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He's been watching that house for weeks.And not just the imposing, rich asshole house with two floors and a fucking huge backyard with a pool too, but its owner as well. Zeke hasn't seen an easier target since that time he stole that little girl's lollipop when he was in kindergarten. Albeit she kicked him in the shin, he got to keep the sugary treat after all. Fuck you, Cindy. Or better yet, say thank you, Cindy, for saving you from early-onset tooth rot.The douchebag lived alone in that citadel of a house that could've fit at least three other grown men (unlike said douchebag, who looks like he could live comfortably inside a closet). What a waste of space. He doesn't even have a dog or something, which to be fair worked in Zeke's favor; couldn't afford to be chased around by some rat hybrid while he was trying to steal this guy's possessions. He was certain that, if the douchebag were to have a dog, he’d get one of those tiny hellspawn imitations; anything bigger might just suffocate him if it sat on him.
A huge problem is that the douchebag barely went anywhere; his lazy ass gets everything delivered to his doorstep and spends almost every waking hour (and sleeping hour of course) inside of his house. Understandable. If Zeke owned a beauty such as that, he’d never wanna leave it either. He could imagine the shorty had anything he desired in there; he already saw the pool and the lounging chairs in back, surrounded by palm trees in huge ceramic pots (palm trees this far north? Fuck off). He could bet he could fit a cinema, a gym, another indoor pool and a damn bowling alley in there, with room to spare.He sees the man sometimes in the kitchen windows on the ground floor; well, his head, mostly (Zeke suspects he cuts his own hair too because that undercut he sports is always annoyingly neat). Sometimes the window would open and the smell of whatever delicious thing is cooking on the stove would reach him, where he is tucked away between two dumpsters just across the street. It’s been a while since Zeke had a hot meal (or a hot shower for that matter); damn, that is the exact reason why he’s in this position right now, lurking around behind dumpsters in the first place. You don’t do that when your life is going great. No. You do that when you’ve hit rock bottom’s deadbeat cousin, and you see no other viable option in your near future.
Back to the douchebag..Yes. So he is planning to rob the man blind, in said near future. He knows already how to do it, has known for a couple of days, maybe, but something tells him to play it safe and wait a little bit more. It’s not that it seems hard to pull off. The place severely lacks some means of security. There are no bars on the windows. The fence surrounding the backyard is easy enough to jump, without as much as a single metal part to be electrified or wrapped in barbed wire. There are no security cameras, except maybe the nosy old lady down the street, but Zeke doubts her eyesight is as good as it was one hundred years ago.
All in all, it looks easy. Too easy, and that should raise some question marks in there, inside his tired mind, but his stomach is too empty for his tastes to not take this opportunity.He’s done this before, without getting caught. This sucker won’t know what hit him; hell, he might not even miss whatever Zeke is planning on taking. Sure he has the funds to replace them, unless he goes ham on his grandmother’s antique, they-don’t-make-THAT-anymore collection of.. I don’t know, vintage dresses.He won’t. Unique items are a bitch to sell, and could very well be traced back to him, if the cops ever did a line of powdered sugar and decided to do their jobs for once. Cash though.. that’s what he loved the most, and he must have prayed a couple of nights in a row that this guy isn’t a debit card worshipper. Those Visa assholes are stealing food right out the mouths of honest petty thieves like Zeke.He hops that fence with Olympic prowess and sticks the landing on the other side, amongst beach chairs made out of bamboo. So far so good, he wants to say but he doesn’t want to jinx himself so early within the operation. Give it at least five minutes. He whips out his favorite glass cutter (everyone knows you’ve made it far in life when you have a favorite glass cutter), clenches his teeth the entire time he uses it and listens for any noises other than the dead-rising screech of tungsten carbide on glass. Nothing. This is how you know you’re in a good neighborhood: people actually shut the fuck up at night.
