When Ivo arrived in Alaska, he spoke seven languages, and none were English. He's near-native fluent in German, which probably wouldn't surprise many people. He knows French, Afrikaans, Limburgish, Flemish, West Frisian, and Dutch. He picked up multiple languages traveling around the area where he grew up. During the summers of his childhood, Ivo took the train around the Netherlands, and to other nearby countries. He could travel to parts of Germany in thirty minutes, and parts of Belgium in three hours. As a kid, Ivo was exposed to drugs more times than he could count, which was probably irresponsible of his father, but it's likely Pim wouldn't have given a shit if Ivo lived or died. Realistically, if he hadn't been smart enough to learn how to take care of himself at a young age, he'd probably already be dead.

Ivo doesn't remember the first time he saw a needle. They were sort of just always there: scattered across the living room table, or Pim's bedroom floor, rarely disposed of properly. As a stupid kid, he could have fucked around and gotten high. He never mourned his father. It's still uncertain whether Pim's overdose was accidental or not.

Never trust a man in a uniform. They're Lizard People. They'll use you as bait to overpower us.

When Pim was alive, he forbade Ivo from visiting medical clinics, even if he was very sick. Ivo was never sure why this was, and he never asked. He was rarely sick or injured enough to need a doctor, anyway.

It's the middle of the night, and it's difficult to see. Ivo can't see in the dark, even with his glasses. This is the downfall of working the night shift. Most nights, he carries a flashlight and a cane, but this makes him a target. The blind are assumed to be oblivious and incompetent, and Ivo has had many strangers try to mug him on the streets. While he looks like an easy target - a short, skinny man often walking alone - he's stronger and faster than he looks. This often catches people off guard. He likes the way the streetlights look at night. Even blurry, the colors are bright and vivid. Blindness is a spectrum, and sighted people get on Ivo's nerves. They all say dumb shit, like, "How many fingers am I holding up?" "I'm legally blind without my glasses, so I know how you feel!" and, "How can you see colors? I thought you were blind?"

It gets old to explain the same things over and over. As a preteen, legal blindness was explained to him by the optometrist who labeled him as such. He's exasperatedly corrected many people since then. If you can't see well without glasses, but you can see fine with them, you're not legally blind. Ivo has seen many eye doctors over his life, and they've all given him a different prescription. He's not eligible for eye surgery, and he doesn't trust it anyway.

People take their sight for granted, and Ivo never had this luxury. "But you're so pretty," people have said, as though this makes up for it. "You have the nicest porcelain skin. It looks so smooth. It looks almost translucent."

It's very hard for a person with normal vision to understand how Ivo sees. It's hard for him to explain in a way that stupid people grasp the concept. "It's like a dark cloud in front of my eyes." He explained it this way to Juno years ago, the way an optometrist had explained it to him. He can't see anything in the distance, or to the sides of him, and everything else is blurry. Though he can make out shadows and outlines of things very close to him, everything kind of meshes together, and everything is very dark.

Ivo has gotten a sunburn in the wintertime. He doesn't tan, and peels very badly after too much sun exposure. Pim was the same way. When he was a child, he asked the man many questions about his mother. Hardly any ever got answered.

As a youth, Ivo stole a lot of money from home. A benefit of having an absent father is that Ivo could get away with anything he wanted. He learned to be thrifty, as Pim didn't make much money, and his paychecks never went far. Ivo is good at stealing. Most people don't deserve their success. They take credit for the skills and success of others, and become selfish. Most people are selfish. Ivo is no different. The day he left his aunt and uncle's home, he wandered for a long time, until he resorted to selling himself for money. It was summer, and he'd gotten badly burned. It's hard to survive with no money, but unlike most people, Ivo has survival skills. He wears a seventy dollar watch, which audibly informs him of the time and date when he presses a button. He bought this himself, with money from Pim's dresser. Despite his frequent law-breaking, Ivo has never been arrested. This is because he's faster and smarter than most, and he's had a lot of practice evading trouble. In school, he spent more time in detention than in class. Laws were made to be broken. The law only exists because some corrupt, old, white men said it did. Who decided the opinions of rich white men meant more than anyone else's?

Ivo was in Fairbanks when Juno found him. He hadn't wanted to be found, and Juno couldn't take no for an answer. It's easier to be homeless in a big city, where there's more opportunity to run into unfaithful middle-aged gay men. Some of the men Ivo met claimed to be straight, but his mouth around their cocks would say differently. After being fucked by enough people, it means nothing. He was exposed to pornography for the first time at the age of eight, after his father left a men's sporting magazine in the bathroom. In Arnhem, he was never supervised. In Steele Creek, he was over-supervised. After coming to America, he was undocumented for two years before Anika helped him get a green card. According to the people he spoke to, he was ineligible to apply as a family member unless Anika adopted him. According to the will his father made before his death, she was his new legal guardian, and in the eyes of the law, he was her child. There were many confusing forms. Ivo can't vote, or apply for insurance, or work for the government. If he gets arrested, he could be deported. It's not like this matters. Ivo is smarter than people of authority, and he would go back home in an instant.

