Gary
Ike Horowitz finally had enough strength in him to be able to go to the general store by himself. He still felt a little strange whenever he got to the end of his limited range of motion, but at least he was walking and grabbing items without feeling like he was going to pass out.

One day, Ike knew, he would be better and the scars on his torso would be just that; scars. If they even scarred at all. Ike had been taking special care of his wounds in hope that the scarring wouldn't be too bad, or perhaps not stay at all. That would be a miracle. One that Ike was hopeful for, but not banking on.

The Bigby Family General Goods Store was limited, that much was obvious... But it still had a good enough array of the basics that Ike could stand and mumble to himself over what he *Really* Needed. Did he need more grains, or was he better off buying bread freshly baked? Would he be better off getting sugar, or would it be best to avoid the extra cost?

Ike was a numbers man. He liked adding up the costs in his mind, flexing his fingers as he counted off items and their each positive attributes. Ike was in his own world. One that contained him and only him. Well... Him *And* The worker clearing shelves of dust on the other side of the store.

"Hm," Ike hummed. "Oats... Cheap, filling... Only tasty enough to have each day if paired with sugar. Worth it? Maybe... Maybe not."

Ike was mumbling to himself, he knew that. He also knew that if anyone saw him that he was likely to look like a madman. He was lucky that no one else was in the store. No one except for the worker, though they had their back turned and their mind elsewhere.

Ike was blissfully alone. Free to think and forget the world around him. Because no one else was around, right?

*Right?*

||
Susan
The blizzard had come and gone and with every day that the snow melted, the Barnes family grew more restless. While they'd made sure to stock up before they were stuck inside, they'd neglected to look over what needed to be refilled—namely, sugar, tea, and coffee.

So, unfortunately for Owen, those two days he was hunkered down were spent listening to his mother lament her lack of caffeine. Jessie scowled at their plain oatmeal at breakfast, and Owen missed the blueberry tea he drank most mornings. As soon as the snow melted enough for them to get past the farm's boundary, a bundled-up Josephine and Owen made their way into town, and more importantly, into the general store.

He offered the clerk an awkward nod of the head once he'd stepped inside, and unfurled his scarf till it hung loosely around his neck. Owen wasn't very familiar with the store just yet, despite his new frequency in town, so he wandered into the isles, eyes fixed on the shelves.

Owen didn't look up when the door opened once again, followed by his mother's loud greeting, and then the tapping of her shoes as she scurried over to find him.

A few things happen quite quickly after that.

Firstly, Owen realized there was another man in the aisle, mumbling something under his breath. Secondly, his mother was approaching faster than she should for being indoors, and she was at risk of running into something. Finally, he remembered that he'd stopped when he saw this other man, and he was in the oncoming collision site with his over-excited mother.

With his name still on her lips, Josephine bumped into her son, which made Owen stumble into the stranger with the full force of a man not expecting to be toppled by his sixty-year-old mother.

"Owen, sweetie, I am so sorry-" Josephine began, but all Owen could think about was how fast he could bolt out of there without this man realizing.

...Not fast enough, realistically.

||
Gary
Ike had been having a peaceful day. One filled with reflections about his time in Briar Ridge - good *And* Bad - and a pleasant walk around town to the grocery store. Mumbling to himself happily about the most efficient things to buy, and what will get him through the chilly weather that remained.

And then...

The world always has to interrupt him, doesn't it? Indeed, it does. Ike stumbles, he drops his little notepad. Despite being reasonably agile on his feet usually, one cannot out manoeuvre an unexpected bump from a man almost a foot taller tham ones self.

Ike falls.

Instead, he doesn't. Not quite anyway. Ike manages to grab onto something with both hands, grasps it and keeps himself upright only to realise something rather... Embarrassing. Isaac Horowitz is holding onto the big man's shirt, balled fists clutching it like a woman about to faint in front of her husband. Like a heroine from those trashy books he tried to read once, but turned his nose up at.

Ike keeps clinging for a moment, afraid to move lest he feel skin to skin contact and feel that horrible awful *Burning* Like always. Because that's what's going to happen; Ike is going to feel this mans hand against his forearm and it's going to burn. Like with everyone that's ever touched him.

So he stays clutching Owen, and makes a pathetic attempt at conversation. "Ah." Ike stutters, glasses askew. "The oats aren't *That* Exciting."

Stupid. Not even vaguely funny.