With a hole large enough to fit his hand through, he unlocks the window and opens it, slipping inside. It must be a living room, larger than Zeke and his neighbor’s entire apartments put together, he gives it an expert once-over, his vision evolved enough to highlight valuables like some sort of video game HUD. Years of practice pay off. The OLED TV on the console is too large and too fragile-looking for him to transport safely, but the laptop on the coffee table is attractive enough. There are a couple of drawers that look promising, and the bookcase might hold one of those fake book safes sold on Amazon that are laughably easy to crack open. He’s certain some “colleague” of his is selling those just to rob them later. Good business idea. He wishes he’d thought of that.The carpet between the couch and the coffee table is plush and looks like what walking on clouds might feel like, if scientifically possible; and honestly, so does the couch. It’s not one of those awful leather contraptions that turn to ice cubes in winter and stick to your skin like hot glue in the summer. No. It’s got a fluffy cover and looks large enough for Zeke to lie down without having to put his feet up on the armrest. Another thing he’s lacking.. a good night’s sleep. It might be easier to count the things he doesn’t need right now.He’d love to try it out, but he’s on a mission. He crosses the huge room and opens the top drawer of the tv console, peeking inside. It’d be a normal junk drawer with a mess of cables and old remotes that you don’t use anymore but are afraid to throw out because Murphy’s Law dictates you will need them within the next ten minutes. Except this is unlike any junk drawer Zeke ever saw (He’s seen a lot. Trust him.); it is neater than Zeke’s fridge, which is something because there’s not much of a mess you can make with a single slice of cheese and half a loaf of bread. The douchebag must be some sort of clean freak; come to think of it, there isn’t much dust on the console or on the top of the tv either. The cables in the drawer are neatly tied together and color coded with zip ties by type of connectors. There’s a camera in a corner that looks interesting, even though it’s an older Panasonic model, and an SD card holder (Zeke didn’t even know they made those) with a couple of cards in it. Some PS4 controllers that are still worth quite something, even if just for parts.And then he sees it, la pièce de résistance. A stack of baseball cards tied together with an elastic; he used to collect those when he was a kid. Still has some in a shoebox at home because he can’t bring himself to sell them. He wouldn’t have pegged the rich asshole as a baseball fan. Golf, maybe. Mini-golf, for extra douchebaggery, but baseball.. not quite. And he doesn’t like it one bit, if he is to be honest with himself. He doesn’t want to have anything in common with this man; for starters, he’s not a greedy asshole hoarding wealth when people (and by people he means him) are starving.He needs to fight the urge to leaf through the cards right now, but he can’t. He’s too excited, and loses sight of why he was actually there.If he had more presence, maybe he could have dodged that baseball bat coming for the side of his head. Just saying.
But he doesn't, and so aluminum sings symphonies on his poor skull and brings him down in a heap on the floor. How did the tiny fucker even reach his head? Oh wait, he was kneeling.."Ow! Bastard!"
A tch noise from above annoys him further, before it occurs to him that this could've gone so much worse. It was barely a love tap meant to get his attention rather than do any harm, something that says I see you there, asshole. It still hurts though, and forces him to glue his forehead to the cold wooden floor for the time being."I was wondering when you were gonna make your move."The douchebag’s voice is much deeper than he expected. His shoulders also seem broader up close, when he flips the light switch on and glares down at the intruder in his living room. Zeke groans when the light floods his entire brain, and what the hell did he just say? "Wh- what are you talking about?"
"You think I didn't see you lurking around everyday, dumbass?” When he speaks, he sounds bored. Like he’s been through this before. No wonder, if he has no fucking security and lives in god damn Neverland. “You're about as stealthy as a fucking clown. I could spot that haystack you call hair and those stupid glasses from a mile away, jeez, use a disguise or something. Switch it up once in a while."Dumbfounded and with a headache blooming in the side of his head, Zeke opens his mouth and closes it again, resembling a beached fish.
