for a pretty long time now it's been cold [cal/teva]

[Python]

Teva Seraphim

Was it really that difficult to find a job? Teva didn’t know. He had never searched for a legitimate career before. He never had to. Perhaps it was a lot harder than he initially thought. Cal was more educated than he was; he probably knew how all the businesses worked, how to make connections, and which jobs were easy to be chosen for. Teva only knew the streets. He knew more than Cal in a lot of different topics, but most weren’t relevant to a student like him. A maze of alleys was printed like a map in Teva’s head, with various District landmarks highlighted in red. He already knew the quickest route to Cal’s house from here, and he wondered if Cal even knew about that shortcut. It was tucked away in a few narrow, sketchy alleyways, but if he had a brave escort – like Teva – it would be perfectly safe to travel.

He also knew how to fight. Knives were his specialty. There were always rumors spreading about how Trigger was a biter – they were goddamn right. He would fight fucking dirty if he had to. But was any of this knowledge relevant to Cal? Probably not. Wielding a knife and knowing how to defend himself was something that could prove handy to him if he were ever to be attacked (by someone like you, Teva? You fuck up). Maybe he would offer lessons to him. It would be a great excuse to pay him more visits from time to time. He missed the good old days when Cal would come over with his homework and listen to their arguments. Sometimes he would join, and they would all end up wrestling on the floor. Teva would always go soft on him, of course, because he was Cal. He was pretty sure nobody had noticed.

Something in the atmosphere had changed. Cal’s signature bored expression had hardened. The last time this had happened to him, the other person tried to uppercut him. His muscles tensed automatically in response. ”What do you know, Teva?” He blinked. No way, I didn’t sound the least bit fucking suspicious! Had his mask of apathy failed? What gave him away?

No, he wasn’t giving in that easy.

”What makes you think I know anything?” He tried not to sound like a cornered snake hissing at its attacker. Cal ended up moving closer. He didn’t look very threatening – not to Teva, at least. He could handle a lot bigger. Assholes with arms like the columns of a building. Not that he was worried about Cal hurting him, of course, but his shift in mood was clearly defined. ”I know when you're hiding shit Te, what do you know?"

”No you don’t,” he insisted, ”I’m a great fucking liar.”

There were things about him that even his brothers weren’t aware of. Keep your friends close, keep your enemies closer. Keep your secrets the closest. He was not a transparent individual. When he was angry, sure, appearances could be relied upon. He was a fuse; he could shout curses for days and offend every mother within a ten mile radius. Anger was his primary emotion. It was so well ingrained, however, that he could use it as a cover up. He could manipulate it, mold it into a mask to hide everything else. He could do it right now. Eyebrows furrowed and gaze narrowed, he twisted his face into a stubborn grimace and glared at Cal where he stood. You don’t know anything.

He did, but Teva didn’t want him to know that he was in the right. Lying so directly to his face was becoming excruciating. He was always too damn soft on him. He always convinced himself that he would harden his shell next time, but it never worked. He cracked sooner or later. Cal had that sort of power, he just didn’t know it yet.

Keep the charade going. That was all he needed to do.

[gamemaker kelsier]

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It doesn't matter how hard I start at him, he stares harder back. Teva isn't going to budge. I know, I fucking know that he knows something or why would he bring it up in the first place? Unless it's a ploy to get me off of the topic of him stealing money from the helpless then him asking if my mom knows what his job was is a totally useless topic. One that I've been over and over with my mom hundreds of times. She told me to stop asking what he did. She didn't want to talk about it. She said she didn't know. I'm pretty sure she wasn't lying to me, why would she? I don't know though, I don't. Maybe everyone lies.

Teva and Tate and Tripp were lying.

I'm a liar.

Dad was probably a liar too. We're all fucking liars here. My manager is a liar. He said the first time wouldn't hurt and it would definitely not hurt the second time either but he lied. It hurt every single goddamn time. The other dancers said that being on stage in front off all of those strangers, knowing what they're looking at would get better but it still hasn't. Mom said that we'd be okay, that I didn't have to work because we'd be fine without Dad and that was a lie too because we aren't. My teachers said that as long as I got good grades I would be alright and I'm not okay, I'm not.

"Oh yeah?" I challenge him and I nearly choke on the second word. My throat feels like it's tightening to the point where it hurts. I don't know what to say to him. I'm mad because he was lying to me but I'm lying to him to because he doesn't know what I do in that club and I won't ever properly tell him. I wish he would ask, I almost wish he'd ask because Teva has always sniffed out every horrible feeling I've had and made it better because he watches and he knows. This time it isn't working, this time I'm going to slip off again with my secret.

I wish he wasn't such a liar and I wish that I wasn't either but I am. I want to know what my father did but I don't. I don't want to hear what he was. I'm happier with my fantasies of what he did. Sometimes I pretend that he was a fireman or he delivered milk to rich people's houses every morning with the rotting old wooden cart that sits beside my house. I'd like to pretend that the money he made was clean and good, that he never did something as low as what I do. I'd like to pretend that there is still someone in my life that was good.

