Barracks

[dyanne, explanations queen]

Adrian Matthew hadn't slept for two days. To be more accurate, he hadn't slept for the past 53 hours and 28 minutes. When General Lewis came to the palace and asked for guards who were willing to work overtime, he hadn't hesitated. He remembered Reiko's orders well enough: Take every opportunity. Win their trust. Unlike the south, the north weren't prone to violence. They weren't here to sabotage the selection. But the war of knowledge was far more powerful than one of weapons and so that was what Reiko was after. Knowledge. Or that's what she told them.

But Adrian wasn't convinced. His fa- Leo had never been one to show much expression, and so Adrian became an expert at reading them. And behind that cold, intimidating, fierce facade of Reiko, her soft, deadly words, he felt as if she were keeping something from him. Holding back.

But that didn't matter. He was no longer Adrian. He was no longer the adopted son of Leo Gray, the true son of a young couple who had been blasted to bits by a rogue bomb. He was no longer unloved or unwanted. He was Matthew Johnston, dutiful guard and citizen of Illea. That was what he kept telling himself. That was his foundation, the reason he had somehow survived so long without sleep, that he was still up and running.

Walking briskly back to the barracks at the end of his shift, the selection was the least of Matthew's worries. A three hour nap. That's it. You need to make sure you're awake when Gabe's shift starts because that little shit is surely going to try and pull some stupid excuse about having to- Bam. Five steps from the barrack door, someone slammed into Matthew, a dead weight from behind that nearly knocked the air out of Matthew. Nearly.

He steadied himself against the wall before wheeling around. Troy Maxwell. Of course. "Real graceful, aren't you?" It was more of a statement than a question, the words clipped and his face emotionless.

[corina]

(view spoiler)[ first, i second scooter: adlskjlgfkljsdhfj
second, dy, how you get reiko so well it amazes me (hide spoiler)]

[dyanne, explanations queen]

(view spoiler)[askdlf; omg this will be the death of me i'm busy rn and have to go run some errands but i'll reply as soon as i come back (hide spoiler)]

[dyanne, explanations queen]

Matthew was finding it harder and harder to resist the urge to punch Troy in the face. Troy had pointed out multiple times that Matthew's lack of sleep not only made him look "like crap" but also irritable as hell, something Matthew really couldn't argue with now that he literally had to placed his clenched fist to the wall beside them so as to stop himself from driving it into nose of the boy in front of him.

Where to begin with Troy Maxwell? With that stupid little grin and his stupid snarky comments and his stupid "innocence" which Matthew always felt was a little bit too genuine to actually be genuine, while Matthew distrusted literally everyone at this palace, Troy had to be near the top of his evergrowing hitlist. The boy seemed to take nothing seriously, and both Adrian and Matthew couldn't understand why Troy never, never seemed to wipe that cheeky smile off his face, no matter what the circumstance may be.

For fuck's sake, the boy even smiled in his sleep.

Matthew clenched both his fists and his jaw so as to prevent himself from doing something he would forget before raising a single eyebrow which seemed to say: are you fucking kidding me right now? "Show you how it's done." Was this kid serious? Of course not. Nothing Troy ever did or said was ever serious.

[dyanne, explanations queen]

Matthew prided himself on two things, and two things only: 1) his impeccable self-control, and 2) his even more immpeccable quality of work, no matter what the circumstance. But then.... as Troy started talking about Gabe, his hypothetical butterfly chasing tendences (what the actual fuck), and for fuck's sake, cuddling (again, what. the. actual. fuck.), Matthew's usually impervious self-control began to wane, until-

"If we're trading advice here," Matthew replied, his voice dripping with icy sarcasm and an omen of death, "Trust me, shutting up is good. Do it regularly, and I might stop imagining ripping out your larynx with the Bowie knife at the side of my hip and gouging your eyes out with the handle whenever you open your mouth." Matthew's face maintained the same apathetic, deadpan expression the entire time, as he used Troy's framework of words against him with terrifying precision.

"If you're ever going to admit that you want your tongue to be skewered out from your mouth and nailed to the barrack wall like some goddamn certificate, I'm your bro."

Most people wouldn't put it past Matthew to perform any of the acts he had laid out on the table, words fired like warning shots, a get in my way and soon you'll be buried six feet under undertone which hummed loudly underneath the sarcasm and the cocked head.

No one messed with Matthew Johnston. Well, no. No one sane messed wiht Matthew Johnston. Even Gabriel knew that unless he wanted to be skinned, pickled, and sold on Ebay as a rug, when Matthew's eyes gleamed with something more predatory than human, he was to shut up, cross all his fingers, and pray to all the gods above for mercy. But Troy, Troy was the anomaly. Was the boy insane? Or was he just plain stupid? Matthew had yet to find out. And for the record, he didn't want to find out.

53 hours, 30 minutes. Leave the fuckboy and get some sleep, he told himself. But perhaps it was that same irrationality which negated Matthew's self-control which also kept his feet from moving in the other direction, for Matthew refused to budge, determined to see the other boy falter before collapsing onto his bunk.

[dyanne, explanations queen]

To say Matthew was horrified at the response was a little bit of an overstatement. The last time Adrian felt horrified was the time he came home and saw the shards of glass and the gun and thought... thought that Leo had finally given up. But the last time Matthew felt horrified was never, because Matthew wasn't one to be taken aback by emotion. Emotions were messy. Like Troy. God, that boy was a mess. The biggest fucking mess either Matthew or Adrian had ever seen.

Matthew's word had no effect on Troy. On the contrary, they seemed to encourage the little shit, and Matthew could do nothing but stare in utter disdain and disgust as the boy in front of him imploded into a babbling bastard.

Matthew locked his jaw, the whites of his eyes, the pulse of his wrist, the blood in his head flaring with some otherworldly rage which transcended words and burst into the unknown realm of a fury that could not compute. His parents? Matthew almost laughed, a snarl which conveyed an emotion which was anything but happy, as if. As if. According to Matthew Johnston's profile, his parents had been killed in a mining explosion near the Appalachian Mountains five years ago. According to his profile, Matthew had lived with his aunt for the past five years.

He wasn't Adrian. Not anymore. Matthew Johnston didn't lie, and so Adrian was nothing but a spectre, a nuisance at most. Which was why he did absolutely nothing (no, that's a lie, his knuckles definitely became ten times whiter) as he glared at the form of Troy Maxwell lurching into the barracks and collapsing on a bunk, although trying to ignore the constant blabber was an entirely different matter altogether.

The sigh which Matthew exhaled did not escape, it exploded, a platter of hot air served with a fresh batch of fury. "Shut. up. Maxwell." As Matthew climbed up to his own bunk (thank god for top bunks, at least he wouldn't have to look at that ridiculous smiling face as he tried to fall asleep), it took everything he had to stop himself from kicking the bastard once in the gut, twice in the balls, and a third time in the head.

Leaning back into the stiff mattress, the sound of the other boy's soon even breaths soon rocked Matthew into unconsciousness, the constant frown etched into his brow just as the constant smile was etched into the cheek of the boy beneath him.