With a sigh, Alastair carefully placed the book in the drawer, making a mental note to revisit it later.
Leaving the room, he looked at the drawer one last time before closing the door.
Descending the stairs, Alastair's ears caught the sharp edge of raised voices. The low murmur of onlookers made him quicken his pace, his hand instinctively brushing against the bannister.
As he stepped into the reception area, the source of the commotion became immediately clear. A heated argument was unfolding near the desk, drawing the attention of nearly everyone in the room.
Four individuals were at the centre of the chaos, though only two were actively engaged in a shouting match. One of them—a brown-haired youth dressed in sleek, expensive attire—pointed an accusatory finger at his opponent, his face flushed with anger.
"You should be apologizing! Don't you know who I am?!" His voice was loud enough to make the receptionist flinch.
The other figure, a lean boy with unkempt black hair, looked increasingly flustered. His hands moved in a frantic attempt to explain himself, his voice shaky. "I—I didn't do anything! It's not my fault!"
The brown-haired youth scoffed, his lips curling into a sneer. "Not your fault? You bumped into me and spilt water all over my jacket! Do you know how much this costs?" He yanked at the fabric of his coat for emphasis.
The receptionist, stepped forward, palms raised in a gesture of peace. "Gentlemen, please! Let's not escalate—"
"Stay out of this!" The brown-haired youth's bark was so sharp that it made her recoil.
Alastair scanned the room. Guests stood at a distance, some whispering amongst themselves, others nervously edging away. The tension was almost tangible, a heavy weight pressing down on the space.
The black-haired boy's voice rose, tinged with desperation. "Look, I already said I'm sorry! I didn't mean to—"
"Sorry doesn't cut it!" the brown-haired youth roared, stepping closer until their faces were mere inches apart.
Alastair's chest tightened as the aggressor grabbed the other boy by the collar, shaking him roughly. The smaller boy winced, his arms flailing weakly in an attempt to free himself.
The scene unfolded in slow motion for Alastair. He saw the fear in the black-haired boy's eyes, the receptionist's frozen expression, and the growing unease in the crowd. He couldn't just stand by and watch this escalate further.
With measured steps, he approached the pair, his voice steady but firm. "That's enough."
The brown-haired youth turned sharply, his glare falling on Alastair. His features twisted into an expression of incredulity. "Who the hell are you?"
Alastair didn't flinch under the intense scrutiny. Instead, he calmly placed a hand on the aggressor's shoulder, meeting his gaze with unwavering resolve. "Quit with the attitude. You're just making a fool of yourself."
For a moment, the youth was stunned into silence, his eyes narrowing as if trying to gauge whether Alastair was serious. Then, his expression darkened.
"Listen here, you brat," he hissed, his voice laced with venom. With a swift motion, he released the other boy and instead grabbed Alastair's collar.
Alastair's heart thudded in his chest, but he kept his composure. His mind raced, assessing his options. Years of dealing with rebellious schoolmates had prepared him for situations like this, but it was clear this guy wasn't just all bark.
"Well, this is escalating faster than I thought," Alastair muttered under his breath.
Before either of them could make another move, a deep, commanding voice cut through the tension.
"That's enough."
The brown-haired youth stiffened as a large figure stepped into view. The man had an imposing presence, his broad shoulders casting a shadow over the scene.
"What is it now—" the youth began, but his words faltered as the man's steely gaze bore into him.
"I've been waiting in line long enough," the man said, his tone calm but icy. "If you're done playing tough, I'd like to check in."
The brown-haired youth faltered, his bravado cracking under the man's intimidating presence. With a huff, he released Alastair and stepped back, muttering something under his breath before turning away to find his room.
As the aggressor retreated, the black-haired boy slumped in relief, his shoulders sagging as he exhaled shakily. The receptionist offered him a reassuring smile, though her hands still trembled slightly.
Alastair straightened his collar, exchanging a brief glance with the imposing man who had defused the situation so effortlessly.
"Thank you," Alastair said, inclining his head slightly.
The man didn't reply. Instead, he turned to the receptionist, his voice returning to a businesslike tone. "My room, please."
The receptionist nodded hurriedly, retrieving a black card from behind the desk. As she handed it to him, the man's gaze shifted back to Alastair and he couldn't shake the feeling that he had somehow done something wrong.
"I'm Igor," the man said, bowing his head slightly. "It is good to meet you."
The sudden formality momentarily took aback Alastair, but after a beat, he managed to gather himself. "Alastair," he replied, his voice steady, though still slightly surprised by the unexpected introduction as he shook his outstretched hand.
Igor's eyes lit up, and with a burst of energy, he held Alastair's hand firmly.
"Alahstehr? pleased to make your acquaintance," Igor spoke warmly.
