A loud beeping alarm with no dynamic had woke Byungjoo out of sudden thoughts about the dark haired boy, where he had wondered if he'd caused a lucid dream from thinking too much of him the night before. He was eager to get to the bus stop that morning, which made his body panic in a hurry to dress himself, though Byungjoo had eased his mind as if he might arrive too early, he will not see the boy. He sat at the dining rooms counter which connected itself to a window-like opening at his apartments kitchen, tapping his index finger along the surface as he stared at the clock. He didn't think twice when the numbers passed the minute of his scheduled timing.

Byungjoo jogged along the pavement in hopes of seeing this mysterious person, beginning to feel let down that he will not be there, though, much to his surprise, he was. The boy sat with his legs crossed, wearing a blue sweater, and black skinny jeans, staring aimlessly into the street.
"Hey!" Byungjoo called as he crossed the road. The dark haired boy looked to him as he caught himself back into reality. "Hey, what's your name?"
He gave a quick tilt in the head, questioning Byungjoo to repeat himself.
"Your name, I didn't get your name."
The boy shook his head in response, looking back to the ground.
"Well, we see each other everyday, I figure we might as well get to know each other."
But he only chuckled, with no bother to give any eye contact, letting him down.
"You must really not like me..." He sat on the other side of the bench, giving no minds any longer. The boy took notice in his sorrow, and scooted himself to just inches away from him, tapping him on the shoulder. Byungjoo turned his head to see him looking down at him, who then curled his lips into a soft smile after he had his attention.
"Why don't you talk?" Byungjoo finally asked.
The boy gestured his hands as if he were playing with a phone.
"You want to use my phone?"
He nodded his head.

The boy opened the notes app among the device, typing in the number zero, and handed it back to Byungjoo.
"Zero? What about zero?"
He shook his head in disapproval, taking the phone once more and typing "Shin Jiho = Xero."
Byungjoo studied the text for a moment. "You call yourself Xero?"
The boy nodded.
"Why?"
He hushed him with his finger as he reached into his pocket, curling a folded peice of paper into his hand.

Byungjoo had hardly noticed the bus arrived as too many questions were posted in his head. The boy named Xero held his hand along Byungjoo's back to guide him onto the vehicle, pointing him to his regular seat, and afterwards sitting next to him. It was a new atmosphere to him: Xero was so different, yet so kind.

　 　Byungjoo could only wonder what the letter said through out the day at work, not bothering to open it until he had privacy. He was eventually given a break, and headed to the bathroom to prevent his family from looking over his shoulder. He took a deep breath as he opened the now noticeably old, fragile letter:

That who which is internally weak deserves more than a pat on the back. There is only so much space loneliness could take before a character reaches a depth of despair, as if their loneliness will never end. This is not an aberration, but rather common, though the outcome could be of greater consequences to the person who witnesses it in the end.