alone?"

He did have a point, John was this strong and he still couldn't get rid of him.

Bandages looks scared out of his wits at his friend's sudden outburst. A girl with long red hair speaks up, "He's right! If you're here to just be an ass, then leave! We don't want you here!"

At this, more of the students join in, chanting for John and Zeke to leave. And, isn't that familiar? You spent a whole year hiding your ability for what? To pretend, to delude yourself into thinking there was even a modicum of goodness in you? Pathetic. Hurting other people is all you've ever been good for anyways. John closes his eyes and the room morphs into an open turf, and he's looking into Claire's eyes and at the crowd of students who surround her. The betrayal still stings, even after he's seen it hundreds of times before. Shut up and face what you deserve.

Just like Claire's appearance, his nails dig back into his palms, tearing up the scabs that had begun to form.

John doesn't hear a word of what Zeke says, and he only pays attention to his surroundings when he sees a flash of aura followed by a flurry of movement. Really, grabbing another kid by his collar?

"You're that same kid from yesterday! What was it that you told us, again? Something about not being part of the Safe House… And having no intention to join it? What do you have to say for yourself? Because that was clearly a lie."

Zeke lets him squirm for a second mid-air, before dropping him in front of John. Bandages' eyes practically bulge out of their sockets as he begins yammering. Stop standing there and do what you're destined to do.

There isn't anything John can say against it either. He's meant to hurt. If you do this again you'll be sent back there.

And, you'd deserve it.

Right.

"Shut up," he tilts his head to look at Bandages. "You fucking liar!"

A sharp crack, and his face is dripping with blood.

"John!"

He turns to look at Seraphina. The nails dig deeper.

"That's enough," she says. The room stills as she walks towards the student he'd just knocked out. As she reaches out to him, Zeke raises his foot. "Move. Your. Foot."

"Seraphina. Who the hell do you think you are? You seem to have your position mixed up. You don't give orders, especially not to my people."

"Seriously, John? You just knocked this student out."

His eyes narrow. "He deserved it."

She mirrors that expression, looking even colder than a second ago when she was glaring at Zeke. "For what? For trying to defend himself-"

Whatever is left of John's sense of cool splinters. He deserved it. I deserved it. "I put out a fucking order! Whoever joins this place becomes my enemy, and now, I'm enforcing it!"

"Then, what about me, John?"

And what about her? Wasn't all of this supposed to have been for Sera? His best friend, the girl who he played Slappy Pig with, the one person who he always thought he'd have?

Don't add selfishness and greed to your list of sins, now. She doesn't need you ruining everything for her.

When John is six, William wraps him in a slightly worn out sweater. "I wasn't expecting you to grow so much in the span of a couple weeks. We'll get you a new one tomorrow?"

John nods as he twists and yanks at a couple of the threads dangling from one of his sleeves. "Oh, don't pull on the threads, the whole thing might come apart."

So John grabs the thread, and pulls it in one quick movement until it snaps.

"Does that make me your enemy too?"

"Psh! You became my enemy long before the Safe House. The moment you betrayed me and went behind my back."

"Get your story straight," she counters. "Who betrayed who?"

What kind of fucking question was that, Claire?

"You betrayed me."

"I see. So that's how it is. You have a grudge against me, fine. But what do you have against the rest of this place?"

"Everyone here is a fucking liar, an abuser and a coward," he grits out. Oh, come on now, aren't you just describing yourself?

"John… look at these people," she gestures to the group behind her. "How many of these people have you actually met? How many of them have you actually met-"

"I've seen enough to know how shitty all of you are. You're just a bunch of idiots hiding away in a room, following a bunch of Royal frauds."

"I understand that you're still angry at them, but in the last month, they've done a lot to help us out-"

Help?

"Shut up! Of course you'd defend them, you're just as bad as they are. Like that idiotic red-head who threatened to blow my brains out, and that rat who broke my wrist and exposed my identity! And that bitch who ignored everything around her!" John doesn't look at Sera's eyes. "And don't forget Arlo! Deceived me, dragged me out into a field, and ambushed me!"

"Yes, John, I'm aware. But have you thought about what you've done to them in return? You've publicly humiliated them, put them in critical condition, hospitalised them, and stripped them of their titles. Don't you think you've had enough payback? Isn't it time to let go?"

"You're avoiding the Safe House while trying to get rid of it because you can't accept that the 'high-rankers' you hated so much have actually made some progress! "

"Nothing will make up for what they've done," he spits vehemently. "They don't care about other people; they're only doing this because they lost. Now, they're acting all righteous so that they can undermine me!"

Seraphina takes a slow breath."They've all reached out and tried to work with you. You were the one who dismissed them-"

"Because they were afraid of how powerful I am. They're all a bunch of fakes!" John cuts her off.