Ivo broke his wrist in elementary school, first grade, after beating up a classmate, who had made fun of him. That was the first fight he's had in his life. It definitely wasn't the last. After this, he got a week suspension for arguing with a teacher. In primary school, probably about ten or eleven years old, he was suspended for a week after throwing a chair at a teacher. When he was confronted by the principal, all he had to do was fake a few tears and accuse the teacher of abusing him, and nobody dared misbelieve a crying child.

Ivo can be cunning, when he wants. An adult shouldn't deserve more respect just for being an adult. Nobody else sees it this way. Pim's discipline style was always inconsistent. Ivo was meant to think for himself and stand up for himself, but he was often scolded for being disrespectful or unruly. Several times, teachers or principals tried to force him to speak to a guidance counselor, and he'd refuse. Ivo left Arnhem before he was old enough to study English in school, and arrived in Alaska knowing very little. Learning languages isn't hard. Ivo doesn't do things unless he's interested in them.

When Ivo was younger, he went to a dayhome after school. This was in about second, third grade, he remembers. There were other kids there, but he was the oldest, and so he was often left in charge. This is something he was used to. The dayhome center was run by two women, who were wives, and who treated the children very kindly. But they grew tired of Ivo's constant troublemaking, and his defiance, and finally refused to keep taking care of him. This happened with everyone: babysitters, friends, teachers. They'd become overwhelmed and offended by him, and they'd decline to be around him. Pim, on several occasions, tried to take him to a therapist as a child, but he'd have a fit, and throw things across the room at him, and Pim would give up.

From the time he was old enough to understand what sexuality was, he knew he was gay. He never spoke of sex or relationships with his father. He never spoke of much of anything at all with his father. When Ivo was suspended from school for the first time, he was around nine years old. Pim, who could never hold down a job, became quite good at hiding his drug use. Few people suspected the man was an addict - and those who did never spoke of it. In childhood, Ivo spent several stints on the streets when Pim's addiction cost him jobs. When they were housed, they never stayed in the same place for very long.

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"Ivo, come here."

Pim was high. Of course, he always was. He looked at Ivo when he used, and nodded often during conversation. He'd gotten in trouble multiple times for drug possession, and somehow still managed to keep Ivo in his care until he died. Ivo always called his father by his first name. It was disrespectful, he was told, but this is what he was going for. "I'm busy, Pim. Leave me alone."

"Where did you get this watch?"

He'd stolen it from a kiosk at the mall a week earlier. Pim wasn't there. He was never there. "I bought it." Most people are bad liars. You can tell by their eyes, and their tone. It's not hard to weed out a liar. The secret to being good at it is manipulating the memories of other people. "I went to the store last week."

Pim wasn't blind. Despite this, he had eyes that rolled at random, and crossed often. When he wasn't using heroin, he was sleeping or puking. "Don't lie to me, Ivo. This watch has to be worth two hundred euros. You don't have that kind of money."

Even at ten years old, Ivo was smarter than his father. People think they know everything, but really they know next to nothing at all. "Yes I do. You gave it to me for my birthday, when you got your paycheck. You'd remember that if you weren't high all the time." This wasn't true. He'd gotten the money from the man, sure, but it hadn't been a gift. Still, Pim had believed this so easily, it was almost stupid. If you know how to be convincing, people will believe anything.

He could have called an ambulance after his father's overdose. Instead, he sat next to the man and watched him die.

There are shadows up ahead. It's a group of people smoking weed, shouting and laughing, wanting the whole street to hear their bullshit. It used to be frightening to walk alone at night, but Ivo's not a pussy anymore. He's gotten jumped before, and always fights back. "It's not worth it," Juno says every time he fights. "They're just trying to get a rise out of you."

Snow crunches underneath his feet. His glasses have fallen to the ground, and crack under the weight of heavy snow boots. Sometimes, Ivo considers going without glasses altogether. It's not like they make much of a difference anyway. Glasses aren't cheap, and Ivo hates spending money. He's good in a fight. When his father had withdrawals and swung at him, he had to learn to be. There's a car coming. It crunches on the snow, and, when it comes to a stop, the group of men run away.

Ivo's backpack has fallen open; he fumbles in the snow for its belongings. Someone always breaks up fights. This takes all the fun out of them.

"What are you doing, Four-Eyes?"

It's after three in the morning. Ivo is nineteen years old, but it's not like it matters. He doesn't celebrate his birthdays; it's just another day like any other. His watch speaks the time aloud every hour. He's not far from home, and doesn't have any desire to go home at the moment. It's dreary. All Ciel does is talk about how death is scary. All Juno does is shout at him to shut up. He keeps walking, letting the snow crunch noisily under his feet. The car drives slowly beside him, irritating him. Conversation is a waste of time and an invasion of personal space.

