Chapter Text
The alley reeked of piss and rotting garbage, but Kayden had smelled worse. What caught his attention wasn't the stench—it was perceiving awakener energy where it shouldn't be.
He rounded the corner and stopped short. Three awakeners had cornered a fourth against a brick wall, their power signatures flaring aggressive and sloppy. Amateur hour. But the cornered one—white hair catching streetlight, mismatched eyes reflecting cold fury—held power with precision between his fingers that made Kayden's own abilities hum in recognition.
"Just hand over the bounty intel, freak," one of the three sneered. "We know you've been tracking the Crimson bastard longer than us."
The white-haired man said nothing, but purple shadows began to writhe around his fingers like living things. Clean technique. Focused. Not self-taught. Then he moved. It was brutal and efficient—a fast strike that dropped the first attacker before the other two could blink. The second fell to a precisely placed blow that used the man's own momentum against him, purple shadow-blades slicing through his defenses like paper. The third tried to run.
Big mistake.
Shadows lashed out like whips, wrapping around the fleeing awakener's ankle and sending him sprawling. The white-haired man approached with predatory calm, but Kayden could see the slight tremor in his hands, the way his breathing had gone shallow. Amateur mistake—too much power, too fast.
"You're about to pass out," Kayden called out, stepping into the light.
The mismatched eyes snapped to him, widening slightly. Recognition flickered there, followed immediately by wariness.
"Kayden." The voice was rough, carefully neutral. "Didn't expect to find you in a shithole like this."
"Didn't expect to find decent technique in a shithole like this either." Kayden gestured at the unconscious bodies. "But you're burning through your reserves like an idiot. That last trick was flashy as hell and completely unnecessary."
Instead of bristling at the criticism, the man tilted his head with genuine curiosity. "How would you have done it?"
Kayden found himself stepping closer, drawn by the question. Most awakeners got defensive when he pointed out their flaws. This one wanted to learn.
"Third guy was already spooked. Shadow manipulation's about intimidation as much as precision." He demonstrated with a casual gesture, letting electricity dance across his knuckles in a controlled display. "Small show of strength, let fear do the heavy lifting. Save the real power for when you need it."
The white-haired man watched intently, absorbing every word. "Makes sense. I tend to... overcompensate."
There was something in the way he said it—like the words carried weight Kayden couldn't quite parse. The stranger was studying him with an intensity that should have been uncomfortable but somehow wasn't.
"You know who I am," Kayden said. It wasn't a question.
"Everyone knows who you are." A pause. "I'm Amyeong."
No family name, no titles. Just Amyeong. Kayden liked that. Direct.
"What's your deal with the bounty hunters?" he asked, nodding toward the groaning awakeners starting to regain consciousness.
"They think I know something I don't." Amyeong's expression shuttered slightly. "I work alone for a reason."
Kayden recognized the deflection, the careful distance. He used the same techniques himself. But there was something else there—a loneliness that felt familiar.
"Come on," he said impulsively. "Buy me a drink and tell me where you learned to fight like that."
Amyeong's surprise was genuine. "You want to... have a drink? With me?"
"Unless you've got somewhere better to be." Kayden was already walking toward the alley mouth. "There's a place a few blocks over that doesn't ask questions."
He heard footsteps following and felt an odd satisfaction.
The bar was exactly as advertised—dim, cheap, and populated by people who minded their own business. Kayden claimed a corner booth while Amyeong got their drinks, using the time to study the other man more carefully. Scars. Lots of them, some old, some newer. The kind that spoke of serious violence, not just street fights. His clothes were worn but clean, practical rather than stylish. Everything about him screamed survival over comfort. But it was the way he moved that held Kayden's attention. Economical. Precise. Like someone who'd learned that wasted motion could mean death.
"Here." Amyeong slid a whiskey across the table and settled into the opposite seat. Up close, the mismatched eyes were even more striking—one black as night, one white as bone.
"Birth defect or battle scar?" Kayden asked bluntly.
Most people would have flinched or deflected. Amyeong just smiled, the expression transforming his entire face. "What do you think?"
"Battle scar. Too clean to be natural, too deliberate to be accidental."
"Good eye." Amyeong raised his glass in a mock toast. "To observant drinking partners."
Kayden found himself smiling back as they drank. "So where'd you learn the technique? It's too clean to be street-taught."
"Books. Videos. Watching people like you from a distance." Amyeong's honesty was disarming. "I'm good at picking things up."
"Show me."