Okay.. so the reason why this asshole has no security whatsoever is because he is the security. Fucking bat wielding lunatic giving him tips on how to rob houses..“What is your name?”He needs to know what name to put on the cage in his basement, probably.“Zeke.”“Zeke? Are you fucking kidding me? What asshole named their kid Zeke and then let him run loose to break into other people’s houses?”Said asshole’s name is Grisha Yeager and he probably did mean for Zeke to end up breaking into people’s houses, but Zeke isn’t about to share his family history with the douchebag. It’s weird enough that he’s just sitting there, playing with that baseball bat he’s holding, which by the way also looks like a collection piece. Life is unfair sometimes. Most of the time, Zeke thinks, eyes darting around for a means to escape. He dares to pull himself to his knees, but his 4K vision is failing him right now; he sees
nothing. He could try to bolt, run back to the window or try to get out through the front door, but he’s at a complete disadvantage. He doesn’t know the layout of the house all that well, and he is certain the man could have outrun him even before he nerfed him with that tap against his temple. Which still hurts, thank you very much.
“Are you just gonna sit there like an idiot?” The man scolds him; he does not act like someone whose house was just broken into. He didn’t beat him to death, for starters. He didn’t call the cops either. He’s merely sitting in the doorframe, unnervingly calm, looking as if he wants Zeke to follow him.
What the hell? ..again..
“Come on, get up. Shit, you fucking stink..” He could do without the commentary, as if he couldn’t smell himself, but he has much bigger problems right now. Forget going to jail, or even dying. There are definitely more sinister things that could happen right now and he curses himself for watching all those true crime documentaries at night when he couldn’t sleep because he was hungry. Why couldn’t he watch My Little Pony, like normal people..He risks a glance at the man; appearances are definitely deceiving, he must say. The man is short, yes, but he has a back that rivals Brock fucking Lesnar’s, and how the hell did he not see that before? Ahhh, he knew he should’ve worried some more the first time he thought this looked too easy. Listen to your gut, Zeke. Wait no, that only works when your gut isn’t empty and screaming at you that people might be able to live without food for two months, but do you really wanna put that to the test? By irony of fate, he’s being led into the kitchen, not without questioning himself again on why he’s following the man with the bat. Because he has a bat, Zeke, keep up. He’s not certain if that voice is his conscience or an aftermath of that hit to the head, but it’s speaking to him and it certainly could be a little nicer. He's been through enough shit, and has a whole storm of it coming.“Sit.”
The douchebag has a knack for ordering people around too; if this guy is ex-military or a cop then Zeke is fifty shades of fucked right now, and he doesn’t even know what to expect next. He proves he can be a good little boy, that’s all that he can think of, and perches himself on top of the bar-stool behind the island in the middle of the kitchen.“What are you doing?” Just ask. What can possibly happen? Worst case scenario he tells Zeke in vivid detail how he plans to skin him alive and use it for a new couch cover or something like that. Too bad. Zeke liked the fluffy one. The douchebag is rummaging through his cabinet while Zeke looks around attempting to remember what Hannibal Lecter’s kitchen looks like and see if he can spot any resemblances. So far, everything looks normal; everything except the black-haired man that finds what he’s looking for and turns around, kettle in one hand and bat in the other.“We’re gonna have a cup of tea.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
That shithead really thought he was being stealthy. Levi spotted him the very first day he showed up, acting like he knew what he was doing. Whoever he had robbed before deserved it because they were blind fucking idiots for not seeing him coming.
First and foremost, Levi did not ask for this huge fucking target to be painted on his back, but he found himself forced to wear it when his not-so-beloved uncle Kenny kicked the bucket (and by kicked the bucket he means ate a bullet, dressing on the side).
The family business never interested Levi much (he'd tell you what the family business was, but then he'd have to kill you); as odd as it may have sounded, he was happy crawling around in the dirt with other misfits before, not having a home, never knowing when it will be the next time he will get to eat. He had company, and that was something money was never able to buy his uncle - sure, the man's personality might have had something to say in that matter, but the genuine connections Levi made on the streets could not be compared to the vultures Kenny had circling him, just waiting for him to drop dead so they could get a piece of his belongings.