But I need to know. I just need to. It's my right to know, I think I've earned it. I should know about the man who raised me until I was twelve years old. I have enough nightmares about that night they took him. I have a mother who starts crying for seemingly no reason and won't stop even when I wrap my arms around her and tell her we'll be alright. I've had a rising suspicion for years now that my father was arrested because of his job but I never could figure out what that job of his could be.

Teva knows something but he's an asshole and I'm done with this conversation and I can feel tears of frustration welling in my eyes. I look away, blinking fast to get rid of them and then I walk forwards, pushing past him to leave the alley.

"Fucking fine then."

[Python]

Teva Seraphim

To his dismay, his tactic seemed to be having the right effect. Cal was still challenging him – a worthy opponent, might he add, although the cute face was distracting – but he could sense a change. He knew he should be feeling triumphant about this. Signs were beginning to reveal themselves, signs that indicated that Cal was about to cave in and stop probing him for answers. Shouldn’t he feel relieved that his plan was working? That his lies were rock solid, or at least stubborn enough to steer him away? He waited for that feeling in a drawn-out silence. Shifting from foot to foot, he couldn’t help but notice how wrong he was. There was no relief, he was empty. Disappointed, even. He couldn’t explain it – something was wringing his heart of its blood, and he could feel it pooling into his stomach.

Shit. He didn’t like this feeling. It felt too similar to dread, like the time Bouncer tried to “surprise” some of the boys (not his brothers, of course, since they were always conveniently gone when ridiculous shit happened to him) by leading them into a room full of prostitutes. All female, of course. He dreaded everything in that room, even the lie that he had built in a matter of minutes. Something about food poisoning. Kind of a half-assed, shitty lie, but he managed to fake it. He even heaved behind a pole for dramatic effect.

He still couldn’t believe that something so stupid had happened to him. His coworkers were fucking weird.

”Fucking fine then,” Cal said, stepping forward to push past him. Teva budged, but quickly turned around to watch him leave. His heart was in panic mode again, rapid like a bird’s flapping wings on a windless night. He didn’t want Cal to leave on such a shitty note. What if he never forgave him for playing this stupid lying game with him? That would be the ultimate fuck up.

I want to tell him.

He jogged to catch up with him. ”I’ll walk you home,” he said, fisting the pockets of his coat. Cal was definitely pissed at him. He might have been imagining it, but he could’ve sworn he saw Cal struggling not to cry. It was a bit too dark for him to confirm. The moonlight was a nice silver cloak that lit their path, but it wasn’t enough. The shadows these walls cast were too dark and too deep. He just didn’t want Cal to leave, for fuck’s sake. I want to tell him. Desperation was seeping through his pores. Seeking him out was going against his agreement with his brothers, because the closer he placed himself, the closer he was to yielding to temptation. It wasn’t fair that Cal had to be left in the dark like this. He had every right to know everything, even if it would upset him.

His brain was fogging up. The bridge between right and wrong had broken. Then again, it had probably never been constructed in the first place. He did rob people for a living, after all. And stab people. And lie to Cal in front of his goddamn face.

Tate and Tripp would not want Cal to know.

For some reason, he did. I could always turn back at the last second, he reminded himself. Just leave before he looks at you. One look and it would all be over.

So much for being a tough guy. Fucking weakling.

[gamemaker kelsier]

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I walk fast, wishing I could run. I hate him right now. I hate the sound of his hesitation, the sound of his feet following me and the way that he was just staring back at me, like I'm some kind of idiot. Well I'm not an idiot. I'm fucking not. I wipe angrily at my cheeks, cold palms making them raw from the warmth of the angry tears that have decided to take this moment to fall. I shouldn't be expected to converse in this state. I shouldn't have to talk to anyone or do anything or be anywhere I don't want to. I don't want to talk to Teva.

He falls in beside me anyway and I turn my face away from him so that he doesn't see me crying. I don't cry. I'm not a fucking crier at all so I don't know why this is happening now. The last time was when they killed Mrs. Seraphim and the time before that was when they took Dad away and this moment isn't as bad as them being gone so I don't want to cry. I don't want Teva to think he's won. This isn't like when we were little. This isn't just some dumb argument for Mrs. Seraphim to sort out, this is much bigger. This is important and he's lying to me. He's still lying to me.

Why are we like this.

When I was little I always thought that life would be the same, bright and warm. I thought that we were good, we were happy. Now we're like this. I've slept with half of the District and the triplets have probably robbed the rest. All those scars of Teva's, they never came from tripping over a rake or stepping on a nail or cutting through a bagel too far, all of those stupid stories, they're probably lies too. I didn't want this. "Why?" I ask and I lightly thump my closed fist against his chest like he's a table top.

