-1997-

With a bored sigh, the freckled, strawberry-blonde boy with the blue-green eyes turned his gaze to the view out the window beside him. The rain trickled downward on the pane of glass in forking, watery paths likened to the veins of a circulatory system. Outside, through the blur of the dreary drizzle, the young teenager could see the tall, cast-iron fence that surrounded the British orphanage for gifted children and, as he always did, he wondered for a fleeting moment what the world was like on the other side of that cold, metal barrier.

But life had not dealt him cards that spelled freedom. His hand was made up of a brilliant mind, superior problem-solving skills, and off-the-charts psychological evaluations. Of all the children in the world, he had been hand-picked. He was the chosen one. The first in line. He was letter A.

"Ash?"

At the mention of his name, the boy snapped his attention back to the front of the small, wood-floored classroom and the teacher standing there. He had been completely engrossed in betting to himself which of two raindrops would reach the bottom of the window first, and he hadn't been paying attention. Trigonometry came easily enough to the thirteen-year-old, but he hadn't even heard the question.

"Umm..." Ash felt the eyes of his classmates on him. Granted, there were only five other people in the class, but still. They alienated him enough as it was. Making himself look like a dunce was not going to help matters, that was for sure.

A loud cough came from the dark-haired student slouched in the desk next to him. Ash glanced sideways and downward just in time to see the boy, older than him by two years, quickly and subtly sign with his long and slender fingers: 2-3-p.

"Um, uhh..." Ash cleared his throat. "Two-thirds pi?"

The teacher nodded. "That is correct."

Ash shot an appreciative grin toward the boy beside him who, in return, dropped his head behind him, rolled his black-brown eyes backward, and hung his tongue out of the side of his mouth like he was a dead body. Trying to stifle a snicker, Ash lifted a hand concealed in the long sleeve of a hoodie to his grinning mouth.

His friend flopped his forehead onto his open math book atop his desk and let out a loud and dramatic groan. He sounded like a dying animal.

"Beyond!" The teacher's voice was stern as he addressed the disturbance to the lesson.

The raven-haired boy didn't look up. "It's pi over five," he answered. His voice was muffled, as his face was still buried in his book.

The teacher looked down at the answer key that he held. Then, he cleared his throat and looked up again.

"That is correct. However, I will need to see you after class."

"Mhh." Beyond's response was more of a jaded groan than an actual word.

Class ended moments later, and Ash stood to gather his things.

"I didn't mean to make you get in trouble," he said, his voice low.

Beyond wrinkled his nose and scoffed. "Pfft! Please. I got myself in trouble. You didn't make me do anything."

Ash grinned, displaying a charming tooth gap. He wished he had his friend's carefree spirit.

Beyond Birthday, his best friend. His brother in every sense of the word, save in blood. The carefree spirit to his small, burdened shoulders. The wild laughter to his quiet reservation.

And how B loved to make A laugh. It was a response that only Beyond himself could genuinely initiate.

And B trusted A. In fact, Ash was the only human being in the world to know the secret of Beyond's eyes.

Floating above the head of every person he came in contact with, B saw a name and a sequence of numbers. The names were simple enough to figure out, but it took him nearly into his teenage years to discover that the numbers displayed the remaining lifespan of the human over whom they hovered.

Of course, not even B himself could know that he possessed the eyes of a shinigami, a god of death.

But he had explained it the best he could and, after much convincing, Ash came to believe that his friend had indeed been born with a rare and powerful ability.

Hugging his books to his chest with both arms, Ash exited the classroom, overhearing the teacher saying something to Beyond about remembering what he was being trained for.

A weird feeling suddenly formed in the pit of A's stomach. He moved with quick steps upstairs and to the room he shared with Beyond. He deposited the armful of books on his bed and turned to leave the room again.

As he made his way through the halls of the old-fashioned building that had once been a church, he heard several kids talking about forming study groups or maybe doing some fun activity now that classes were out for the day. But Ash didn't have this time to call his own. He had a special class. One wherein he was the solitary student.