Those times were long lost; neither the streets nor the mob (oh crap, now he really has to kill you) take any prisoners, and as Kenny's only heir, Levi found himself alone and in possession of too much, almost overnight. The vultures suddenly changed direction and came crashing upon him, so the only solution, for his peace of mind and general safety, was a compromise.
He got to keep the house; everything else went in the way of the vultures, may they choke on it, so they would leave him alone. No business, no revenge, not even a hello, should he bump into them on the street.
No complaints so far.
Selling a collection of antiques and some hunting trophies, for some reason, got him more money than he knew how to count and spend in the foreseeable future; the amount of self restraint he found within himself not to splurge should have been awarded. He did sign himself up for all sorts of healthy lifestyle food deliveries, and improved the sub-par gym equipment his uncle had in the basement when he felt himself getting lazy. No wonder the man was stick thin. Not that it would've helped with the bullet though.This newfound life of comfortable complacency wasn't so bad, a little to his annoyance.
The only thing that got to him from time to time was the loneliness. Most of his friends from his previous life were dead or in jail; the street doesn't take prisoners, but the police do. There were days he spoke to no one, and days when he considered himself a needy chatterbox just for asking the delivery boy how his day was going. The kid was nice enough, but Levi suspected it might have something to do with the fat tips.Seeing this idiot lurk around his house brought some serious nostalgia; not the first sign that something was wrong with him, unfortunately. He was longing for the days when he and his small gang didn't have money to eat and broke into bakeries after closing time for some forgotten scraps they'd enjoy while sitting around a fire in some abandoned building in the financial district. He was appreciating the little things much more during those times.This dummy seemed to be alone however; a pair of round glasses held together by scotch tape and sheer power of will, perched on top of an aquiline nose, and blonde hair that was clearly one or two shades lighter, underneath all the grime. A wrinkled shirt and stained cream colored pants. All in all, the man looked more disgusting than the dumpsters he was hiding behind.He had some patience, Levi had to give him at least that, if not skill. Another sign that he was slowly losing it, trapped into this empty douchebag nest, was hoping the man won't lose the nerve and change his mind.He didn't.But oh boy, does Zeke wish he had. He stares. Nevermind that it's rude, it's the only possible reaction that doesn't make him even more of a target for the infamous bat-kettle dual-wielder whose name he doesn't even know because he didn't think to ask. Who the hell asks for the name of the person whose house they are robbing? Who the hell asks for the name of the person who is robbing their house?
This asshole, apparently, who wants to have a cup of tea, bruv. If he wanted to do Zeke a favor, for some unfathomable reason only his messed up brains could come up with, he could give him something to eat, so his stomach would stop playing Mozart in the stunned silence.
Indignation fills Zeke, and with it comes courage, even though it shouldn’t, because this man is clearly insane. “Have a.. excuse me, what? You hit me in the head and lost your marbles?”The man scoffs and puts the bat down, leaning it against the counter; even if Zeke vaults over the island while the man's back is turned, he would still reach it first and beat the crap out of him before he could say "haha, gotcha.."The stove clicks on, and no response comes."Oi!" Zeke insists, like the idiot he is. "What the hell?""I could ask the same thing about the hole in my window." The douchebag says dryly, filling the kettle with water from the sink and raising it in front of his eyes for an expert measuring. "What was that, a glass cutter?""None of your business."
"You are in my house, that kind of makes it my business."
Zeke bites his tongue. He remembers his neighbor, a Croatian immigrant and Yugoslav war vet, talking about soldiers in the past that kept a cyanide pill hidden in their teeth to bite on and die when they were captured. That idea never sounded better than it does now.
"Look, man." He starts, his eyes darting around wildly as indignation dies and is replaced by dread; he wonders how many stitches he'd need if he launches himself through one of those windows. Probably a lot more than he could afford. Not even bleeding to death is free in this country. "I fucked up, I get it. But I meant no harm, I just needed the money. I'll go, and never come back here again."