The triplets have always been taller than me by an inch or two and I never found that annoying until this very moment. I'm shaking, crumbling against him, only heightening the difference. I raise my other fist and knock on his chest and wonder just when it was it became closed so closed off to me. "Aren't we friends?" I ask him, voice quiet, calm again. The tears were sudden and fast but they stopped. Everything has stopped. It's cold.

I knock once more, slowly, palm straightening out on the last tap, fingers curling around the fabric of his jacket for a brief moment before I pull away again, expression carefully neutral as I step back.

I regard him for a moment and then turn on my heel once again to continue on home. "Fuck off Teva," I say as I walk away. "Don't you have some asshole to rob?"

[Python]

Teva Seraphim

Teva always hated the silent treatment. It made him feel like he was being chastised. When they were all little, his mama would never argue with him when his fuse was lit. While he ticked like a bomb, she simply tapped her foot, crossed her arms and stared at him in a cold silence until he exploded, and even then she wouldn’t tolerate his bullshit. It had always been like talking to the tallest brick wall on the planet. She was sturdy like that. She had her own way of punishing each one of them. For Teva, it was silence. A lack of acknowledgement toward his absurd tantrums. His emotions had been pretty dramatic as a child, but only when he didn’t get what he wanted. Or when his brothers ganged up on him during an argument in which Teva was clearly wrong.

He missed his mama a lot, but he still despised the silent treatment. Coming from Cal it felt like he was being shoved back into a wall and left for dead. In the end it wouldn’t matter, because Teva would walk him home safely whether he fucking liked it or not. He could shove Teva away or protest for as long as it took to wind through the streets, but he was a stubborn asshole. Even if Cal wasn’t interested in the secrets anymore – or had simply given up because of his exasperation and exhaustion – the words were at the tip of Teva's tongue, and practically impossible to swallow now that the guilt was wrapped around his neck like a chain.

He was in mid-stride when Cal suddenly stopped, and at that moment he realized just how many times he had fucked up in one hour. A soft fist bumped his sternum. The last time he remembered Cal in tears was after mama’s execution, but that moment in his memory was too cloudy to retrieve. All he could truly remember was the confused march to the District Square, and the kiss mama blew them before her torso exploded with gunfire. After that, his vision turned red and all he could recall was how much it burned when the white coats started bashing him in the ribs and stomping against his heart when he collapsed to the ground. He didn’t remember passing out, but he probably did, because he couldn’t remember the transition between cement to hospital bed.

He felt frozen. Cal was crying against him, but he was afraid to reach out. If it were Tate, he would probably have his arms wrapped around Cal all motherly-like, but Teva was shit at affections. The most he could do was slip his hands out of his coat pockets. That was when he hesitated, hands twitching but never budging. He felt like a powerless piece of shit.

”We are,” he insisted. Of course they were friends, but Teva knew what he meant. It was all about the lies.

Cal abruptly righted himself, and as if a switch had flickered his expression reverted back to its original indifference. The evidence was still there, however, the tear streaks like little crystal trails on his cheeks. He cursed and started to walk away again, but Teva still refused to be discarded that easily. He once again regretted his complete lack of comfort. ”Not anymore. You told me I couldn’t have this alley.”

[gamemaker kelsier]

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Half of me wants to punch his fucking teeth in. The other half does too but knows it's not worth it and that half is winning. I'm one hundred percent sure that if Teva really wanted to he could beat the shit out of me anyway. I'm not a fighter. I'm a dancer. I know I'm not a fighter, I've been so helpless before and too weak to do anything, too small to make a difference in the situation. All I can ever do is give in and hope that whatever is happening ends quickly. I know the triplets would call it giving up. I prefer to call it surviving.

I squeeze my hands into fists and hear my knuckles crack in the cold air as a result. Teva has got to know that this is exactly what I don't want. All I really want is a straight answer. Correction, all I really want is to sleep for one million years but since that's not happening, I'll settle for him telling me what he knows about my father. I've got a sinking suspicion that if I know what Teva actually does then I'll know what my Dad did too. I've never seen someone looks so 'uninformed'. If they knew what their mom did and my Dad was somehow connected to it, then it means that the Triplets have known what really happened with my father for five long years.

Five years that I've spent wondering about him, thinking that one day my mom would disappear for no reason too. It's been five years of me thinking that the Capitol can just take whomever for no reason. I need something to pin my father down with like the monarch butterfly on display in the District Nine library. I've always been frightened, believing that one night they could pull me from my bed and cut out my tongue. I've lain awake, wondering if it was happening to Teva, Tate, Tripp or Teddy even as I was trying to sleep.

I've spent a life time believing that everyone was going to leave me. I trusted them not to. I knew that it might not be their choice but I trusted them not to go.

How can I trust liars.

How can I trust thieves.

"How can you just rob people when you know what it's like going hungry?" I ask, still walking. That's the part I don't understand. The triplets know first hand what it's like to feel like you're slowly starving to death, or at least I thought that they did. Maybe they aren't as similar to me as I thought. I don't know how long they've been stealing but even in that first winter after their mother died, they never came to us for handouts. They've always seemed fine. Maybe I was just making things up in my head, thinking they knew what it felt like to sleep on a stomach so empty that you nearly chew your lips raw in an effort not to cry.