He opened the door to the small room where his instructor was waiting for him. This was not a classroom or a meeting room, but more like a space that had once functioned as a church office. To the left of the room was a large desk. Wooden, and simple, it held a telephone with an intercom microphone, neatly-stacked sheets of paper, and an organized collection of pens and other such supplies. Behind the desk was a high-backed swivel chair upholstered in burgundy leather and little gold buttons that traced its outer edges. Along the walls were rows of bookshelves lined with frayed, linen-bound volumes containing the wisdom of scholars on yellowed pages. The room smelled of wood and books, and the muli-colored stained glass of the room's single window appeared to be sleeping, as any trace of sunlight was concealed behind the grey and ominous clouds of the gloomy day.

"Good afternoon, Ash," the elderly man greeted.

"Afternoon, Roger," Ash mumbled as he shut the heavy door with the ornate carvings.

There were two plush chairs sitting in front of the desk to the left, but A did not approach them. Instead, he turned right, toward the small, black armchair that sat before several wall-mounted computer monitors.

Ash sat down and, with instinctive muscle memory, his palm lifted and slid up his freckled forehead to hold his soft, reddish hair back. Roger attached several wires to the boy's forehead and temples with little, white adhesive circles. Next, Ash held out the collar of his t-shirt under his hoodie as a larger circle was placed on the skin of his chest over his heart. A clip was then fastened on the end of the index finger of his right hand, and one of the computer monitors came alive with a bright, red line, rising and falling with the rhythm of A's heartbeat.

Once the young teen was all hooked up to the various machines and monitors, the daily, routine psychological evaluations began. Ash was presented with a series of exercises on the computer screen before him that tested areas of cognitive function, such as spatial mapping ability, recognition of mathematical patterns and inductive reasoning, comprehension of complex language syntax, and memory retrieval.

Roger input A's oral answers into the computer and recorded the results on a laptop.

Ash stared at his fingers that were fidgeting with the end of the chair's armrest and answered Roger's monotonous questions one after the other.

"State the truth value of the following statement: A number x is Rational if and only if it is Real."

"False."

"State your reasoning."

Ash sighed heavily as he voiced his answer.

"The use of the connector 'if and only if' indicates a biconditional statement and, since not all Real numbers are Rational, the statement is false."

"That is correct. Now, look at the images on the screen. Which of the four choices provides the next logical element in the sequence?"

Ash suddenly noticed that the blue light of the webcam above one of the monitors was on. He had never noticed it to be on before.

"Roger, why is the webcam on?" he asked, pointing.

"Please answer the question, Ash."

"It's letter D. Why is the webcam on?"

"That is correct. Now, given the following sentence, provide the-"

"Roger."

The older man looked up. The boy called A for "alternative" sat with both hands on the armrests of the chair. Wires snaked and traveled all over him, trailing from his head, his fingers, and from inside his shirt. His wide, blue-green eyes insisted on an answer.

"Is it him?" A asked directly.

Roger cleared his throat and his eyes shifted uncomfortably toward the webcam.

Ash pressed on. "Roger, is it him?"

Finally, Roger sighed and simply nodded.

Ash felt his stomach slide up into his throat. He turned to look straight into the webcam. It stared back like the cold, unblinking eye of a cyborg, its gleaming blue light sharp and piercing.

And somewhere far away, a well-sugared coffee cup clinked down onto its saucer as the shadowed eyes of an insomniac stared into the awe-struck countenance of his young successor.

Beyond Birthday was on his bed, lying on his back with his legs propped up vertically against the wall when Ash returned.

"Hey," B said around the plastic spoon in his mouth. "How was L Class?" he asked, using the nickname he'd given to A's training sessions.

Ash was quiet as he hopped up onto his own bed and sat with his legs crossed and his forearms on his knees. He picked up a piece of lint from his comforter and rolled it around in his fingertips.

Beyond turned his head, still holding the spoon to his mouth. "Yikes. That bad?"

"No..." Ash said slowly. "It was normal, except..." His voice trailed off as he stared at nothing in particular, absentmindedly toying with the little ball of fuzz.