"Yeah..." Alastair couldn't believe his name was being butchered so badly, too amused to correct him he only nodded.
Right now, this guy was nothing like the cold person he had been just moments ago. Instead, he seemed like a puppy to Alastair. With his white hair framing his dark eyes, and his tall, broad frame, he appeared intimidating at first glance. But as he smiled, a softness in his expression emerged, making him look surprisingly gentle. The fuzzy jacket he wore only added to his mellow, almost comforting presence.
"Looks like we're roommates," Alastair remarked, noting the silver number imprinted on the card that he held in his left hand. Igor immediately held it up to show it more closely.
"Then let's get going,"
Igor's excitement grew as he picked up his luggage, eager to head to the room together. On the way, he spoke a lot about how bizarre it truly was to be selected to train for the DEA. He found it magical or as he likes to call it 'bomb', which just means that this was all so mind-blowing for him.
***
Alastair helped Igor settle into the room, and soon both of them felt comfortable, able to converse with ease.
Igor began to share his story with Alastair.
Igor's voice carried a soft, almost wistful tone as he described his hometown—a quaint little village nestled in the heart of the Far East. He painted a vivid picture of a place overflowing with life and beauty, where the air was thick with the aroma of blooming flowers, and the vibrancy of nature was almost overwhelming. Towering, otherworldly mushrooms sprouted like ancient sentinels among bursts of brilliantly coloured shrubbery, creating a lush tapestry of greens, yellows, and reds.
"You have to cut the mushrooms, or they get too big and block the sunlight," Igor explained, his tone dead serious, as if the fate of the entire garden depended on it.
Alastair chuckled, amused by the intensity in Igor's voice. "Sounds like a full-time job."
"It is," Igor agreed with a grin. "But it's rewarding. My uncle always said, 'Nature gives back what you put into it.' He was a bohtuhneest, a... botanist. He studies plants and makes medicine for the villagers. Some of the shrubs there are poisonous, and farmers would often get sick."
Igor smiled softly as if he remembered something, "He cares too much, and I want to be like him."
There was a soothing rhythm to Igor's storytelling, a flow that painted vivid pictures in his mind.
"I wanted to help him," Igor continued, his voice tinged with mild irritation as he stumbled over some English pronunciations. "But then... the DEA came. After an inspection, they told me I should come here. They said I was strong, useful. But honestly, I think I'd be better off as a farmer. At least I wouldn't get into trouble." He ended with a lighthearted shrug and a small, self-deprecating smile.
Igor spoke of his family—his parents, his siblings, his uncle who had inspired him—and Alastair found himself sinking deeper into thought. He listened intently, nodding now and then, but Igor's words had stirred something in him, an ache he had long buried.
Igor was surrounded by people who cared for him. He had a place to belong, a home alive with laughter and purpose. The comparison was involuntary, but Alastair couldn't stop it. His memories were fragmented, shadows of a life that had been stolen from him.
When Igor finally paused, his cheerful voice cutting off like a string suddenly pulled taut, Alastair felt the silence settle heavily between them.
"You're quiet, Alastair," Igor said, tilting his head curiously. "Do you not have stories like this about your family?"
The question, though simple, felt like a hammer striking a fragile shell. Alastair hesitated, the words catching in his throat. His mind clawed through the empty corners of his memory, searching for something—anything—to offer.
"I..." he began but his words got caught in his throat. What was there to talk about?, "I don't remember much. Most of my childhood was spent with my grandparents. My parents... they died when I was young. Killed by one of the Devils that breached the city."
The confession slipped out with surprising ease, though it left an unexpected weight in its wake. Alastair lowered his gaze, his fingers brushing idly against the hem of his sleeve.
"I'm sorry," Igor said quietly, his earlier energy tempered by the seriousness of Alastair's words. "You must have been so lonely."
Alastair shrugged, trying to mask the hollowness that Igor's words uncovered. "I managed."
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable, but it carried a heaviness that neither of them could quite shake. Alastair felt Igor's gaze linger on him, not with pity, but with an understanding.
Igor shifted closer, placing a reassuring hand on Alastair's shoulder. "You're strong, Alahstehr. Maybe even stronger than you realize, well that is what my uncle says at least."
Before Alastair could respond, the door whooshed open, breaking the moment like a stone tossed into still water.
"Ahh! Finally! I can stretch and get some sleep!" A black-haired male wearing golden-rimmed glasses said happily as he tossed his luggage to the side with a thud.
"A shower would be nice," he said casually, his shirt already half unbuttoned.
When suddenly they made eye contact.
"..."
"..."
"..?"
His eyes widened, a dumbfounded expression spreading across his face.
"Eh?" he blinked a few times, still processing the moment, before meeting our big fellow's intense glare.
"WHO ARE YOU?!" he shouted.