"Don't you think about those people you're taking it from?"

If I wasn't me, he would have taken that money from me, that hard earned rent money. I had to give myself away for that cash. Bits of me are missing. Every paycheck I get I feel like I'm handing over more of myself each time I take it. They aren't paying me for dancing, it's more of a transaction. I'm disappearing bit by bit. What would I have done if I'd been robbed tonight?

I don't know.

The thought scares me because I just don't know.

[Python]

Teva Seraphim

Hunger was a special kind of sickness. It had the simplest cure in the world, but it wasn’t always affordable. Teva remembered what hunger felt like – real hunger, not the shit his stomach was doing right now, growling and shriveling from depletion of energy and stress beneath the pressure of Cal’s unrelenting anger. Their mother had money stashed and saved for them, but the white coats found it first and claimed over half of it after her execution. What remained didn’t last long enough to feed all four of them. The transition was the lowest point of their lives; the process of joining the gang and earning respect and weaving through ranks and gaining real experience had been long and grueling. Initial pay had been low. Teva could remember curling himself up into a ball on the worst nights, trying to find a position that best suppressed the twisting of his empty abdomen.

Now they were in tip top shape. They were all cushioned in muscle, and Teddy was working his way up there despite his weak heart. Nobody would ever guess that these boys had once been starving under their own roof. The telltale signs of hunger had vanished. Anyone could recognize them, how bony the starving were. How they walked, how the bags under their eyes resembled evening shadows, the slight indentation of cheeks to mark the beginning of skin-sinking. Teva was a fucking professional, he knew the difference between someone who was going hungry and someone who wasn’t. It was all a guessing game, of course, but he didn’t victimize the starving. If he ever did, it was an accident.

One time he had startled a man so badly he lost his lunch on the concrete. “Lunch” had been a half loaf of bread. The other half was in his bag, and he claimed it would feed his children that night.

Teva left that one well alone, and told him about the little café near the Square that always discarded leftovers in the back alley.

”I don’t just rob random starving people, give me some fucking credit.” This was becoming almost too frustrating to bear. He couldn’t make Cal understand without telling him everything, but even then he might not truly grasp it. He could start viewing Teva and his brothers as monsters. In a way, they could be. But they weren’t, they still had some goddamn humanity. He sighed and continued with ”Like I said, it’s more complicated than you think.”

Just ask me what it is. I’ll tell you. He was technically still debating it, but it felt too late. It was a twenty minute journey to Cal’s house. He would have to crack sooner or later, right? Because he was convinced that it was the best thing for him, even if he ended up hating all of it.

[gamemaker kelsier]

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I keep offending him tonight and I feel guilty for it. I shouldn't have to feel that guilt. I already feel guilty for every other thing in my life, every other step I take, I shouldn't have to feel guilty that I'm mad because he won't tell me about my own Dad. I know Teva Seraphim though, I know how he is. He's the laughter, the one who says stupid shit, the one that makes you feel better. He pretends to be a hard ass but he's good, he's always been good. He goes soft on me, even when I don't deserve it, the boy who held back when we were little and wrestling in the grass.

It's because he knows things.

About people I mean.

I hate that about him because he knows about me too. Not enough about me. He doesn't know about me, what I do. I wish he did know. He'd leave me alone if he knew about me, he'd make him forget me because I'm disgusting. I'm dirty. That's why I feel guilty. I'm making him air out his dirty laundry and now showing him mine too. He's showing me his polka dot underpants and I'm pretending that I go commando. Ask me again Teva, ask me what I do in that nightclub.

But then he'll go away, right? Yeah but that's what you want isn't it? No.

He says it's more complicated than I think it is and I cannot fathom how it could be. I already think it's complicated as hell. I don't think it can get worse, I know it can. I don't want to hear it but I do and that's why I'm a sucker, a total idiot. I want what's bad for me more than anything in the entire world, and he's got it. In that stupid head of his, he's got it.

"Yeah okay, it's your stupid family only secret shit I get it whatever," I say, kicking a rock into the fence line. (But I don't get it.) It makes a loud cracking sound against the wood of the butcher's backyard and I take a small happiness from the sound. I can break things too, I can cause pain, I can yell. I don't want to have to though.

I turn on my heel once again, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. I raise a finger, displaying the number one to him as if giving an ultimatum. "Tell me," I say and the or else does not have to follow. He knows it's there, I know he knows because Teva knows me. I don't know what the or else means but I know that it's an ugly or else, an angry one.

