[Exile – Part 2]

It was a non-descript corner of the town that Kyren found safety and shelter from the angry mob. There, the helpless tears burst forth from a terrified boy who had done his best to survive on his own, who had been so angry at his parents but so helpless in recruiting help. Kyren's tears that had been held back since the first day of his exile flooded his cheeks despite his thirstiness and general dehydration. 

He might have tried to bury his feelings underneath the hatred and anger, but Kyren could no longer deny it as the tears spilled. He missed his family. He missed everyone who had made part of his daily life back in the mansion. He missed his butlers who had always served him wholeheartedly and never complained when he asked things from them. He missed Keyron who was always around to offer him helpful advice whenever he was in need of them. He missed his father who was always ready to smother him with love. Back then, he had thought that his father's overly loving treatment was disgusting and unmanly. Now, Kyren just wanted nothing more than to be wrapped up in Brandon's embrace and be told that everything would be alright.

But none of the kind and caring words came. None of the warmth came. And then, when nobody gave the homeless-looking crying boy a second look, Kyren cried himself to sleep, hoping for a better day, for a savior, for his mother to relent and take him back home.

It was only when Kyren was deep asleep that a pair of shoes stopped in front of the vulnerable boy. The only man to ever pay attention to the homeless boy knelt down on one knee, ignoring the dirt and dust that could possibly get on his jeans. Steady hands slowly reached out and gently pressed on the boy's forehead, feeling for his temperature.

The man softly swept Kyren's fringe out of his face, and traced a light forefinger over the cut lip and swollen cheek. The wound had been opened, but was now covered in dirt and egg and vegetable remains. The hand moved gently up to smooth Kyren's silver-blond hair, stroking it a few times despite the dirt, grime and food that had gotten all over it. It was not particularly fair to call Kyren's hair silver-blond now; it was more of a dirty yellow-white instead, with areas of grey and black from being soaked in dirt water when the boy had been sleeping in dumpsters.

The smell that exuded from the boy would turn off any righteous townsperson, but the man ignored all smells that came from Kyren.

A facial towel appeared from the pockets of a black leather jacket and slowly began wiping the boy's face softly and gently, removing whatever traces it could. The dried egg, layers of dirt and grease caked on top of one another could be removed with a bath, but the facial towel was removing as much dirt as it could.

"Mum..." Kyren mumbled, frown creasing a dirty brow.

The man paused slightly at the stir, but continued wiping, not missing the tear tracks on his cheeks.

"Dad... Kaylen..." The boy continued to mumble, and the man was quietly surprised to find tears being squeezed out of the corners of already closed eyes. He watched in silence as the tear rolled down the side of the boy's face, making another track across the dirt and grime.

"Keyron, Kylar, Kyvan... I'm so sorry... I've been a bad master..." The true words were spilling now that the boy was unconscious.

The facial towel continued to wipe the tears gently. When there were no more tears left, the moist item was pocketed quickly, and hands gently guided the boy's arms around broad shoulders. The man adjusted himself so that he was crouched in front of the boy, slinging Kyren's arms over his shoulder and tugged gently so that Kyren's weight was pressed against his back.

The man was gentle as he hiked Kyren up his back, straightening up with ease despite the weight of an added fifteen year old boy on his back. Holding carefully on to the boy who was slightly shorter than he, the man made sure that Kyren was still deep in his fevered sleep before setting off, putting one gentle foot in front of the other.

Just like that, Kyren was picked up from the roadside by a stranger.

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Kyren woke up delirious as he had done many times in the past week, his thoughts instantly turning sour when he realized that what he hoped had been a nightmare was his reality. His body was still hurting and aching everywhere, and he still felt throbs of pain from his various wounds everywhere. He could feel himself bound in tight material, the uncomfortable softness that he was no longer used to sleeping on.

Uncomfortable softness? For a homeless boy like him, softness could only mean that he had been thrown onto a pile of trash with thankfully non-sharp objects. But he could not smell any gut-wrenching stench. Had his nose become used to the filth and pungent smell that his body exuded from sleeping on alley floors, from laying amongst rotting and decomposed food?

He prayed that he had really been dreaming about the past five painful days as he carefully opened his eyes, hoping fervently that he would not see the open sky above him or the dark walls of an alleyway, but the comforts of his bedroom ceiling, the drapes of his curtains and the comfort of his room. Kyren was not sure what to think when he opened his eyes to neither of the scenes he had drawn out mentally, but was met with the sight of a small room instead. The room was the size of a store room in his Mansion, but it seemed like it managed to fit a few furniture within; the bed in which he was sleeping on, a small study table standing beside a floor-to-ceiling hardwood wardrobe. On the study table were files and folders stacked neatly on top of each other, and a desktop computer waiting to be used. Clothes of men's style and size hung neatly on a standing clothes hanger, and there was no litter on the tiled floor.

