Sires made the decision right off the bat to keep to himself as much as humanly possible. This initially proved to be problematic; he, like the rest of the student body, was expected to cooperate with his fellow students. Failure to do so resulted in punishments, beatings or additional chores tacked on to the regular rotation of assigned maintenance around The Compound.

There was also the undeniable truth that there were certain subjects he struggled with, making him reliant on his classmate's help. Math was one of his worst subjects, beat out only by English. Many students were expected to take up at least two additional languages; Sires stubbornly stuck with English only, and even with extra studying struggled to master the language. Just thinking about adding an additional language made his head hurt.

Where he lacked academically, he more than made up for through physical education. Sires quickly rose to the top of every fighting class, easily mastering the moves. His peers, try as he might to keep to himself, began to lash out at him; a bump in the hallway here, a shove.

One day (for no apparent reason to Sires) it grew into outright bullying. That evening on his way to dinner, a group of students cornered him and beat him bloody. They only stopped when X himself appeared, seemingly out of thin air.

As Sires was led to X's office, he almost wished he was still being beaten. There was no two ways about it; Sires was genuinely deeply disturbed by the mere presence of this man. He always seemed to be there, just hovering about.

"Am I in trouble?" Sires asked as he sank into a seat, holding a rib he was nearly positive was broken.

"English, please," X corrected, sitting down at his desk and removing a first aid kit from a drawer.

If he hadn't been in so much pain Sires would have sighed in frustration. Instead, he repeated the question as best he could in English.

"No," X replied.

He sat on the edge of his desk, gently moving Sires' hair out of the way and tending to a nasty cut on his forehead. Sires went rigid, his already ragged breath coming out as a terrified wheeze. X had brushed his fingers against Sires' skin; the unwelcome realization that he had done it on purpose made him queasy.

"I could-I could go to...nurse room," Sires offered, not wanting X to touch him.

X paused, and then a faint smile fluttered across his lips. "No, it's fine." Another pause, and then he continued speaking, gingerly tending to Sires' wounds.

"You know, it was only a matter of time before this happened." He repeated himself in Icelandic to make sure he was understood.

"Why?"

"You've proven you're the best we have here, after only a year. Of course they're going to hate you."

X lifted up Sires' shirt to look at his side. Without thinking, Sires slapped his hand away. X glared; Sires went rigid and swallowed thickly, a deer in headlights. X lifted his shirt back up, revealing a nasty bruise. He touched it, and Sires yelped.

"It's broken...not much we can do about that. After we talk you should go to the infirmary. I just wanted to get you cleaned up a bit."

"Why?"

"Why what? Why do you need to go to the infirmary?"

Sires shook his head. "Why does...Do? People not like me?"

"Yvonne-the girl you beat at bo yesterday-is the third generation of her family here. Her father is the weapons master here. You humiliated her-you disgraced her family."

Sires' eyes widened in horror. "I didn't mean to."

X reached out and moved Sires' long black hair behind his ear. When X's fingertips brushed against his skin again it made his stomach churn. After staring at Sires fondly for a moment, X put away the medical supplies and sat back behind his desk.

"You can go to the infirmary now. Think you can make it there without incident?"

"Incident?"

X laughed and waved dismissively. "Just go, Sires."

Sires stood and bowed as best he could, thankfully fleeing the room.

~

Sweat poured out of Sires the following day. The sleeves of his black sweatshirt were pulled up all the way, but even that provided little relief from the stifling heat. Why did everything have to be black? Their school uniforms were black, their gym sweats were black, the "civilian" clothes they were provided were black; even their jackets were black.

Sires knew that back in Iceland the seasons should be changing. Not here. It was hot as ever with no signs of letting up.

His squad, squad C, ran through the forest. He lagged behind like he always did, not quite the last person but close to it. He could do better. Sires knew he could be at the front keeping pace with the squad instructor, but why? Everyone talked up there, and he didn't want to talk to anyone.

Sires wasn't sure what happened but he tripped suddenly. Maybe it was a root or something; he hoped he hadn't been foolish enough to trip over his own feet. Before he could catch himself he was flat on his face and hands.

The pain from his broken ribs being jostled made him temporarily see stars. Upon being able to breathe, he let out a hiss of pain, vision swimming. Even so, he found himself mortified. Sires scrambled back to his feet. As his hands stung, someone had him around the bicep, helping him. Startled, he looked over.

One of his squad mates smiled, releasing his arm. The young man looked to be about Sires' own age. Freckles surrounded a flat nose and brown eyes. His hair was cut short, auburn in color. "You okay?"

The accent was American. Sires nodded.

"Thank you," Sires replied in hesitant English.

"You're Sires, right?"

He was surprised this person knew his name. He nodded.

"My name's Matt."

Suppressing a blush of embarrassment, Sires found himself wishing he knew more English. Caesar had been pulled from his care a little over six months previously, and no one had filled in as translator. Sires assumed someone had, but the person simply wasn't showing up.

He nodded, trying to show he comprehended. "Okay. Good?"

Matt laughed, but it was a friendly laugh; he wasn't laughing at him. "You don't know English that well, do you?"

Sires' mind whirled. "Uh...no. Wait. Yes. Right?"

Matt laughed again. "So that's why you're so quiet, huh?"

"Yes?"

Matt sighed. "This might take awhile. Okay. So you're...what? Scandinavian?"

"Icelandic."

"Oh! Most of us are either American or English. I've met one Japanese. I'm technically Irish but I was born in America. There's one French man here. I can't understand a word he says, although his English is getting better." Matt paused. "You have no idea what I'm saying, do you?"

After looking at Matt dumbfounded for a while, Sires smiled. He didn't know what else to do. He was catching things here and there, but he wasn't used to the quick speed in which Matt spoke.

Matt laughed again. "Hey, I'll help you with your English. Would you like that?"

"Uh..." Sires understood him well enough, but the thought of socializing appealed to Sires as much as a bad sunburn.

Matt pointed to himself. "I'll help," he pointed to Sires, "you with your English."

Sires thought for a moment. Then again, having someone to talk to would be nice. A part of him wished for attention besides jeers. Deciding it would probably be for the best, Sires smiled.

"Yes. I, uh...have happy? Thank you."

Matt smiled, shaking his head. "You have a lot to learn. Repeat after me." Sires knew this phrase from class. "'I would like that."

"I would like that."

The two laughed, Sires out of embarrassment.

"Oh hey, are you going to the meeting tonight? It's mandatory."

"Meeting? Meeting you?"

"No. Tonight."

"Yes?"

"Later today."

"Yes?"

"The meeting. Later tonight there is a meeting."

"Huh?"

Matt groaned. "God damn it, we need sign language or something...Never mind."

"What?"

"Forget it. Um...Nothing."

"Oh. Nothing." Sires frowned.

Matt smiled. "It's okay. I'm still your friend."

Sires' ears perked up, and he caught himself before he smiled. He didn't want to seem desperate or pathetic. "Friends?"

"Yeah...seems like you need one."