[Python]

Teva Seraphim

Cal scratched a nerve this time. Put away the goddamn kitty claws. He felt his heart perform a somersault of anger at the word stupid. Ridicule was one of the easiest ways to light his fuses. He never took it lightly and he hardly ever forgave it unless he either scared the living shit out of the other person until he was satisfied, or beat the living shit out of them if they deserved it in the first place. Obviously, he couldn’t do either of those things with Cal. He wouldn’t. But he could still feel the anger like hot iron singing his brain, and he clenched his fists until his nails made indentions in his palm. ”It’s not stupid,” he spat, dark eyes glaring like newly-forged hot daggers. Disrespect was not something he wanted to deal with right now. ”It’s dangerous. That’s why it’s a secret.”

How dangerous? Dangerous enough to warrant punishment for Cal’s father in his own front lawn. That had only been a warning. Nobody knew that it would lead to such gut-wrenching horror. Nobody had predicted that the entire District would be invited to the execution of their mother, the triplets and Teddy having been forced into the front row to watch their mother become an example. A warning against our gang, and against our entire family. He didn’t know if Cal’s mother had been informed of her husband’s involvement, but if so she was doing a hell of a job keeping in behind closed doors. The Seraphim brothers were too. They were masters of secrets.

He was about to break that trust with his brothers, but they didn’t need to find out. He trusted Cal, anyway. Once he found out, would he even want to tell anyone else?

”Our mom got fucking shot because of it,” he said, to emphasize the danger. Cal needed to know the stakes, here. He needed to know what he might be getting himself into if he continued probing.

They were in an open space, bathed in the glow of the full moon. The sidewalk was at their heels and a fence entertained his gaze for a moment. He couldn’t locate the “no trespassing” sign, but he knew one was planted somewhere. Or perhaps some delinquent had torn it down. Sounds like something I’d do. Cal abruptly paused and pointed a threatening finger at him. ”Tell me.” There was no doubting the severity in his tone. He sounded fairly menacing, and it both surprised and amused him for a moment. He knew he could take Cal on if he needed to, but he hoped it wouldn’t be necessary.

”Fine, but keep it on the down low. If my brothers find out that I told you they’ll murder me.” Literally, they could. They wouldn’t, but they could. Tate he might be able to fight off, but Tripp was undeniably talented with a gun. He surpassed everyone. Try to flee from him, and you end up shot down a second later. You don’t even see it coming.

Teva hesitated only for another instant, then launched into the reveal with a sigh. ”Your dad and my mom were in a gang. Biggest one in the District, same one me and my brothers are in right now.”

It didn’t feel like dropping a bomb as much as it did whacking himself in the ribs until his heart seized up.

[gamemaker kelsier]

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"No."

I shake my head.

"No," I tell him, voice firm even as I clench my fists to keep my hands from shaking. "My dad was good, he was better than me, so no. He wasn't in your gang, no." I shake my head but I can see it in his face, hear it in the sincerity of his words, he's not lying to me. I wish he was. For the first time tonight I wish he was lying to me. I knew that there was a high chance that my dad was not as innocent as I thought he was. Over the last five years I've had real reason to question that because of my mom's honest hard work and stubborn belief in doing everything clean. I thought that I was the messed up one, the twig in the family bicycle's spoke. I've been using my dad as a model since I can remember, and in my head he was the superhero, not the villain.

In a gang. They can't be in a gang because gangs are for life until you die like their mom and my dad who is probably dead too because he would never have let them take his necklace away if he wasn't dead and the hard bit of plastic that's sticking to my chest is around my neck and not his and I've been waiting to see his body on our doorstep for two long years and I visit the wooden cross in the graveyard that I made him every Thursday afternoon and he was a good man. He was a good man, I know he was. He wasn't like me.

My face twists up into an angry scowl and I hiss it out again, "No." I'm refusing him and his stupid lies and his stupid truths and everything. "How can you be in a gang?" I ask angrily, nearly stamping my foot against the pavement like I'm six years old and I'm throwing a tantrum. "How can you do this?" I ask him. It's not like it's my right to tell them what they should be doing with their lives but yeah, it fucking is. It is my right because I care about them and it's stupid.

"Who's gonna die next then? Tate?" I ask, venom painting my words raw and angry, "Tripp?" I continue, knowing that this is something that he probably already knows. "Teddy," I say, and it feels almost like I'm telling the future now. "Or...or even You, Teva, what if it's you?" I ask him, voice cracking with the sudden force of emotion.

I've been holding it together well enough since dad and Mrs. Seraphim but I cannot imagine life after any of them. I can't imagine life being worth it with them not in it, cracking jokes and making it warm again. I don't want to think about my dad too, standing in the very alley we might have just come out of, preying on the hard working and innocent.

At least I know why I'm such a fuck-up now.

I've been living on dirty money since before I was born.

[Python]

Teva Seraphim

Disbelief. Denial. He expected that. After every “No,” Teva’s face softened another centimeter. From an outsider’s perspective – hell, through any fucking perspective – the world of gangs was foreign and evil. It was like selling oneself to the devil, soul consumed and burned and then spit back out again to form a completely reborn individual. That was what had happened after their mother’s brutal demise, and it was the white coats to blame. They drove the Seraphims into becoming corrupt devils. Gangs were not misunderstood, he knew that. They were dangerous and frightening, they killed and maimed. Most rumors about them were true, although there was one exception. Mother would never allow a rape to happen, and Teva would execute anyone who fucking tried.