He's feeling lucky, half rising to his feet and hoping he could slip out, when the man finally turns again, brows furrowed.“Listen here, you little shit." He starts, and Zeke sits down faster than if Grisha himself yelled at him. The old man did a lot of yelling. And shaking. And slapping too, why not. "You’re gonna sit there and have a damn cup of tea or I’m gonna call the cops on you. Your choice.”
He's bitten his tongue again, this time involuntarily. Between this lunatic and the cops..
“Kinda ironic of you to call people little shits.”Fuck it. If he is to die, at least he’ll go out with a bang. Or multiple ones, right to his head.
"Aren't you hysterical?" This man is a master of dry sarcasm and watches him with such an impassive face that Zeke thinks Geppetto is missing a puppet who decided he wanted to be a real boy. The water is starting to simmer and the mannequin man seems content Zeke hasn't tried to move again, tilting his head to the side. “Good. That must have been the best decision you've made in your entire life.”That, of all things, hurts; it wasn't Zeke's fault he ended up where he is now. Being given a shit hand from the start renders almost all decisions you could possibly make terrible ones. More or less. He's been banging his head on ceilings his entire life, and you'd think by now he would have at least made a dent.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re an asshole?”“Multiple times.”“..and?”“And what? Do I look like the type who gives a shit what other people say?”Frankly, no, he doesn't. Zeke squirms in his leather seat, watching the man put two teaspoons of dried leaves into a decanter. Maybe his endgame is to test some sort of experimental poison on him, although he hasn't much seen or heard of mad scientists so freakishly buff before. God, what's with the paranoia? Whatever kind of uncanny valley dimension he entered doesn't disappear when he pinches his thigh through his dirty pants.
"You didn't tell me your name." He gives up on trying to find an explanation; it's real as hell and not going anywhere. Next, he'd have to get used to the idea that he might not be getting home tonight.
Ah, there's no one there to miss him anyway. Except maybe Ksaver, since Zeke is the only one that can stomach his war stories.
"You didn't ask.""I mean.." Zeke gestures widely, hoping it would accurately convey the craziness of this whole situation. It does the trick, because the man nods in understanding, crossing his arms in front of his broad chest.
"Levi."
"I'd say it's nice to meet you, but..""Yeah.."
At least he's self aware.The two minutes needed for the tea to brew go in silence; Levi watches him intently, like he's some sort of zoo monkey, and he can't help but feel self-conscious. Not only does he smell like a dumpster, but he feels like a dumpster too, both physically and morally. Somehow, this is worse than getting beaten up and sent to see Jesus in a garbage bag; the only thing that would humiliate him even further would be if Levi would start to scold him right now.He stops thinking about it, so he won't jinx it. Levi scrutinizes him with the prowess of an X-Ray machine, and only now Zeke starts to find it odd that he was interested in his glass cutter.The sound of pouring tea is what gets him out of his thoughts; a light blue tea cup is set in front of him, a green concoction steaming inside. A saucer full of cookies slides across the island and stops in front of him."Oatmeal raisin?" He asks, after snatching one and biting into it. "Why am I not surprised?""Ever heard of being grateful for what you're given, shithead?"Zeke shrugs, already stuffing a second one in his mouth and chewing rapidly; he doesn't think what he was given warrants any gratefulness. In general."You like baseball?" Levi asks; he's holding the cup in a peculiar way, by the rim, which further confirms Zeke's suspicions that he isn't human. The steam must be scalding the inside of his palm, but he doesn't even flinch. He doesn't melt either.He nods, muttering something with his mouth full and expelling crumbs all over the island; Levi's face contorts almost hilariously, if it weren't terrifying first and foremost. Hastily, Zeke swallows and swipes one hand across the surface, gathering the crumbs in a tiny pile.
"I love baseball. My neighbor got me into it when I was a kid, we used to play catch all the time." He washes down the taste of oatmeal with a sip of tea, which turns out to be the most delicious tea Zeke has ever tasted. Not that he'd ever admit that to Levi, the man's ego must be inflated enough, judging by his surroundings. "I tried to teach my little brother too but he has no talent whatsoever."
"You have a brother?"