As far as decorations went, no there was absolutely no effort in sight within the room and this gave no clue to Kyren who the room belonged to. He could easily guess from the clothes and state of the room that whoever who had picked him up was a neat male of a respectable size –similar to his father and Keyron. The covers over him and the bed was simple as well –white sheets that were well pressed and only ruffled in places where Kyren had slept upon.

Nobody was in sight, but the overhead ceiling lamp had been turned on with soft light to provide a comfortable sleeping atmosphere. There was little tell-tale sounds; just general ambient quietness that could not give Kyren any hints as to where he had woken up to. Unfortunately, there was no window in which Kyren could look out of either to ascertain his new environment.

Not finding anything more clues with his surroundings, Kyren checked his own condition instead.

His fever was still there -he was still feeling weak and groggy –but it was already much better than before. His wounds on his arms had been bandaged cleanly and neatly with no extra flair or tiny flaw. It was a very perfect type of bandaging style that Kyren instinctively knew that he would be hard pressed to find anywhere except for a hospital or clinic. Sitting up and peeling the covers off him, he came to the startled realization that he was dressed in oversized but clean clothes that probably belonged to the man who had taken him in.

Most importantly, he was clean. No dirt or grime or food remains clung to his skin or clothes, and a quick comb of fingers through his hair revealed the same. He had been cleaned, washed and bathed by someone and dressed in clean clothes. His savior had gone so far as to dress his wounds perfectly, and Kyren was only familiar with such perfect services that came in the form of his family's butlers.

Stepping onto cold tiles, Kyren had now become too used to being barefoot to care about the freezing temperatures as he approached the door at the other side of the room, respecting the man who saved him enough to not snoop through his things; not that there seemed to be many things for him to snoop around for in the first place.

Stepping out, Kyren was no longer surprised to find another small room that served as the remaining apartment. A small couch rested against the wall beside glass doors that led to a tiny balcony. The orange evening sun casted a soft sunlight into the room through those glass doors, onto the small television set sitting in the corner of the room, the low table in front of the couch, the tiny kitchen at the other side of the room. A small island separated the living area from the kitchen, and Kyren could see a small extension from the side of the kitchen to what he assumed had to be the bathroom and toilet.

He knew he could not expect much from this place; his savior certainly led a very frugal and simple lifestyle given how nothing seemed to have been personalized. There were no decorations anywhere, just small evidences of livelihoods –a file sitting on the low table beside a half-drunk bottle of water. Kitchen tools and machines sat neatly in a row, pots and pans hung up neatly with no signs of oil or leftover grease. Plates, cups and utensils were ordered nicely on the drying rack, a refrigerator that had no notes, pictures or any sort of memorabilia tagged on the door.

It was very clearly a small apartment that housed only one very neat man.

Kyren stood, dumbfounded and speechless at the scene of neatness and cleanliness. His small theory that this could possibly be a secret hideout belonging to Keyron was dashed, because Kyren had been to his butler's house within the estate before, and his Aunt Kiera had explained that Keyron had insisted on putting up pictures of the family everywhere.

It did not take very long at all for something to happen as Kyren stood, not daring to step out of the room that he had woken up in, but staring at the empty apartment. The front door –the small one that was right beside the refrigerator –opened without much of a warning, and opened to the sight of a man wrapped in a long black coat, a black mask wrapped around the bottom half of his face and sunglasses sitting stylishly on the bridge of his nose.

Kyren's freeze at the sudden return of the owner of the apartment was met equally when the man clearly hesitated at the sight of him standing in the open doorway of the bedroom.

"You are awake." The short sentence was somewhat like a greeting after a short moment of hesitation, and the stranger continued to step into his own apartment, removing his shoes neatly and stepping further into the apartment to allow the front door to close. "How are you feeling?"

"I still have a slight fever." Kyren answered, unable to help the way his voice was scratchy and small. "But I'm feeling much better than I have in a long time. Thank you."

"Lie back down if you are still feeling weak." The answer came nonchalantly as the man unloaded the groceries in his arms on the counter, removing his coat to show of an impressive set of shoulders and arms. The stranger's physique was rather reminiscent of Keyron, and Kyren could not help but think back on his family.

"I should be find enough to stand." Kyren answered. "I think."

"Good."