He couldn’t blame Cal for rejecting the idea. Who wanted to hear that their father wasn’t a hero, but a villain surrounded by criminals?

He was a criminal too. Cal’s friends were all criminals.

Cal’s onslaught of anger was brighter than the moon swelling above their heads. He asked why. He asked it in such an accusatory way, but Teva already had the answer. He always reminded himself why. ”Because mom raised us that way, and we weren’t gonna let her fucking die for nothing,” he said, tone surprisingly balanced in comparison to his whirlwind of thoughts and heightened state of defense. He was always quick to defend himself, even if he was wrong. Cal probably thought he was wrong for doing this, but it wasn’t a singular decision. It was consensus shared among all three of them (four, if one counted Teddy’s eagerness to be involved despite his age and brothers’ protests). They all wanted to join in honor of their mother. They all wanted fast, violent money because they were furious at the injustice of their loss.

It was an impulsive decision.

”Nobody is going to fucking die, Cal.” He would make sure of it. No more loss, no more goddamn suffering. ”We had to do this. If we hadn’t joined, the gang would’ve come looking for us anyway. You think they would just let four of a member’s sons go to waste? Do you even know how this shit works? Our mom had a lot of fucking power. They would’ve come after us no matter what, so we joined ourselves and took charge instead of the other way around.”

He had always pictured himself explaining it this way, and even now it didn’t feel like a lie or a truth. The gang arriving at their doorstep was inevitable, but in light of their mother’s death – such a large blow to their system and to her close comrades - he doubted that they would’ve disrespected her by delivering death threats. They probably could’ve lived without joining. He wasn’t entirely sure, but it hardly mattered now. They had made the decisions themselves before the gang could decide for them. And once they were in, they were in it until death. A contract with the devil. Regret would only cause suffering, so he only thought of the good it would do.

He would ignore everything else for as long as he possibly could.

[gamemaker kelsier]

C  A  L  C  I  F  E  R

I was right, My father was an upstanding person. In comparison to me, he's still better. Anything is better than what I do, I'm sure of it. I can't lie and say that I don't enjoy it sometimes. I like the feeling of being on stage, of using my own strength to lift myself effortlessly through the air, holding myself up using only a metal pole. I like the feeling of performing art. I like to dance. I've always liked it. What I don't like is knowing that the eyes that are on me aren't there to appreciate anything but my body. I don't like it when I bend down over the crowd and they pull at my waistband, tucking dollar bills against my skin, too close. Too close to my skin. What I don't like is the part that happens when I'm not performing, the part that makes the real money. When I have to make sounds and act like I'm enjoying it, when they ask me if I love them and I always have to answer 'yes'.

I hate them.

"Why not me then? You said they don't let the sons of gang members go, why not me?" I ask, voice coming out fast and desperate. He doesn't make sense, not right now. If that was true then they would have been dragging me out by my ears, handing me a knife or a gun or a fucking crowbar, whatever and telling me to aim and swing or point and shoot. I don't know how gangs work, I can't pretend to know but Teva has to be lying to me again. If my dad was in the gang thn by what he's said, I should have been recruited too.

I don't understand, it doesn't make sense. It doesn't. I lean into the fence then, resting my forehead against the damp, cold and rotting wood. It smells faintly of cedar and I feel oddly homesick for a small moment, trying to think, to sort it out. I can't see why they wouldn't have come for me, and I can't see why the triplets wouldn't have told me so that I could make money too, so that I could know what's happened to my dad. I can't count the number of times I've sat in their kitchen, working on homework and watching Tate cook. Something about Tate cooking was welcoming, like he was a barkeeper, a man you could pour your secrets into. There have been countless times I've spoken of philosophy with Tate and asked him why he thought they took my father.

He never gave me a direct answer. I should have known that was suspicious. but who suspects their best friends as liars. Who actually believes that their best friends wouldn't tell them everything? I thought I knew everything about the Seraphims, I thought that they trusted me like I trusted them. I do. I trust them. But they haven't trusted me back. Was our friendship a lie too, I wonder? Or maybe they were just not telling me because they were trying to prote-

"Ahh," I say softly, understanding blooming. I shut my eyes, shutting out the wooden fence, the dark night and the hint of Teva in the corner of my eye, where it somehow feels like he's always lived. "I think I understand. You were trying to keep me safe," I say, voice low, calmer again. I slam my fist against the wooden slat beside me and I laugh, low and throaty. I feel relieved somehow. I feel like I've been dropped off of a building. They were lying because they thought it was better that way, but they don't know. They don't know shit.