Looking at Levi standing by the counter sipping from his own cup of tea will never not be weird, no matter how many double takes he does. He must be incredibly lonely, if he's taking this much interest into the life of the dirty man that cut a hole in his window and tried to rid him of some of his stuff.
He wonders how he even made this kind of money. Can't be anything legit."Half brother." Zeke shrugs, as if it didn't hurt him to talk about his father's new family. After the death of Zeke's mother, Grisha had been distraught, and found consolation in the arms of a much younger woman. If Grisha had been taking his frustrations out on Zeke before, now he completely ignored him; at first, it was bliss. "I barely see him though. He lives with his mother."
"Tough shit."Tough shit doesn't even begin to cover it, but Zeke drowns himself in the cup of tea before he could paint the grim picture, kind of wishing it was something stronger. It settles his stomach, weirdly, and he's grateful for it. Enough that he forgets he shouldn't entertain this man; he still hasn't ruled out him being some sort of serial killer. The Tea Killer. No, that sounds stupid, Zeke can't be remembered as the victim of someone with such a lame name."Thank you." He mutters, placing the fragile looking empty cup on the saucer void of cookies now.The only response he gets is a tsch, and a clink of porcelain on marble. Levi's looking away, out of the window, at something underneath the street lamp outside. Zeke grips the edge of his seat, slowly pulling himself to his feet while the man seems lost in thought.Bolting now would be rude, Zeke thinks, and wonders what the hell is wrong with him too. Is the madness spreading? Is it the tea? Being shown this kindness can't come without a price, Zeke knows this all too well.
Levi's hand goes into the pocket of his dress pants; alarm bells ring in Zeke's head, sounding weirdly similar to the church bell that wakes him up every Sunday just to shame him. He swears, if Levi doesn't kill him right now, he'll go specifically to thank his lucky stars. Maybe light a candle too, for his hopes and dreams."Here." It's a hundred dollar bill, wedged between Levi's fingers. Being pushed towards him; Zeke blinks, stuck with his mouth half open. "Get the fuck outta here and don't let me catch you again. Or do. Whichever you prefer."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Zeke walks down the street with a hundred dollar bill in his pocket like he doesn’t know what planet he is on.What in the ever-loving fuck just happened?It was all real. The money in his pocket is real. The asshole who hit him in the head with a baseball bat gave it to him. Nobody is going to believe him, if he ever tells that story, but he's not going to tell it anyway because he's certain that lunatic would somehow find out through telepathy and come after him. Zeke might be a blockhead but he can only take so much aluminum to his thick skull.Ksaver is sweeping the cigarette butts off the staircase when Zeke enters the building; he stops, broom in one hand, the source of all the butts in the other, and peers at Zeke from behind his thick glasses.“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”“Ghost, alien, I don’t know what the fuck that was, but I have seen some shit.”Ksaver clicks his tongue.“Bah.. rich people, am I right?” The man laughs. “If I do it, I’m batshit crazy, if they do it they’re eccentric. Fuck my life.. Zeke? Oi, wake the fuck up!”But Zeke walks right past him and closes the door to his apartment. Locks it three times for good measure, and checks all of the windows too. He might be on the second floor and the money-distributing midget can barely reach the top shelf at the supermarket, but Zeke can’t rule out him climbing all the way in like some sort of spider on steroids.But to hell with that guy, he’s got bigger problems right now. One of the exposed pipes underneath the water heater is leaking, having flooded the bathroom and half of the kitchen while he was away; good thing he didn’t pay his electricity bill, or else the large puddle would’ve turned into a real life Home Alone trap and he doesn’t need that, not today.The puddle can be solved with three or four towels. The pipe, with several layers of silver duct tape he borrowed some time ago from Ksaver to fix the tap in the kitchen. And the table in the living room / bedroom / prison cell.By the time he is done budget-bejeweling his pipes he’s sweating profusely, and has to remove the white tank he's wearing to collect the remaining water on the tiles; if he