Without hesitation, Amyeong extended his hand palm-up and called up small tendrils of purple shadow. They flickered and writhed, controlled but inefficient. Kayden leaned forward. "You're fighting them instead of guiding them. Shadows want to move naturally—let them flow. Don't force a shape, suggest one." He covered Amyeong's hand with his own, skin to skin. The contact sent an electric jolt through Kayden that had nothing to do with his abilities—while the shadows seemed to respond to his presence, becoming more fluid.
"Feel that?" Kayden's voice was rougher than intended. "The way they're calming under steady guidance? That's what you're aiming for. Control through partnership, not domination."
Amyeong's breathing had gone shallow, but his focus remained absolute. Under Kayden's guidance, the shadows in his palm smoothed into elegant patterns, responsive and graceful.
"Christ," Amyeong breathed. "That's... I've been doing it wrong for years."
"Not wrong. Inefficient." Kayden realized he hadn't pulled his hand away. Neither had Amyeong. "You learn fast."
"I have good motivation." The words were quiet, but the intensity behind them was unmistakable.
They spent the next two hours talking technique, theory, and practical application. Amyeong absorbed everything like a sponge, asking insightful questions that pushed Kayden to articulate concepts he'd never bothered to explain before. It was exhilarating in a way Kayden hadn't expected.
"You should find a proper mentor," he said eventually. "Someone with more patience than me."
"I don't want someone else." The words hung between them, loaded with meaning. "You're the one I want to learn from."
Kayden felt something shift in his chest—part pride, part something more dangerous. "I don't take students."
"I'm not asking to be your student." Amyeong leaned back, but his eyes never left Kayden's face. "I'm asking you to show me things when you feel like it. No commitment, no expectations. Just... this."
It was a perfect out, carefully crafted to appeal to Kayden's need for independence. Too perfect.
"You've thought about this before."
"I've thought about you before." Amyeong's honesty was brutal and beautiful. "Hard not to, when you're everything I want to become."
The admission hit Kayden in an unfamiliar way. Not because it was unwelcome, but because it was exactly what he'd wanted to hear without realizing it.
"That's dangerous thinking," he said softly.
"I'm used to danger."
The bar had grown quieter around them, other patrons filtering out as the night wore on. In the dim light, Amyeong looked younger, more vulnerable. But his gaze remained steady, unflinching.
Kayden made a decision he'd probably regret.
"My place is ten minutes from here," he said. "You want to continue this conversation somewhere more private?"
Amyeong's sharp intake of breath was answer enough.
Kayden's apartment was as sparse as expected—functional furniture, minimal decoration, everything arranged for quick departure if necessary. Amyeong took it in with the same focused attention he'd shown everything else.
"Not much for creature comforts," he observed.
"Don't see the point." Kayden moved to the kitchen area, suddenly restless. "You want coffee? Water?"
"I want you to stop pretending this is a social call."
The bluntness stopped Kayden short. He turned to find Amyeong watching him with those unsettling mismatched eyes, all pretense stripped away.
"And what do you think this is?"
"You tell me." Amyeong stepped closer, closing the distance between them with predatory grace. "You're the one who brought me here."
Kayden could smell him now—leather and ozone and something indefinably male. Could see the way Amyeong's pulse jumped at his throat, the slight dilation of his pupils. The want there was naked, unashamed.
"You sure about this?" Kayden's voice came out rougher than intended. "I'm not the mentoring type. I'm not the relationship type either."
"Good." Amyeong reached up, fingers ghosting along Kayden's jawline. "Neither am I" he lied.
The touch sent electricity through both of them—literal sparks dancing across their skin where they connected. Amyeong's eyes widened at the sensation, wonder mixing with desire.
"Is that normal?" he breathed.
"Nothing about this is normal," Kayden admitted, then closed the distance between them.
The kiss was electric in every sense for Kayden—desperate and hungry. For Amyeong, months of admiration and attraction condensing into this single point of contact, he responded with the same focused intensity he brought to everything else, learning the rhythm of Kayden's mouth like it was another technique to master.
When they broke apart, both were breathing hard.
"Bedroom," Kayden growled against Amyeong's ear. "Now."
What followed was fierce and consuming—two people who lived on the edges of society finding something genuine in each other's arms. Amyeong met every touch with enthusiasm, every kiss with growing confidence. He was eager to learn, to please, to lose himself in the connection they'd built.
Afterward, lying tangled in sheets that smelled like sex and sweat, Kayden found himself studying the play of streetlight across Amyeong's scarred skin. The younger man had fallen asleep pressed against his side, one hand still resting over Kayden's heart.
For the first time in years, Kayden didn't feel the urge to run. Maybe that should have been a warning sign.