Now that I've started laughing I can't stop. I open my eyes and let my hand fall back down to my side, I turn and lean my weight against the wooden fence. My legs give out beneath me, I'm weak from laughter. I laugh so hard that my face goes red and tears fall down my cheeks, I can't breath. I clutch at the front of my sweater and my laughter doesn't stop. It's manic and sweet and delicious. I don't want to stop. The irony is too much. It's too much.

They thought that they were keeping me safe. It's just too good. Oh god, it's good.

I haven't laughed so hard in ages.

I calm down, slowly as if I'm coming off some high. I feel like I am. My head feels light and somehow everything seems hilarious. Chalk it up to exhaustion or self hatred or that fucking irony, I'm so angry I could smash someone's head into the fucking pavement but I'm happy all at once. I never asked for it, their idea of keeping me safe. I didn't ask for their 'help'.

'That's alls I wanna do baby, I just wanna help you, let me just help you out, honey'

"I don't want to talk to you ever again Teva Seraphim," I say, turning my head almost lazily to look him right in the eye, "Don't fucking talk to me. Not ever."

[Python]

Teva Seraphim

Why not him?

Teva could think of a few reasons. Cal was an only child, and a single confused child could be neglected in favor of others. He also didn’t know about any of it, and forcing a transition upon an oblivious kid like that could be difficult. There would be hassle involved if he rejected them, and when gangs recruited they tended to add death threats for extra measure. Death threats were always promises. Handing one to a kid like Cal was unnecessary, and probably a waste of time. He faintly wondered if Cal would’ve joined had they offered. How different would things have been if Cal ended up in the gang before they did? Would they be closer?

Would he still be alive?

”I think I understand. You were trying to keep me safe,” Cal said, and he was right. But it was more than that, so much more. ”You and your mom. We wanted both of you safe.” Because it wouldn’t be fair for her to house a gangster after such a devastating blow to the family. It hadn’t been their decision anyway. The gang simply left Cal alone, no interest planted whatsoever. Perhaps it had been mentioned once or twice, but no way would their mother have allowed it. Forcefully dragging Cal into that life at such a young age could’ve killed him. Teva was grateful that he hadn’t been sought out.

But he did regret withholding the secret.

He chewed the edge of his lip as his nerves melted beneath his skin. His heart quivered at the sound of this strange, manic laughter. Teva was abnormally and stupidly fearless, but this scared the shit out of him. He could only stare in perplexed horror as the episode unfolded. He liked the sound of Cal’s laughter – when it sounded happy and genuine. They were like chiming bells. Making Cal laugh had always been one of his favorite things to do, but this cackling was nothing humorous. He had bent something inside of him a bit too far, perhaps, and maybe it had snapped. Maybe this had been an awful fucking idea. He didn’t know. He could only glance around in hopes that nobody could hear this, and wait for it to subside.

”I don't want to talk to you ever again Teva Seraphim.”

His chest seized up. A volcanic eruption of blood rushed to his face and into his dropping stomach. ”Don't fucking talk to me. Not ever.”

What was this? His jaw fell slack, and he probably resembled a deer in the headlights. Absolutely not, no no no no no no this could not be fucking happening, of course this would go badly but this was not something he wanted or expected. He can’t fucking do this to me, he’s my best fucking friend fuck you Cal.

He reeked of desperation but he didn’t care, he just stepped forward and started spitting. ”It wasn’t my fucking decision to keep it from you!” His arms animated themselves, thrusting themselves forward into the breeze to emphasize just how desperate he was. ”I’ve got too many goddamn secrets already, but my brothers fucking insisted. If I go around telling secrets then I can’t be trusted by my own goddamn family!”

He inhaled like a habitual smoker, having noticed how deprived his lungs felt after that delivery. He had forgotten to breathe. ”What the fuck do you want from me, Cal?”

[gamemaker kelsier]

C  A  L  C  I  F  E  R

"What the fuck do you want from me, Cal?”

To go away. Just to go away and to leave me alone and to never come back and to just leave me to it. Leave me to my rotten life and my rotting house and my bone-weary mother and the bed that I don't see enough of. Leave me to my schoolwork that I sometimes can barely comprehend, leave me to the empty cupboards and drawers in my kitchen. Leave me to the bottomless cold of my house and the unhappiness of never having enough sweaters. Leave me to the club and the stage and the backroom, always the backroom. Leave me to the backroom where the hands of my customers run up and down my skin, getting their dirt and grime all over me.

I shut my eyes again, letting them rest. I wish I could rest too but it feels like there is a lump in my throat the size of Panem. What I want is for Teva to pick me up and take me somewhere warm. I want him to tuck the covers up beneath my chin and tell me that I'll be alright. What I want is to sleep for one hundred thousand years and then when I wake up what I want is to eat something warm, something that doesn't taste stale. "Y'know," I tell my knees, "One night we were so hungry but all the money we had went into paying the water bill. We almost ate dirt." Instead we split a moldy piece of bread. That's one taste that I'll never get out of my mouth. The dry, dusty moldy texture of it. I was so hungry at the time. I didn't care.

