He learned what an Avox was the next day.  

Taekwoon thought he couldn’t be disgusted any more than he already was.  He hated being wrong.  

He caught only snatches of the whispered conversation.  Taekwoon always sat apart from the “alliance” that clumped together in the training sessions, repulsed by the idea of playing nice with people he’d only have to kill later, but as he strained to listen he wished for the first time his table was closer to theirs.

“What do you think yours did to deserve that?”

“Maybe she killed someone.”

“You should get her to show you how she did it.”  Nervous laughter.

He didn’t know whether to try to tune them out, or strain to hear more.

Creepy, the muttered agreement drifted towards him.

A glimpse of shy eyes, too open and too wary all at once, flashed unbidden to his mind.  They’d crinkled at the edges when Taekwoon thanked him for his help.  “Creepy” would be the last way he’d describe it.  Then again, that was his image too, now.  Or at least his promotion team wanted it to be.  It was too much to imagine he didn’t want to be here, wanted to be home with his family and see their faces unstreaked with the tears that drowned his last memory of them, so “creepy” it was--  Silent, unnerving, the ruthless Killer from the Forests.

It had been hours before he returned to his chamber the night before.  Setting the room in order took only a few moments, but when they were done Taekwoon suddenly realized he was no longer starving for the solitude of his room.  He wasn’t sure why.  The smile the white-haired boy had given before retreating to the wall again was furtive, but friendly, and though Taekwoon could feel his presence behind him as he slumped on the couch again, he still didn’t feel watched (thousands of cold eyes blocked in a hundred bright colors, watching, staring, boring, peeling his skin back piece by piece).  Maybe it was just those few seconds of working alongside someone without the crush of their expectations on his shoulders. Maybe he’d been trying so hard to be alone, he didn’t realize how lonely he was.  

He passed the time by tearing pages from a pad of paper left on the end table and folding them into elaborate shapes.  They made a little line at the table’s edge--he was careful not to let any fall, or leave any scraps of paper on the immaculate floor.  Neither of them moved for hours.  It was...peaceful.  And when the others’ return drove him back into his room (alcohol suddenly thick in the air, strange smells on their clothes), the four walls were more stifling than ever.

A peal of laughter drifted towards him from the other table.  Taekwoon crammed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth and shoved his chair back with a screech before stalking off to destroy another punching bag.

That night, two Avoxes waited on them at dinner, a boy and a girl, both with the same short white hair swept low over their foreheads.  Neither were the one from last night.  Taekwoon watched them all the same, vague, misplaced guilt churning in his stomach all the while, and when he caught one’s eyes by chance he smiled (lips stiff, unpracticed).  She looked away, jaw tensing, and picked up another plate.

It wasn’t until nearly dawn when he saw the boy again.  He hadn’t been able to escape the party that night, and all his scowling only earned him a “yes, now look that fierce for the cameras!” before he was dragged out the door.  By the time he stumbled back into the apartment, he’d been a few camera flashes short of showing the partygoers a kind of fierce they hadn’t bargained for.  His features were set in a mask of barely-suppressed rage, which masked barely-suppressed panic.  He barely registered the white-draped figure shadowed in the hall before his door slid shut behind him.

All was quiet again when it whirred open ten minutes later.  Taekwoon stumbled back the way he came, heedless of his long limbs catching on the doorframe or knocking against the furniture, until he had flung himself face-first onto the couch.  The dark room span.  The rest was a blur; his head pounded and his stomach twisted and cramped until he found himself leaning over a bowl, grounded only by the warmth of a hand pressed against the back of his neck or smoothing his damp hair away from his face as his stomach emptied itself of god-knows-what they had served at the party that night.  No wonder they had special rooms for this sort of thing at their feasts.  He woke the next day, vowing to never eat or drink or smell anything at one of those horrible parties again, and not quite certain how he ended up back in his own bed.  The only thing he could remember was a glimpse of white hair in the thin light as his eyes drifted closed.

Taekwoon searched the faces waiting on them at breakfast until he found the one he was looking for--caught mid-glance looking back at him.  His eyes were cautious, questioning.

“I’m feeling better,” Taekwoon suddenly announced to the room at large.  The conversation stilled and everyone exchanged confused glances.  

“Well…that’s good…” said his , glancing sidelong at his mentor.  “I don’t remember you saying you were feeling ill.”  But Taekwoon was back to his usual silent self, and hid his smirk behind a stony mask.  He could practically see the wheels turning in their heads--what to do if their “fierce silent killer” image started sliding towards “quiet and occasionally spouts nonsense.”  But behind them all the Avox beamed, only for a split-second before the smile was hidden behind a fist and lips were pressed to a thin line to force back a mask of his own.