She doesn't match his yelling. Instead, she speaks with a quiet resignation. "It really doesn't matter what I say, huh? Everyone is a fake to-"

"If they really cared, then where was this place sooner? Where the fuck was the Safe House when I was a cripple-?"

Seraphina's veneer of calmness shatters. "It's here now, what more do you want? The Royals have made their mistakes and learned." Her voice doesn't waver. "You want them to turn back time? Start it up earlier so that you could continue playing pretend? And keep running from all your issues?"

Perfect. She knows exactly what you are now.

Shut up.

"What the fuck did you just say?" There's something soft in his hand, but the fabric still pulls along the scrapes on his palm. What is that? Is.. is he holding Sera's collar? Monster. "You better watch your fucking mouth!"

She grabs his wrist, and even though Sera doesn't have any flame related abilities, the touch burns, through his sleeve and right down through his flesh and bone. "You're not the victim anymore! How about you start facing your problems instead of vilifying all the people around you!"

She's not wrong, why are you still so much of a coward that you can't even see it for what it is?

"Shut the fuck up! You don't know anything! Don't pin everything on to me, you fucking hypocrite! You're the problem! All of you are."

Seraphina's grip loosens, and she looks at something to John's left. Oh.

Claire has tears streaming down her face but she still looks right at him.

Why does it keep happening?

Right as his fist is about to collide with Sera, like a train crash happening in real time where he can't look away or do anything to stop it, the door swings wide open. John doesn't even register that it's Blyke until his aura moulds into that familiar shape, out of instinct. You've already caused so much damage to his precious club, you might as well brace yourself for the impact.

John realises a second too late that it isn't a beam directed at his head, but instead a pulse of aura that has enough force behind it to send him crashing through the window. You wouldn't even need to do anything, you know.

His aura morphs more, latching onto whatever abilities it can find, and he feels a layer of something wrapping over his arms. John groans and uses the lasers to control his fall. Mango would starve in his room if he didn't come back.

He looks up the two storeys to face Blyke. It was always the same people again and again. "You again?" He begins charging up a couple of beams to propel himself back up. "Just wait till I get my hands on you."

Blyke pushes him back with a surge of aura. "Oh no, you don't," he yells, as he prepares a second blast to prevent him from even trying again. For good measure, he adds, "Stay down there, you prick."

Tch. John pauses for a second. If Blyke stopped him from climbing up, he'd just have to resort to other methods. Eh, the Safe House was due for a demolition anyways, might as well speed up the process. He concentrates a chunk of his aura into a large beam, foregoing the range for sheer destruction. Somehow, Blyke mirrors the movement just in time, and it results in an explosion.

It might've been too close for Blyke's comfort, and he leaps out of the window to join John on the ground. The smokescreen provides Blyke with enough cover to shoot out some beams. Too bad John could, you know, sense it coming. The fight continues out of the plume of aura, and Blyke begins hurling chunks of energy at him instead. John raises his hands to block the wave, after he realises that they're not anywhere near as fast as the beams.

He doesn't give the red head a chance to recover. Quickly, he shifts into a more offensive form and uses a quick burst of speed to close the distance between them. Blyke isn't fast enough to respond, so he's sent skidding across the floor after a brutal punch to the chest.

Blyke looks a little different, somehow, he thinks. Not that it's his problem or that it makes a difference anyways. He stops his attacks once Blyke uses his aura to create a barrier, and then he dodges a particularly large beam. Once again, its approach is sluggish, so he propels himself out in time. He launches a couple smaller beams of his own, which Blyke dodges, but he doesn't have the situational awareness to block John's knee to his face.

He careens into the wall with enough force to leave a sizeable crater forming. He grabs Blyke, watching as he ragdolls. Why the hell is it always you?

So fucking annoying.

He clawed his way to the top, so why did no one respect him? All of them were worthless. He deserved this.

"How dare you stand against me?"

A voice cuts across before John punches him again. "That's enough, John. Put him down."

And where the hell was Vaughn's intervention when it was him? John prepares to punch Blyke again. As he rears his fist back, he senses a huge outflow of aura, but before he can react, he's slammed right into the ground. He tries pushing up but he's stuck in place.

"Keene. Please take Blyke to the infirmary."

Keene nods, and Vaughn waits until he makes his way across the courtyard. Vaughn turns to John. "John, to my office."

He follows, because what else can he do?

Once they finish their brisk walk, Vaughn stands against his table, arms crossed. "From now on you are forbidden from attacking the Safe House." He narrows his eyes, as if daring John to question him. That, however, has the opposite effect.

