Stae had fallen silent after introducing himself. He had stared at his feet, his dark long bangs falling in front of his face like a curtain. Ghent had taken the opportunity to glance around. The upstairs had not looked much better than the bottom. Garbage had been pushed up against the walls, or strewn across the sticky wooden floor that had creaked when Ghent had shifted his weight back and forth. It had smelled up there, like gutter water and Ghent had suspected that there had been a reason for that. The window in the far wall had been opened, and every now and then a breeze had swept down the street and thorough the window to pull on their clothing and their hair.

Ghent had glanced back at Stae, waiting for him to say something. The boy with the dark hair had been taller than Ghent, yet just as skinny. He had kept his shoulders hunched over however, while his hands played with the hem of his thin shirt. He had looked smaller. Ghent had picked up on it right away. It was hard to miss the way he seemed to cower back even as he stood. It would have been easy to push him down, to frighten him, to control him.

Ghent had shoved his hands back into his pockets, and threw his shoulders back. "This guy Kenji your dad?" He had asked, undaunted by the silence and confident in himself.

Stae had nodded, his dirty little head bobbing up and down, his eyes down cast. "Is the man you came with your father?" His voice had been soft, like some one who had whispered all of their life.

"Naw," Ghent had replied, shaking his head hard enough to send his shoulder length blond hair swinging back and forth. "He's my Uncle." Ghent had corrected him, gesturing with his head towards the stairs. "My dad and the rest of my family died of Ilgot sickness."

Stae's head had come up slightly. "Did you - did you get sick too?" He had asked, his voice for the first time sounding real and alive. People died of Ilgot all the time, it was a part of life in Delian. Ilgot was one of the worst illnesses that thrived in Delian because it spread so easily, and no one had yet to come up with a remedy. Illness was the type of thing that you had to except in Delian. That did not change the panic that surrounded certain illnesses in their peaks.

Ghent had shaken his head, feeling more comfortable since Stae had become more animated. "Nope. Apparently, I'm pretty resilient. Uncle took me in after that. He says he's going to teach me to be just like him, a first rate Freelancer." He had said proudly. He had always wanted to be like his Uncle, even when the man had been just a distant relation that he had barely known. Freelancers were the only people not owned by the gangs, the only people who could choose who and what they worked for. It was an independence Ghent had longed for since he had been old enough o understand the simple facts of life in Delian.

Stae had ducked his head back down. "I wish my father would catch Ilgot." He had whispered, barely loud enough to be heard.

Ghent had blinked in surprise, then had stared at the other boy intently. Ghent and his own father had never been close, but there had never been such hatred between them either, hatred like there had been in Stae's voice. In Ghent's family, they had been like strangers sharing the same roof out of habit. "What if you got sick too?" He had asked finally, responding as best as he thought he could.

Stae had shaken his head. "Big brother wouldn't let me." He had stated in complete confidence, glancing up for the first time and looking Ghent in the eye. Stae had dark blue eyes that looked almost unnatural with his dark hair.

Ghent had held his gaze evenly, not intimidated in the least, but respectful. He nodded in reply, and left it at that.