There was awkward silence as the man hung his coat up on the stand near the door, then returned to the island to unpack his goods nonchalantly. Kyren remained still, completely unsure if his savior wanted to pretend that he was completely invisible, or if he should just thank the man for saving his life and leave without imposing. He struggled not to fidget as he watched hands that obviously knew what they were doing remove ingredients for a meal out from the paper bags one by one, lining them all out perfectly and the paper bags folded and stashed away in a slide-out cupboard on the island.

Steadily and wordlessly, the ingredients were stored in their respective places, and still Kyren stood where he was, observing as the man continued to unpack the bags that clearly did not hold groceries this time.

"These clothes may not suit your previous standards, but they should be comfortable for wear. Most importantly, they don't make you look like a rich boy." The explanation was paired with the retrieval of clothing from the paper bags, carefully folded and rested on the island. "As much as possible, you do not want to stand out looking like you own the land that everyone has built their houses on."

"Even if it is true?" Kyren asked, daring himself to step closer to the island so that he could get a glimpse of the clothes that the man clearly had bought for him.

"Even if it is true." A firm nod confirmed his query as more sets of clothes came out. There were mostly jeans and T-shirts, but a few collared shirts and a pair of semi-formal trousers also appeared in the midst.

"Are you not going to remove your mask and sunglasses while indoors?" Kyren felt a little bit more emboldened to ask since his previous question had been answered normally.

"No." The answer this time was short, and Kyren paused, hesitant that he might have triggered a sensitive topic for the man who had not only saved him, but had gone out to buy a few sets of proper clothes for him.

"I apologize. I didn't meant to be rude, but I have no intention of removing my mask and sunglasses. The condition in which I allow you to stay here is that you must not try to ascertain my identity in whatever way possible. May I get a promise on that?" The explanation came shortly after, and even though in the past 15 years of Kyren's life, he had never truly needed to really bother about someone else's impression of him, he found himself in a precarious situation now.

"You are intending on housing a homeless and beat-up boy like me?"

"If I had no such intention, I would not have picked you up from the street." The answer that came was evened, and out of another paper bag came out a pair of sneakers, clearly meant for him. Kyren had no idea how the man had managed to estimate his clothes and shoe sizes when Kyren himself did not know. His clothing and shoes had always been procured by his butlers or tailor made to his exact measurements.

"But... I could be a ruffian from the streets. Are you not worried that I might bring you trouble?"

"Dealing with trouble is something I am used to. And I truly doubt that a ruffian on the streets has interest enough in the Greaves-Crawford Household. Certainly a ruffian would not be foolish enough to stand in the middle of town square shouting angrily at the Mistress of that household." Paper bags were folded and kept once more as Kyren hung his head in embarrassment, eyes solely tagged on the clothes and shoes laid out in front of him on the island.

"I...I have no words to say for my behavior..." Kyren answered. He had been angry and delirious, and had received a bad wake up call. But now that he was feeling slightly better, he thought back about his actions and the idiocy of all of it –including how he had stupidly expected the crowd to back him up with cheers.

"I can forgive them easily as the words of a fever-induced boy, but businessmen out there may not be so forgiving. The Greaves-Crawford Household has built itself a reputation of firm moral values, and providing their enemies with such facts –be it real or fake –is never a good idea. Talk spreads, and even if news may be sorely untrue, lies turn into facts if repeated enough times."

The answer that came sounded so much like a certain butler he knew and had grown up being taken care of by that Kyren could not help but look up with his best intention to try to ascertain that the man standing in front of him was not Keyron. He could not confirm the suspicion –since the man still hid behind dark sunglasses and a face mask –but his rational thoughts were quick to convince him otherwise. While Keyron would lecture him about the wrongs of his actions, he knew that his parents' butler loved and doted on him enough to bring him home first before giving the lecture.

"Is there something you disagree with my words?" The man asked since Kyren had been blankly staring at him.

"No." Fever made Kyren's blushing much easier and more obvious. "I'm sorry I was staring. You just sounded like Keyron, my butl- no, my friend for a moment there."

It was probably not a very wise move to let his savior know that he was truly, irrevocably the Kyren Greaves-Crawford that he had claimed himself to be. He had gotten many first-hand experiences with the townspeople when he declared himself the young heir of the Greaves-Crawford Household; they had laughed at him for being deluded into thinking himself as the young master of the prestigious family. Some had been sarcastically asking where his parents and butler were, mocking him by pretending to be afraid of consequences of hitting him. Kyren had learnt the reality the hard way; nobody would ever believe that he was the son of Louise and Brandon unless he appeared in front of them well dressed and flanked by his butlers who proudly boasted the Greaves-Crawford coat of arms.

He was without his clothes and identity. He was without his butlers.