Rio smells like paprika. Ivo's head hurts. "Don't ignore me, Four-Eyes. You're being stupid. How are you supposed to walk in the dark with no glasses?" Everyone underestimates Ivo. He has a flawless sense of direction and never gets lost, even if it's his first trip to a destination

Ivo mutters. "Suck a dick, motherfucker."

"Stop."

It's chilly. There's music playing in Rio's car, and it's obnoxious, like everything he does. He takes a hold of Ivo's wrist and clutches it tightly, taking Ivo off guard, so that he stumbles. "Get in the car," demands Rio, his fingers digging into Ivo's skin. He's tall and muscular, and physically much stronger than Ivo, which means he could do whatever he wanted to him. The thought of this is rather exciting.

"Or what? You'll kidnap me?" Ivo has fantasies he'd never speak out loud, unless he wanted to be scolded. When he's alone, he explores kinks and fetishes that others would judge him for. He's never had a long-term relationship, and this is preferable to considering the needs and wants of others.

Rio chuckles. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? We both know you're obsessed with me."

Ivo doesn't hate fucking Rio. He won't admit this. "You're the one stalking people on the street in the middle of the night." He yanks his arm; Rio digs his fingers tighter. "What the fuck do you want from me, dipshit?" Ivo wonders which part of his childhood made him the most bitter.

"You know," Rio opens the door of his car, stepping out onto the sidewalk, "not that I give a fuck, but you really should go to the doctor. I'd hate for the giant stick up your ass to cause any damage."

It's snowing. Ivo needs an iced coffee. "Grow a brain, idiot." Usually, it's easy to be left alone. People don't like to be disrespected. But Rio is persistent, and this is aggravating. "Let go of my fucking arm."

Something about feeling like the prey is thrilling to Ivo. Rio walks toward him, placing his hands on the wall on either side of Ivo, so that the boy is closed in. It feels poignant, and predatory. Ivo's poor vision makes encounters unpredictable, which makes them exciting. Rio breathes on his face. "You could have walked away if you really wanted to - but you haven't, which means you can't hate me that much." He's aggravating, and smug. Ivo can't explain why he dislikes the man so much. Every relationship begins with hate. He could duck underneath Rio's arms, too quickly to be stopped. "Get in the car."

Ivo says nothing when Rio grabs him by the arm, throwing him into the back seat of the car. He could get up and leave, if he wanted to. He could push the bigger boy off of him. It's warm in the car. "Go fuck yourself," he says, though his voice is unsteady. He's pinned to the seat, overpowered, but not so much that he couldn't get up if he wanted to.

Rio is obsessed with him, and for no good reason. He growls in Ivo's ear, easily flipping him over. "Fuck me yourself, whore." Rio always gives him a chance to say no. Sometimes, Ivo wishes he didn't. To most people, it's humiliating to be used and degraded. This is all Ivo is used to, and it's preferable to vulnerability. Rio is a good fuck, and has beads and rings in his dick that seem to pull Ivo apart. It's easy to be quiet, if you focus. Rio's an arrogant asshole, and it isn't Ivo's first hate fuck. Once or twice, he groans or moans, but he always quickly controls himself. If Rio knows he's enjoying himself, he'll become even more vain. He's aggressive and stern, and makes Ivo want to be disobedient. He cums on Ivo's stomach, loudly, yanking his hair so that Ivo's head jerks back. He's a sex slave. This is all he's good at.

Rio doesn't get off of him. His hands press uncomfortably into Ivo's wrists, warm and dry. "Stop pretending to hate me, bitch. You're just as attracted to me as everybody else."

He's aggravating, smug, and Ivo can't stand it. But fucking him isn't terrible, and sex means nothing. He squirms, spitting at Rio, the way he likes men to spit at him. "Fuck you."

You can tell a lot about a person by the way they speak. Tone, speed, and pitch of voice say a lot about someone, and people don't think about this. You can tell the expression on someone's face by the way their voice sounds. Rio's grinning, and breathing in Ivo's face. What else could he possibly want? He should have gotten up by now. "Again? You can't get enough of me, can you?" He's got a tight grip, but there's always an escape. It's certainly unexpected when Rio kisses him, because it comes out of nowhere, and he's so sure of himself. He isn't gentle. He bites Ivo's lips, hard, and it sends a shock through him.

He punches Rio in the chest, hard. "What the fuck!"

The other boy is still far closer than he should be. "Tell me the truth, Four-Eyes. Do you hate it when I kiss you?"

The car is very old, and smells like the outdoors. Ivo is silent for a moment too long, letting his guard down in a way he probably shouldn't. "No."

"Yeah, I didn't think you would." Rio touches Ivo's cheek; his hand is cold. "You need to stop being so goddamn uptight all the time. Live a little." He breathes in Ivo's face, and then gets up abruptly, starting the car without another acknowledgement. When he drives, he leaves Ivo feeling sticky, warm, and conflicted.