Some time that week, Mrs. Seraphim gave us a lasagna that she had made. We rationed that pan of lasagna and we made it last for three and a half days. She'd given it to my mom and said it was because she'd made too much but I knew that it wasn't that at all. I used to go to the Seraphim's everyday. She could see me, and the way I looked, gaunt and aching. She saw that.

Mom picked up her third job sometimes after that. Things became a bit better. She had sewing that she would stitch up, like she was a Mrs. Fixit. Sometimes she'd bring home a bag of bears and we'd have to sew all the eyes and buttons on. She said it was freelance work. My mom worked a lot. I can't recall her ever just resting. She said that she doesn't mind it, that she's happy as long as I stay in school. I want to quit school. I want to make my mom rich. "My mom works so many jobs that I think I've barely seen her at all in years," I tell my knees again, holding a conversation with sewn in patches on my jeans.

"So why do I gotta be the one to suffer like this?" I ask my knees the question but they are as silent as the grave. Which is to be expected. "Why do I gotta be the one that has to stoop to this low level?" I do not expect an answer. I thought I knew the answer. I thought it was because someone had to do it. Like garbage collectors. No one wants to do it but to keep society moving, someone has to come along every Tuesday and pick up people's trash.

But I've sat on the curb every Tuesday for the last four weeks and so far they've forgotten me.

I guess I thought that one day all my suffering, all my bad luck was going to pay off. That one day someone would rescue me from this hellhole, would toss me a rope or something. How can they help me if we're all down here together.

I'm quiet for a long moment as I study the places where the jeans have been resewn again and again as I've worn through the knees again and again. I'd never dare ask my mom for a new pair of pants. I've been growing like mad but we can't afford something like that. I'll ask her to fix them again. There's a tear forming where I've worn them through. When she's not busy, I'll ask her.

I know what I want from him now. I know what I've wanted from him, from everyone all along. It's been shouting inside of me, loud and obnoxious but I've kept it silent for so long. "Ask me," I echo the angry scream, "Ask me what I do for money Teva, that's what I want from you." I turn my head slowly to look at him and somehow it feels like the lump in my throat grows bigger. There's this burning, bruised look on his face and I know I've put it there with my cruel words. I wish I could take it back but somehow I know I mean it. I want him to leave me alone. I want them all to leave me alone. I just want the world to go away and forget about the boy named Calcifer.

"Ask me."

[Python]

Teva Seraphim

He was afraid of the answer. After the ”I never want to talk to you again,” he anticipated further rejection. He expected to be cast away by his best friend, because he was used to responding to stubbornness. In any argument he prepared for the worst; curses, punches, kicks, lunges, stabs, gunfire, he had enough experience to know that he shouldn’t be optimistic when it was more than likely he would end up shit out of luck. In this case the worst thing he could think of was losing Cal forever. If Cal just walked out on him, he would lose his best friend. His brothers would lose their best friend and blame him.

He couldn’t live with himself if Cal hated him.

The Seraphims had always known that Cal’s family suffered poverty after their father’s capture. They had always offered their assistance, and their mama would go far beyond expectations and bake a meal just for them. She would lie and tell them that she had a lot leftover, when in reality she just wanted to pitch in and minimize the struggle. She would always let the brothers help her with the cooking when it was for Cal and his mama. She said they weren’t allowed to tell anyone that it was charity because people had their pride and people wanted the independence and power to fend for their own families. It was stubborn, but part of life, she said. She said they would understand one day, and he did. But a little help wasn’t so bad. In a gang it was every man for himself, but they could support one another at the same time. It was a system.

Cal could’ve been part of that system. He could’ve earned a lot of money for his weary mama, and fed the both of them forever. Then again, it also could’ve killed him. Gang murders happened all the time – not necessarily in theirs, since it was the mightiest and the most feared, but it happened on occasion. One or two would drop dead, usually from gunshot or Peacekeeper intervention. They normally arranged vengeance hunts in response, and Teva was always dragged into those. Sometimes he would volunteer.

He couldn’t picture Cal as one of the gang. When he thought of him, he thought about all the times they ate lunch together and goofed off in school, or the times he would knock on their door with homework or books tucked under his arm. He thought of Cal as the hardworking student that would be a successful business man, or a factory manager, something high class and clean.

In the meantime, it seemed he had picked up another job instead without their knowing, and had kept it a secret from everyone. ”We didn’t know you worked at a place like this. If I had known, I would’ve told you everything a lot fucking sooner.” It was no fucking wonder Cal never visited anymore. He was sleep-deprived because of late shifts, and when he wasn’t at this goddamn nightclub he was probably at school or at home completing homework. Or asleep. Teva understood late nights, but he was out of school and could sleep in during the day, or take a nap at his leisure. Gang activity was low when the sun was up, practically nonexistent to Teva. He usually spent his days napping or completing chores, or just generally doing whatever the fuck he wanted for fun when he was finished with it all.

Cal deserved that leisure too.

"Ask me,” he demanded.

Fine.

”What do you do for money?”