Kyren had to find a way to get them all back.

"Your friend is named Keyron?" The man clarified, to which Kyren nodded quickly. No sense in letting his savior know that Keyron was actually the family's Head Butler and his parents' best friend.

"Then Keyron is a smart man with good advice. Listen to him often." His savior nodded once, then started to round the island, to which Kyren quickly backtracked closer to the bedroom to allow the man space to move around his own apartment.

"Is there something I can address you by? If you don't want your identity revealed, you can give me a fake name. It would be rude for me to call you 'Sir' or 'Mister'."

"'Sir'?" There was a short inflexion in the very evened and stable tone of voice, the only sign that there was amusement and suppressed laughter. "As far as fake names go, I have had many. But you may call me Kay."

The man now named Kay walked over to the low table in the small living area and took a seat, gesturing for Kyren to take a seat on the couch across him, to which Kyren gladly accepted the invitation quickly. There was clearly no intention whatsoever from the man that he intended to remove his mask and sunglasses even while indoors, and Kyren could not help but feel bad that he was putting his savior in an uncomfortable position within his own apartment.

"Is there a name I should call you by, or do I call you Kyren?"

"Kyren is fine." He replied softly, hoping that his savior would not ask more. Similar to how Kay did not seem to want to be asked questions about his identity and background, Kyren did not want the same. There was only a mess of emotions inside belonging to a young man who struggled to accept his harsh punishment from his mother, and the embarrassment and shame that came from thinking back on his previous actions and livelihood. Learning the things he had never thought possible –had never imagined would ever happen to him as a young master of the Greaves-Crawford Household –had made Kyren completely humbled and lost beyond words.

"Very well." Kyren could not see Kay's eyes through the darkness of the sunglasses, but he got the general sense that Kay was establishing very strong and firm eye contact with him, given the way Kay was looking directly up at him from his position sitting on the floor while Kyren sat on the couch.

"If you intend to stay in this house, there are conditions that you have to meet and rules you have to follow, Kyren." Kay started, and Kyren was not surprised for such. He had not expected complete charity from the man; his first assessment of the man by judging his apartment, lifestyle and choice of foodstuff for grocery had given Kyren a very strong conclusion that this man focused on only his work or business outside of the house.

"I have mentioned the first rule: do not try to find out more about my identity and my background. The second rule is that you must listen to me when things get dangerous."

"Things will get dangerous?" Kyren asked, mildly surprised. It was only mild surprise since the man seemed to have no problems adopting a random homeless boy from the street. There was no saying what else this man had no problems with –things that could potentially be dangerous.

"I shall not bother to mash words with you, Kyren. I deal with business, and some of them are not the most pleasant kind. In return for my housing you and taking care of you, you will help me manage the business."

Kyren waited for Kay to burst out declaring his announcement a joke. He waited for more details about what Kay wanted from him –that 'managing the business' meant helping to shred papers in his office, running errands and getting coffee for his staff members... Kyren could absolutely not believe that he was being asked to run a business for a random man who had picked him up from the street.

"You are asking a fifteen year old boy to run your business?"

"I am asking a fifteen year old boy who requires a place to stay and food on the table to manage my business." Kay clarified, not even missing a single beat. The steadiness of that reply told Kyren one very simple fact that he had not wanted to admit, but was now forced to realize.

Kay knew.

"You know that I am really Kyren Greaves-Crawford? You believed my words from the town square?" He asked weakly. There were few types of people who would house, treat and clothe him even after finding out that he was the son of Louise and Brandon Greaves-Crawford. Most of them did not have good intentions with regards to his parents or his family. Kyren had never met anyone who had any good thoughts about his family if they intended to separate him and keep him separate from his family.

"Say that I am giving you a chance to prove yourself." Kay answered, hands coming up to rest on the low table. The action pulled the cuff of his sleeves slightly up to expose more skin along his forearm, and Kyren could not miss the sight of evened crisscrossing of scars on both forearms, disappearing beyond the sleeves that covered up the rest of his arms. "Will you take it or will you return to the streets, sleeping in dumpsters and waiting for someone to believe you?"

Return to the streets? Kay had made it seem like he was offering Kyren options, but the choice was extremely clear between the both of them. Kyren had proven to himself exactly how useless he was trying to survive alone. He needed someone. Even if that person was not his butler, but a strange, suspicious individual going by the fake name of Kay, Kyren needed to take all the help he could get.

No more was he going to wait for someone from his family to save him.

He needed to save himself, and if Kay was going to give him a chance, then he was going to take it.

He needed to show his mother that even exiled, Kyren was still the son of Louise Greaves-Crawford.