And yet Ike is strangely proud of himself for even getting the sentence *Out* Of his mouth.
Susan
The grip on his shirt surprises him out of his mortified reverie, and Owen's head jerks down to observe the... Considerably smaller man who clings to him. There is a genuine possibility that Owen's shirt will tear under the stranger's grip, and, without thought, Owen is grabbing his forearm to steady them both.

Then the stranger says something about oats that can only prompt a small, uncertain smile from Owen, alongside a soft 'sorry'.

"Owen Barnes!" Comes the shrill call of his mother.

"Mama, I already-"

His mother waves him off as she bends low to grab the notepad and, after shoving it into Owen's free hand and giving the pair a once over, she scurries off to another aisle.

The speed at which his mortification comes back is almost a new record.

"I, uh," He tries, seeming to look everywhere but the man's face. This is *Not* How he wanted this outing, or any for that matter, to go. The man doesn't seem upset, thankfully, but every damn synapse in his brain is firing off and telling him to *Flee*.

"I'm sorry, again." His voice is low as he takes a step back to give the stranger more space. "About running into you, and about my mother. She means well, but she can be... Loud."

"Are... Are you okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

||
Gary
The hand on his forearm should burn. It should and that is what Ike expects, so he shudders and closes his eyes tight and braces for the all over horrible feeling of—

Of nothing.

Ike's eyes opened, and he looked to the large man's mother as she scurried off to retrieve God only knew what. There was a moment when Ike did not let to of Owen, a moment when his hand still gripped the others forearm as if to marvel at the fact that he could. Ike was touching someone, skin to skin, and he didn't feel any which way about it.

To literally everyone else in town, this was a given; to a man who had never once been able to do this since he could form memories though? This was a big thing.

Finally Ike let go of the other mans forearm, and Ike shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. Ike avoided the other mans eyes, and only brought his hand out to fix his classes.

Ike shook his head. "No need to apologise." Ike swallowed hard, afraid that something was *Wrong* With either himself or this tree of a man. Good things didn't happen to Isaac Horowitz, not this easily. "I know an intentional shove from an accidental one."

The implication of this was a little sad at best. Ike felt the need to recover, in some way.

"Your mother is fine. Besides, I've... Been in a few tussles. I can handle a shove." Ike said. He tried to sound sure and true, but all he did was crane his neck up and blink behind his glasses. This short four-eyed guy had not willingly gotten into tussles, and that much was obvious even to a blind man.

||
Susan
Ike's reassurances don't do much for Owen, and his good brow furrows as he looks the shorter man over. Outwardly, he looks fine, but anxiety still settles low and cold in Owen's stomach all the same.

"Even with it being an accident, I know I'm a... Big fella, and it'd be all too easy to hurt you." His eye widens, "Not that I think you're not capable, I only just- you know. I'm sorry."

He takes another step back, his gaze shooting to the floor to avoid Ike's eyes. The notebook still weighs heavily in his hand, but all he needs to do is just hand it over! It should be simple, it shouldn't be making his nerves worse, and it *Definitely* Shouldn't make the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

Unfortunately for Owen, a conversation is never as simple as he'd like it to be.

"Your, ah, notebook." He thrusts the pad in Ike's direction, nodding once. "For your oats. You... Were talking about oats, right? Oats are nice."

||
Gary
"They are," Ike agreed, "But I wonder whether they're worth it."

Ike took his notebook back and held it in both hands, though he still wondered what on earth was the matter with him; no one on God's green earth had been able to touch him without eliciting some form of discomfort or even pain.

What was so special about this man?

"They're only good with sugar, or perhaps berries... But I've not got the knowledge of these woods to be able to confidently pick out the ones that won't *Kill me*, and sugar is an unnecessary expense if its only purpose is to make my oatmeal edible-"

In that moment Isaac realised that perhaps this man mentioned oats being 'nice' not because he wanted to discuss the 'financial versus comfort' benefit of oats and sugar... Maybe the man just wanted a clean exit to the conversation.

Ah.

Ike tapped his fingers in rapid succession on the notebook. He stared at the oats, and looked down to his notebook.

"I um. I also have fresh meat on the list." Ike said. "Perhaps if I make friends with a hunter, then I can save some money *And* Get outside more instead of agonising over oats." Ike forced a huff of laughter.
Susan
Owen chuckled a tad nervously, his voice soft and low. "I don't know too much about berries either- my sister's husband has always been a forager, and he always talks about... Paw... Paws? Pawpaws? It's more of a fruit, not a berry. Honey's nice, but I don't... Know if that's more expensive."