He scoffs. "Of course you'd side with them. First, I'm not allowed to hurt the Royals… then the Safe House is off limits, even though they're the ones who were plotting to take me down."

Vaughn continues speaking, but John tunes him out. He opens his own mouth to reply but he isn't aware of what he's saying either. He tunes back into the conversation when Vaughn asks, "And why should they be trying to earn your favour? What will you give them in return?"

He spits out with vitriol. "Why does that matter? I owe them nothing."

Vaughn closes his eyes slowly. "In any case, John, this is the last chance I'm giving you. Do not attack the Safe House again."

He nods sharply and walks out the door, slamming it as hard as he can on his way out. He doesn't wait for the dismissal.

The courtyard is still empty by the time he walks back out. The wall is still as shattered as it was fifteen minutes ago, and John watches with mild satisfaction as a shard tumbles to the ground from the impact's epicentre. The satisfaction turns to loathing when he sees the yet-to-be cleaned bloodstains marring the floor. He did this. Monster.

There's no point in staying at school right now, John realises. He wasn't going to pay attention to anything that went on anyways, and he did not want to be surrounded by students whispering about how much of a monster he was and how he should be taken down for good right now.

Besides, there's no point in visiting Doc either. His palms - wait when had he torn them open again? - could be wrapped up in bandages if they bothered him too much, and all the scrapes on his face would be just fine once he washed them to get rid of the dirt.

Back to the dorms it was.

The floor is quiet when he returns, and he pauses as the hall lights up before he crosses it to reach his room. The door unlocks with a soft, metallic click, and he's greeted by the sight of Mango curled up a few paces away from the door. The cat is tangled up in a blanket, and has long since given up on attempting to escape - having chosen to lounge around instead.

He waits until Mango finishes gnawing one of the corners before he kneels down next to the cat. Mango trills at his sudden appearance and immediately shoves its head into his palm. Wow, my cat has managed to automate the whole petting thing.

My cat. The thought made his heart feel just as warm and fuzzy as the actual cat was physically.

"I'm going to change out of my uniform, give me a little bit."

Mango dislodges itself almost reluctantly - scratch that - very reluctantly, and retreats back into the blanket.

Once John's wearing a tee instead of his layered vest and blazer, he walks back towards the living room. He can almost picture Blyke standing by the entrance in the morning, waving and greeting him.

Blyke, he realises with growing nausea, who he just beat into bloody unconsciousness again. And he felt good about it. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Monster.

Mreoww, Mango yowls from across the dorm. He peers across to see what the cause was: the cat had managed to swaddle itself.

He frees the cat from the fabric prison, and Mango curls up on his lap. Out of gratefulness or habit, he won't know for sure, but he pets the cat anyways. Oh right. He knew what he had to do.

"Say Mango, how do you feel about a little outing?"

The afternoon warmth settles comfortably against his skin when he steps out with Mango. Out of habit, he finds himself walking towards the store. He knows that it's too early for Wren's shift to start, and that's probably for the best.

There's a couple other customers in the store, but it doesn't look too crowded, so John steps inside. He grabs a couple treats for Mango and he takes a detour through the toys aisle to avoid the two teenagers who seem to be having a conversation in the middle of his original route. Oh? That looks interesting enough.

John picks up a tube of the bubble maker. The stick is a tacky blue and it moves both stiffly and with too much flimsiness at the same time. Still, he brings it with him to the checkout. Luckily, the counter's free, so he's out within a couple of minutes. "All right, we're going to the park."

Given how much time John's been spending outside this past week, it does surprise him somewhat that he hadn't been to the park a block away from Wellston. It was a nice enough place, with benches and the occasional piece of playground equipment scattered. It was maintained well enough, too, so it wouldn't pose any risk to Mango's safety. It was also the place where John used to hang out with Seraphina. Damn it.

Well, it's not like that friendship is getting rekindled anytime soon, so it's not like bringing Mango here will break some tradition or anything like that.

If he wants to fill this space with memories of Mango instead of Sera, that was for his knowledge only. Not that you deserve either. You know exactly what you deserve.

He sets Mango down on the ground and watches the cat leap into a small pile of leaves. His smile fades somewhat when he realises that the poor cat was probably stir-crazy because it was cooped up in the dorm room most of the day. "I'm sorry."

Mango stops trampling the foliage for a second and glances towards John. He huffs. "You're pretty damn emotionally intelligent."

Mango turns to him with an expression that conveys, Well, considering that it's you, it's a pretty low bar.

A fair point.

"Anyways, I'll blow some bubbles for you, and you can see if you want to pop them or something." John notices that Mango continues staring at him with a blank expression. "Don't worry about it, just watch."

