"Sort of." Sometimes, he likes these memories. The moments in between finding himself and when it went dark. He holds them between his hands like something precious; tonight, they feel alien. A bridge to the thing he doesn't want to say. "At first, I mean. But I was a poor student and I just wanted to go clubbing. I fell in love with it."

With music. With everything. With color, sound, people.

"My uncle hated it. I don't think he hated me, but he didn't know what to do. He wanted to keep me in line and he couldn't."

Jae's hands feel like lead. He sets the cup on the windowsill, and it's a small miracle that he doesn't shake. "He found a military academy for people who weren't normal." He pushes the cup by the handle, aligning it aesthetically. "I remember he was so pleased with having found it."

He touches the cup again, moving it by a fraction of a fraction. He's looking at it, or maybe out the window. He's quiet for a while.

"Do you know what Prometheus is?"