The plastic spoon scraped against the sides of the pudding cup, collecting the last of the chocolate dessert.

"Except what?" Beyond queried. He let his long tongue hang out of his mouth and slid the spoon down it.

Ash sighed. "He was watching me today."

B's head jerked over to face his friend. "Wait, what? Are you sure?" He shoved his legs off of the wall and swung them over the edge of the bed as he shot up into a sitting position. "How do you know? Did you talk to him?"

Ash shook his head. The lint was a teeny, tiny little ball now. "The webcam was on," he said simply.

Beyond stared fascinated from behind the waves of jet-black hair that tumbled into his eyes. "Woah..." he breathed. "Did Roger say it was him?"

A just nodded.

"That's so cool! Were you nervous?"

Ash wrinkled his nose. "Yeah, man, wouldn't you be?"

Beyond scoffed. "Man, that is so cool," he said again. He rolled onto his back and returned his legs to the wall.

Ash sighed. He flicked the ball of lint to the floor and shifted to sit with his legs dangling over the edge of the mattress. "Yeah, well... Sometimes it doesn't feel so cool," he said quietly.

The plastic spoon had returned to B's mouth and was now being mercilessly chewed. "What do you mean?" Beyond asked, staring up at the ceiling.

"I dunno." A shrugged. "It's just... What if I don't..." He sighed heavily, as if gathering the courage to say what he wanted to say.

Beyond waited, making little slurping noises as he sucked on the end of the spoon.

Ash took a deep breath and let it out again as he voiced the words. "What if I don't want to be L?"

B turned his head again and looked at the other boy quizzically. He held the end of the spoon in his long fingers and spoke with it pressed against his tongue and bottom lip. "Why wouldn't you?"

Ash lifted thin shoulders in a shrug. He said nothing more as he stared at the braided rug on the wood-planked floor between their beds.

With a sigh, Beyond shoved off the wall again and rolled off of the mattress into a standing position. He tossed the spoon onto the nightstand and took a step to stand in front of his friend.

B was a tall boy, unlike A. His skin was naturally tanned with an olive undertone, and his features were dark and prominent. He stood now, wearing slim, grey jeans and a black Akazukin Chacha anime t-shirt that was a little too big for him. The short sleeves hung down to nearly his elbows.

"Ash?" His voice was low for a fifteen-year-old.

Ash didn't answer right away. He swallowed a couple times. When he did look up, tears brimmed in his teal eyes. "I can't do this, B." His voice was quivering.

Beyond stared with parted lips. He knew that A felt overwhelmed at times, but he had never cried about it before.

Ash took a shaky breath. "I- I don't want to be L. There, I said it. I don't!" He pounded his fists into the mattress at his sides. "He's- he's too... big, Beyond! How am I supposed to take his place? Huh? He's a legend and I'm... I'm just me!" He flopped his arms outward helplessly and shook his head. "I don't want this life," he added quietly. "But I'm so alone and I have no one."

"Hey!" B's voice cracked like feedback from a poor sound system. He clapped his hand over his throat. "...whoa."

Ash exhaled into a snicker.

"Shut up!" Beyond playfully punched his friend's shoulder.

Ash grinned as he pulled away from the punch. He lifted a freckled hand and swiped the back of it over the wet trail of tears that lined his round face. "No one, except you," he corrected himself.

"And don't forget it," B demanded in a low but fierce tone. He stepped forward and reached a hand around to the back of A's head, pulling it forward and pressing their foreheads together. His eyes, nearly black as a bottomless abyss, were crossed ever so slightly as he looked directly into the watery, blue-green ocean in A's. "We're brothers, Ash," he said solemnly.

A sat trembling on the edge of the mattress, meeting the intense gaze of his best friend, his vision blurred both by tears and by the close proximity.

Beyond tightened his grip, his long and slender fingers intertwining with A's strawberry blond locks. "...brothers?"

Ash stared for a moment longer. Then he reached his hand up and clamped it into the thick, ebony waves on the back of Beyond's head.

He breathed in deeply and bravely.

"Brothers."