At the first round, the air is filled with the scent of an amalgamation of flowers; it still manages to be pleasant despite overpowering the much more subtle scent of the garden. He sends the bubbles as close to the ground as he can, and Mango takes full advantage of this.

The cat swats at the bubbles with its paws and John swipes away any that fly too far out of reach. Mango looks expectantly at him. "I'm glad you like it."

It continues like that for a couple more minutes, and the bottle is no more than halfway full. Then, the next bubble swells to the size of his palm and floats a foot above Mango who bats at the sky weakly before meowing.

John stretches his hands out until they rest in front of the cat. "Want to climb on?"

Mango agrees, and is promptly airlifted to the bubble. For a second, the cat squirms until it's properly in place, before finally settling in. Mango's eye level with the bubble, looking right at the iridescent blob before popping it. Seemingly content, Mango leaps right back to the ground.

John leans back against a tree. As soon as he stretches out his legs, Mango leaps up, having found the perfect pillow. "Y'know, when I was a kid, I was always more of a dog person. I used to ask my dad once a month if we could get one."

Mango presses a paw into John's knee, and his other knee is met with the constant tapping of a tail. "Our neighbour had a small puppy back then, and I'd always see the kids running around with the dog in the park. It was a sweet thing. I think they spent a whole month teaching it a couple basic tricks like shaking a paw and all that. I… don't remember the dog's name anymore."

"But," he continues, "I remember just how proud those kids were when they called all of us to come see the trick. And the dog was so happy 'cause all the kids were happy. We spent the whole evening petting him and calling him a good dog and playing fetch. It's funny, 'cause I haven't gotten close enough to a cat before, but you're the best cat I think there is.

"And you're too fucking good for the likes of me. Which is why I have to do this."

He doesn't make any move to get up, though. Mango's nestled snugly, and if he's been so damn selfish all his life, surely, surely, it wouldn't hurt to be selfish a little longer?

Mango is still groggy when John navigates his way through the city. He looks at his phone, and then the door to confirm his location. Well, there's no point in delaying anymore.

The door opens with a small chime and he's greeted by a grey-haired woman wearing thick, tortoise-shell rimmed glasses. She smiles warmly. "Welcome. I suppose you're here for your cat?"

"Yeah. Uh… I found Mango in the rain a couple days ago, so I've been taking care of food and stuff. But my dorm isn't the best place for a cat to stay, so… I brought Mango here." John concludes weakly.

"I understand." Her eyes soften. "We'll take good care of Mango, don't worry. There's a form - it's short, don't worry, that'll come in a little bit. For now, why don't you bring Mango inside? We'll do a quick physical check up, and since you've been taking care of the cat, it'd be for the best if there was someone familiar present."

"Got it."

The lady walks inside and beckons him in. "Just over here, on this table," calls out another voice.

The checkup proceeds without a hitch. Mango incredibly intelligent, and the small treat serves as an effective bribe. "She's in pretty good health. Probably nine or ten months, judging by the teeth and coat. Very cooperative, too."

"Yeah, she's the best," John finds himself adding.

"That's about it for now, we'll make sure she gets the necessary vaccinations in due time. Now, lad, let's go and fill out those forms."

John turns to pet Mango after the vet nods their permission, before following the lady out of the room. "So what all do I need to do?"

"Just sign over here," she taps at a blank spot with a pen. "We'll fill out her details and medical information in this."

John signs and places the pen back down. "She'll be adopted pretty soon, won't she?"

"Probably, yes. But it'll take a week or two to get all the details in order. Once it's done, she'll be put up on the website and then she'll be open to adopt."

The realisation that he'll never see Mango again stings, even if he knows it's for her own good. He schools his face into a neutral expression. "That's, that's good."

"You know, we'll be more than happy for volunteers to come by and help out with the shelter."

"Oh, " John blinks, Was it that obvious?

"Really, kid, don't worry about it."

"Yeah. Just take care of her, please."

And it's done.

He stifles a yawn. Ah, he could go get an energy drink or something, just so that he doesn't fall asleep in the middle of the street. He quickens his pace in the direction of the store

This time when he pushes open the door to the shop, he's greeted by Wren. "Ah, John. Nice to see you at an earlier hour."

He nods. "I'm just going to get an energy drink."

"Oh yeah, where's Mango?"

"She's doing good." John can't bring himself to say anything more. Luckily, Wren doesn't push.

"Good night," they call as he steps out.

"Good night, Wren."

John steps back into his dorm. He downs the drink in one go and tosses the bottle into the bin. He spots the pile of blankets on the floor and moves to tidy them up.

He ends up amongst the heap instead. He brings his legs close to his chest and lets his head rest on his knees.

His eyes hurt.

It was for the best.