Day ten. I'm already sick of this bastard.

The kid—he's probably a good couple years older than me, but he sure as hell doesn't act like it—has been nothing but trouble since he arrived. Every day it's some new thing he finds to argue with me about. You know, I might actually be willing to work with him if he wasn't so goddamn touchy. But it's like walking on eggshells. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was just looking for excuses to talk to me. Poor fella's been alone for so long.

Christ. Empathy. The bane of my existence.

Today was something of an exception. I seemed to have worn him down, actually. At last. But nothing's too tiring for Jeff "Javelin" Hodek, no! It physically hurts to acknowledge that I know that stupid name of his. It's only because he corrects me so often on it. Oh well.

He was sitting in the bunker's kitchen, as usual. It seemed like he was waiting for something to happen. Maybe just for me to walk in. At least, that's the impression I got from the way he jumped up from his seat when he caught sight of me.

"Ryong! There you are."

"It's six in the morning. Did you expect me to wake up earlier?" I gave in to a wry smile when he looked at me, all confused. It was sort of adorable; of course, I couldn't see his mouth, but the rest of his face was stupidly blank.

"You can tell the time down here?"

I shrugged. I was really just guessing, but it was fun to fuck with his head. "It's a gift." I pushed my way over to the coffee brewer. Thanks to a small streak of luck, I'd managed to nab one from our latest excursion, along with its little cups of creamer some idiot had left out. Jeff folded his arms like an indignant five-year-old.

"You don't have to push."

"Well, you didn't have to be standing in my way," I said calmly. He sighed.

"Ryong—"

"Is it really that hard to just call me Max?" In my thinly-veiled frustration, I almost spilled a mug of boiling liquid on myself. Christ. That would've made a second time.

"I don't see why I should," he fired back. "You refuse to call me by my real name—"

"Oh! Oh, right, forgive me..." I pressed a hand to my forehead, feigning forgetfulness. "Javelin? Who came up with that thing, again?" I had to hold back bouts of laughter, or he might've tried killing me for real. "You don't even have a real weapon. I've had to loan you mine, I might have to start giving out lessons—"

"I had a weapon!" The poor dude's face was turning red. I suddenly felt a little bad for poking at him so much, but he made it too easy for me.

"It's back at my home. My real one, with the Elder."

"Right. Of course, the Elder who's probably rotting in jail for indoctrinating a bunch of kids—"

"He's my family!"

God. He was hopeless. I was about to sit down and tell him to fuck off when he grabbed one of my wrists—under the sleeve, no less. Is he trying to get me to punch him?!

He must've sensed my anger, but he didn't let go. He fixed me with a stern look and held on tighter.

"Listen. I was going to say I'm sorry for how I've acted recently. It was...unprecedented."

"You know what's unprecedented, you holding onto my goddamn hand like that—"

"But you don't have to be this cruel to me!"

That got me. Something about the way he said it—annoyed, exasperated, like he was trying to hold onto the last bits of hope for me—mixed with just how ridiculous that sentence was, and I was almost willing to listen to him. That was the real trouble with him; not how hellishly annoying he was, or all the secrecy, or him insisting that I call him by that stupid name—but how he always somehow managed to reel me back in. It was like a spell.

I narrowed my eyes, the U-shaped scars below them pinching my face uncomfortably, and tore my wrist from him with a snap.

"Cruel?" I repeated. I was tempted to laugh. "You think this is cruel? Do you think pushing you out of my way and slandering some old creep who twisted your mind around is cruel for me?" I circled around to the other side of the table and leaned forward, both hands gripping the edge.

"Well, I've got some disappointing news for you, buddy. I've been doing way worse than this for way, way longer." I was almost growling at the guy, for Christ's sake. He sat down, unintimidated.

"I know that. But...me? I mean, we're practically partners at this point—"

"You think this little arrangement makes us partners?" I spat out the word like a piece of bad meat. "The deal was that we would try not to kill each other in here. For now. Don't think I've forgotten," I said in a slow, dangerous drawl, jabbing a thumb at the space below my left shoulder. I had to hold back a wince; stupid wound was still healing. Jeff's gaze softened, and I knew I was screwed.

"And I'm sorry for that," he said. "But I had no choice."

"I think you did. You know what?" I hunched my shoulders and shook my head, letting out a couple husky laughs. "Forget it. Whatever you were gonna say, just spit it out and we can move on with our lives."

"I think it would benefit both of us if we became friends."

He spat it out, alright. For a second I wasn't even sure if I'd heard him right. It was as if he knew how ridiculous it sounded, but wanted to get it out anyway. I stared at him for a good moment.

"Friends," I echoed incredulously. Jeff shifted uncomfortably in his chair but didn't back down.

"Yes. Just...think about it for a second. That's all I'm asking you to—hey!" He stood up and tried to grab the cuff of my sleeve as I walked out without another word.

"Ryong, listen to me. It makes sense, I promise!"

"Nothing about this makes sense," I hissed under my breath. "God—why did I have to be trapped down here with an idiot. Why?"

Not giving him a chance to respond, I threw my arms up into the air and looked at the nonexistent sky. "Can you give me a reason? Just one?!"

"Ryong—"

"It's Max," I said scathingly. "And I think I'm done with my breakfast, thanks."

And I walked back into the hall I told him to stay the hell away from, making a beeline for the training room. I had a few frustrations to let out.