𝐋 𝐎 𝐕 𝐈 𝐂 𝐈 𝐃 𝐈 𝐔 𝐌.

My name is Karlyle Lyons, and I do no' think I was built for a long life. I ain't sick. . . or dyin'. I just. . . . think some people are born wi' somethin' missin' inside them, some small, little defect that makes livin' feel heavier fer them than it does fer everyone else. My mind is constantly trying tae convince me how easy it would be tae stop hurtin' if I just stopped existin' altogether. And. . . the worst part is. . . that I canna even remember the last time that thought frightened me.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ☽ ──────── ⋆ ⋅ 𖤐 ⋅ ⋆ ──────── ☾

It was never given for free. Kindness, that is. Every act of generosity he'd ever received had come with strings attached. Every smile, every favor, every gentle word eventually came with a price. And, unfortunately, he had learned that lesson long, long ago. " Ye a journalist? Sorry, but I've nae got any information aboot my parents whitsoever. I barely speak tae them as it is. Ye can drop the act. " A soft tch left his lips, too used to people using him to get to his parents ⸻ or their fortune. He couldn't trust him. Not right now. Probably never.

" . . . " He shifted in place, never moving away from the door frame. " Folk dinnae usually dae things unless they're getting something oot o' it. Ye buy somebody a drink because ye want company. Ye help somebody because ye expect a favor later. Ye're nice because ye want somebody tae owe ye. " He shrugged, saying it like it was fact. " That's how it works. " He chuckled. Fuck. This was pathetic. He was pathetic. He rubbed the back of his neck out of nervousness, already regretting saying anything at all. " Look. . . " He began, hands digging into his pockets. " If this is some pity thing, save it. I dinnae need it. I just — . . . whit exactly are ye hoping tae get oot o' me? "

" Get tae fuck. The only thing I'd submit tae is a decent nap. "

" . . . " His eyes then settled on a particular person. Hm, a bit out of place given the area, yet something awfully familiar tugged at his memory. He didn't have many friends growing up, so remembering the ones who actually cared was easy. Fuck. Now was not the time for nostalgia. If anything, she was probably just a stranger, nothing more. And yet, as he took a drag of his cigarette, the smoke escaping in a slow plume before he stood up and approached, lightly tapping on the stranger's shoulder. " Hey. " He began, his voice low, trying to be mindful of the people around him.

A smirk then pulled at his lips as he lightly leaned back, putting a hand inside his pocket. " I've never seen ye before. An' I would've noticed. I've a pretty keen eye for pretty— . . . " He faltered near the end, eyes slightly widening as he tilted his head, swiftly taking a grab of her shoulders in an attempt to turn her around. " Holy fuck. " He added in surprise.

" . . . Jae? "

Karlyle had been standing outside the convenience store with a cigarette balanced loosely between two fingers. Fuck, it was hot as hell. When was the last time he was met with this kind of weather? He can't recall. Then again, maybe smoking under the sweltering heat was a bad idea. Not to mention that the heat made him look particularly miserable today. And well, the black clothes don't help while being roasted alive. Ah, but for fashion? Anything.

Before he could swear under his breath again, his head turned toward the voice of the stranger. He looked at him, then the icy pole, then the stranger again. Interesting. " Ye're givin' me half o' yer ice cream? " His own question left him confused as he tilted his head slightly. It didn't seem like something people did often, at least not for him. Thus, he couldn't help but feel suspicious. Still, after a brief hesitation, he reached forward and accepted the offered half. His fingers curled around this stick as he lifted it lightly, his other hand still holding onto his cigarette. " Cheers. " He glanced at the icy pole, noticing it was lightly melted due to the heat as he took a bite before it could melt all over his hand. Huh, that's new. His lavender gaze focused on Yori. " Pretty good. Thanks. "

Hm. What was the reason behind all of this? People didn't usually walk up to Karlyle and offer kindness without wanting something in return. But, still, Yori looked. . . normal. Friendly, even. " What's the catch? " He asked, his expression still soft, but lingering with doubt. " Nobody gives away perfectly good ice cream fer free. " He chuckled, yet it sounded. . . a bit sad. " Sorry. Didnae mean tae make it weird. " He shrugged. " Just not used tae folk bein' nice fer no reason. " There was a pause as he immediately looked away after realizing he was oversharing. " Which sounds depressin' now that I've said it out loud. " He let out an awkward chuckle as he bit into the ice cream again before taking yet another drag of his cigarette. The combination was an interesting taste. " Pft, ignore me. " He added, smoke drifting away from his mouth as he leaned against a wall. " Besides— " Another chuckle. " If there is a catch, I've already eaten half the evidence. "

Ballet lessons from age five. His mother thought it would improve his posture and discipline. He stopped at age 15 after realizing his parents would never attend his recitals.

Piano and violin. It was fun for a time, until it wasn't. Wealthy families were expected to have a child who could perform at gatherings. He lost nails over it.

Tennis lessons. Every rich family seemed to put their children into tennis at some point. Keeping up appearances, basically.

Golf lessons. Hamish barely attended any of them, but Karlyle still imagined the two of them playing together someday. Unfortunately, they never did.

Classical singing lessons. A teacher told him he had potential, yet he quit a few years later since it was never appreciated by his parents.

Fencing. One of the many reasons why Lyle moves very gracefully. His parents wanted him to participate because they looked good in family photos.