"What is your name?" The kid asks the second he wakes up, staring at me with wide, brown eyes. I have trouble understanding his slugged words.

"Newt. You're Ledger."

"I am." He nods. "Where is Sander?"

"Probably asleep. So how old are you again?" Last night, Claire did not sleep very well, and Sander told me she wakes up at even the slightest sounds. If Ledger and I get up now, we'll wake her. And Sander also told me she gets moody without enough sleep.

So I'll try to spend as much time here as possible. "Three," he says, which sounds more like 'twee'. "And you?"

"Nineteen."

"Where is Sander?"

"Asleep," I say again. "In the other room. We can't wake him. Claire will wake up, too."

"But Mommy always do it early!"

"Wake her?" My eyebrows scrunch slightly. "Well, that's likely when she has school— wait, don't you have school? Claire, at least?"

"Not always."

"Like, in the weekends, or also not on certain days?" I bite my lip. When the kid doesn't reply, I realize this conversation won't be useful— what did I expect? "Do you go to daycare? Like... somewhere that's not home?"

"I think no," Ledger responds. "It same like here? Sandy's?"

"The same as with Sander? No. It's... adults taking care of the kids while their mommies and daddies work."

"Mommy no work."

"Right." I nod. "What does your mommy do?"

"She rest a lot. And in her room a lot. With all my daddies."

"I suppose you only have one daddy, Ledger."

He shrugs. "We get up? Hungry."

"If we're quiet." I put a finger to his mouth, making the message clear. "Let's go."

He clings around me as I carry him out of my room, into the kitchen. "Your work?"

I put him down on a chair. "My work is school."

"School? But you a daddy."

"No, I'm not. I'm way too young for that."

"But you old."

"Not old enough."

After a while of looking through the fridge, I decide to cut an apple into small pieces, along with a banana and pieces of bread. "Will this do?" I wonder, putting it down in front of him.

"Mama's food not like this."

"Oh. Eh..." I scratch the back of my head. "Well, what is her food like? I can try to make it."

He touches the fruit. "Wowie," the kid gulps. "This real food?"

The innocence in his expression pulls at something in my chest. He's so young, so eager for the simplest things, and it's almost like he's never seen food this fresh. I wonder if he's ever had anything like this before.

"Yeah, it's real food," I say, giving a soft smile. "Eat up."

He looks at me, eyes still wide, then takes a piece of apple and puts it in his mouth, chewing slowly. The way his face lights up makes me want to scoop him up and protect that smile.

"Your mom makes food, right?" I ask.

He nods, still chewing, and swallows. "Uh-huh. But not this."

"Do you like her food?" I ask before I can stop myself.

"Not always."

"What's it like?" I press.

He shrugs, eyes focused to the plate in front of him like he's afraid it'll disappear. "No the same. Not this."

I nod, fighting the urge to ask more, to pull the details out of him. He's just a kid. Kids don't need to be weighed down with questions about their parents or their lives. And besides, I don't want to scare him.

I take a breath and sit down across from him, watching as he picks up a piece of banana and takes a careful bite. "Do you work?" he asks again.

"School is my job right now."

"School is your work?" he repeats, tilting his head.

"Yeah. You'll go one day, too. But you're still a little small for that."

He grins. "I not small. I big."

"You're big for three, that's true," I admit, chuckling as I reach for a napkin to wipe his chin. "But school is for when you're older. Right now, you get to be a kid. Play, eat, rest." I pause shortly. "Why did you ask me twice? My name, my work?"

"Huh?"

"Why did you ask me two times?" I correct. Maybe it's just normal for three year olds to not remember everything— I don't know. Been a long time since I've been around a kid this young. "Did you not remember I already told you my name and my work?"

"Mommy says two di...dif...dippent—"

"Different?"

He nods heavily. "Dippent answers."

"Two different answers? Why?"

"'Cause she liar." He puts the last piece of fruit in his mouth. "I want more food, Newt. Like this."

"You can have as much as you want, Ledger."

✧

"Whose dog died?" Minho asks, plopping down next to me on the couch.

Fast, I rub my glossy eyes. Shake my head.

"Well?"

"Leave it."

"Aw. Bad boy Newtie is capable of being sad." He wraps an arm around my shoulders. "What's going on?"

I shake my head again, also an attempt to shake him off me. "Just shocked— hearing Ledger talk about his home."

Minho eyes the three-year-old. "That kid can talk?"

Burying my head in my hands, I murmur, "It's so sad— I was so mean to Sander, also when he was younger— while I had no idea what was going on at home."

"So... you're rude to people who have a nice home situation?"

"No, Minho. That's not what I mean. I just... I don't know, could've been nicer, especially when he was still a kid."

He doesn't look very interested— not towards me, at least. His eyes do keep flashing to the door, where Thomas and Sonya are standing. "We should go. Janson will kill us if we're late."

"We have two kids here. We can't leave. I don't care about Janson and his stupid labeling theory."

"Oh, I knew you hate that theory!" Minho claps in his hands. "Knew it!"

The theory suggests that when society labels someone as something, like bad, that label can shape how the person sees themselves and how others treat them. Over time, the label can lead them to act in ways to match the label, even if they didn't act like that before.

Every word that leaves Janson's mouth when he speaks about it feels directed right at me, and I indeed hate it.

"Why the hell are you celebrating? Sit down. You're scaring the kids."

"Pff, they're not made out of glass." Minho wraps his arms around me again. "You're so cute around kids."

I nudge him in the side. "Get off me."

"Newt," Sonya calls impatiently. "I need you to bring me home. Right now."

Minho's head snaps up. "You're going home already?"

I ignore him. "I need to watch Ledger and Claire."

"And I need to go home. You're my brother. Sander is their brother, so Sander can take care of them for a while."

"But Sander has classes and so do I. Everyone here does."

"Newt!" She slams her foot on the ground. "Please?"

I throw my hands in the air. "What do you expect me to do? I don't have a car. And why would I waste my time in the train, while you can also go by yourself?"

"You don't get it. You need to come with me," she pleads.

"I can—"

"No, not you, Minho. Newt. You need to come with me." She bounces impatiently. "Come on."

At her wide, praying eyes, I slowly get off the couch, stepping closer until only she can hear me, "What the hell is going on?"

"They're waiting," she whispers.

"Who?"

"Your friends," Sonya spits out. "They're waiting outside the campus. Last night, they were also there and they tried chasing me, Newt— subtly, because they didn't run or anything, but still! I was too scared to sleep here because they know where this dorm is, and they don't know about Minho and Thomas's. That's why I stayed at theirs."

I was too busy with Ledger and Claire to notice her absence. But she's been spending many nights at Thomas's, so it's not much different.

The reason, though— my jaw clenches. "Okay, I'll go with you. And call me if they even try anything at all."

She nods, still a bit wide-eyed. "Bye, Claire. Bye, Ledger."

"I don't get a bye?" Thomas pouts.

"You get a hug." Scoffing, Sonya wraps her arms around the boy. "Thank you for letting me stay at yours all the time."

"You're welcome!" And he turns back to Claire and Sander.

Sonya looks at Minho. "Thank you, too."

He nods. "You're welcome."

They awkwardly shake hands before Sonya puts her jacket on.

I follow along, muttering a goodbye.