doesn’t hear anything from Bob, the grumpy old man living in the apartment below, about weird stains on his ceiling, he should consider himself lucky.He's starting to regret not pushing said luck to obtain more from Levi. Maybe a hot shower instead of the anemic arctic falls spraying him now; cold water is good for circulation, Ksaver would tell him, but Zeke is certain the man is indestructible by nature, and Zeke is not made of the same material.Twenty percent cleaner than he was before, he returns to the kitchen, and rummages through the pockets of his pants. With the hundred dollar bill he has enough to pay for electricity; once that’s back on he can borrow some more from Ksaver, for food.Borrow isn’t exactly the right word, since Ksaver never actually asks or expects to be paid back, but Zeke still writes down in a notebook the amount of money he owes the man. It’s gone way into triple digits but it makes Zeke feel a bit better about himself. God knows he needs it.The only shirt he has that is clean is a pale pink polo that fell victim to a laundry accident; to this day Zeke has no idea whose pair of red boxer briefs it was that ended up in his load of white clothes, but he hopes his curses will catch up to them one day.The laundromat he frequents is a small business just one block away, ran by a Mr. Leonhart; although it’s a self-service place with machines that change your bills into coins, there’s also a small counter painted blue in the back, where Mr. Leonhart’s only daughter can sometimes be found. Annie is a quiet girl with a somber face, always deeply absorbed in her books; she mostly tends to the elderly who don’t know how to use the change machine, but sometimes Zeke sees younger people give the metal boxes a swift glance, before deciding to walk up to her tiny counter.It's the smallest of interactions; just a good evening, a thank you and a curt nod, but for some it’s the only human contact they get all day. When he thinks about it this way, it kind of explains Levi; all alone inside that huge house.“Damn..” Zeke mutters, running a hand through his still damp hair. Equipped with his pink polo and a half full lighter, he goes out on the stairwell; a crying baby can be heard from the fourth floor, strident and angry. It’s coming from Mrs. Braun’s apartment, who’s taking care of her grandson while his parents are at work; Zeke likes her well enough, but she appears to be a little absent-minded at times.Ksaver opens his door the moment Zeke knocks on it, as if he was waiting for him.“Something to drink?”Normally Zeke wouldn’t refuse, but now his stomach is churning more than usual; he doesn’t refuse a cigarette, however. Ksaver smokes unfiltered Camel cigarettes, usually; once every three months he manages to get himself some stronger merchandise, “imported” by his old friends who come back from visiting their families.He's all run out, unfortunately.“What’s got you so messed up?” He asks Zeke; they’re sitting on the balcony, carelessly leaning against the balustrade. Zeke watches the sheets draped on a clothesline two stories below flutter in the wind.Ksaver listens to the story Zeke had just decided he’d never tell, about one hour ago, and in the end, as Zeke expected, he laughs. Ksaver laughs at anything life, and implicitly Zeke, throws his way, but it’s never a mocking laugh; it’s relieving, in a way. Like no problem is big enough to bring him down.“Sounds like someone needs a friend and is willing to pay for it.” Ksaver concludes, launching a cloud of smoke directly at Zeke’s face. “I’d say rejoice. What do you have to lose?”“Well I don’t know, my head, maybe?”Ksaver waves a hand in dismissal.“Why would he let you go the first time then?”That's a very good question but Zeke doesn’t want to think of an answer; all that goes through his mind right now are increasingly more disturbing scenarios.“Listen, boy.” With his round glasses and weathered face, Ksaver looks a bit like Grisha did, from what Zeke can remember, but being called boy by him never chilled his blood as much as it did when Grisha called him that. Zeke sometimes thought to tell Ksaver to stop saying it, but Ksaver also taught him to face everything head on, so Zeke decided not to be scared of that word anymore. And it wasn’t easy. “From where we’re standing, we don’t get many opportunities to leave all this crap behind. Yeah, it’s safer to sit in your lane, but if you don’t risk it, then what?”Smoke wafts up into the air from the glowing tip of Zeke’s cigarette, and his eyes unfocus while staring at the fiery ember; true.. but then what?