Fortunately or unfortunately for Ike, Owen didn't seem to *Want* To leave the conversation, he simply floundered for a subject to land on. Ike appeared to be a smart man, smarter than Owen was, and he didn't know what smart folk talked about. Numbers? Poetry? A third thing he didn't know?

"My sisters say the butcher's got good meat, so you wouldn't have to meet a hunter if you didn't want to? They say they're real nice, too, if that makes any difference."

Owen fussed with the sleeve of his jacket, then finally raised his gaze from the floor to look at Ike. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his mother as she yapped the ear off of the sole worker, and a pang of sympathy shot through him.

"...Your glasses are nice."

The Barnes knack of conversation was always something he mourned never having.
||
Gary
Huh. The butcher. Ike never even considered having meat that had been prepared away from his watchful eye. To him, the initial thought brought forth visions of sickness... Bad tastes... Aches and pains.

But perhaps he ought to step out of his comfort zone.

Before Ike could think of a way to reply, Owen complimented him. Ike looked up, confused and shocked. This reaction wasn't because of the admittedly strange phrasing or subject, but because Ike had never really gotten a compliment before. He wasn't ugly, but he wasn't exactly conventional. No unconventional man would ever expect a *Compliment*, especially not out of the blue.

"Oh." Ike touched his glasses. "Thuh-They're old."

*What a comeback.* Ike felt his face grow hot so surely he had to be blushing, which brought on another bout of overthinking. Owen furthered the conversation even after Ike had given him the opportunity to leave, so did that mean he wanted to chat? What did chatting really entail - how much depth could he get into before an invisible line was crossed?

Ike decided to find out, however risky it was. "Did you know that all the bees you see collecting pollen are males? Drones. They're father to at least a few *Other* Drones, because the queen bee mates with lots of them over time to keep genetic diversity." Ike swallowed. He pushed up his glasses. "Spuh-Speaking of honey..."

||
Susan
"They still look nice," He offered with a small shrug. "Old can be good, too."

It's not difficult to see the flush come to Ike's cheeks from where he's standing, but he doesn't comment on it. Hell- he's experienced his fair share of embarrassed blushes, who was he to point it out to him?

A small, passing thought told him the color looked nice on his cheeks.

The sudden onslaught of information on bees caught him by surprise for a moment, but the surprise quickly morphed into... Fascination. It'd been years since he was last in school, and any new learning opportunities were few and far between, aside from the tidbits he'd get from his niblings.

"What's genetic diversity?" The sudden strength of his voice surprised him, but he continued all the same. "Why are there no female drones, either? Wouldn't it be better if they split off and made pairs instead of one queen having a bunch of baby daddies?"

A few paces away, a choked gasp can be heard, but Owen pays it no mind.

||
Gary
Oh, this is brilliant! This was more than Ike could have hoped for. Usually when Isaac Horowitz thrusted himself into a conversation using facts and jargon, people around him give him a *Look*. One that meant that he ought to stand on the sidelines. Be seen, not heard.

But Owen. Oh, Owen. This big guy asked follow up questions! Ones that indicated that he had listened and taken in what he could, then figured out what he didn't understand. Owen wanted to understand. Ike blinked. He took a second or two longer to contemplate those questions, and then he pressed his hands together with the notebook betwixt them.

"*Well,* Genetic diversity is just... Your mother and father give half of their genes to make *You*, and since they weren't brother and sister their genes weren't the same." Ike glanced up at Owen. He wanted to make sure that assumption was right, but Owen was too attractive (Ike made a note to unpack *That* Justification later). "But if two relatives - cousins, siblings - have a baby then their genes kind of... Screw with each other. That's why those babies get sick, or they look like freaks."

Ike shrugged.

"Animals know its wrong too... So I guess bees have to do what they can. They can't just change nature, you know? A wolf can't buy his meat from the butcher, and bees can't change how they procreate." Ike explained. He chuckled a little. "Though I would *Quite* Like to see a wolf buy meat from the butcher... Perhaps he'd try to wear pants and walk on two legs."
Susan
Owen actually *Smiled* At the continued stream of information, the gesture bringing out the dimples in his cheeks. He didn't fully understand, of course, not like Ike did, but it fed into a curiosity that had been long starved.

"I get it, a little bit: you've gotta have two different things to make something new, or else it'll get muddy if the things are too similar."

He paused, then chuckled softly. "I think it'd be a sight to see, but I wouldn't be too trustful of a wolf like that, even if it acted like a man. I don't think he'd be able to pay for his meat, neither, and I'd hate to be the butcher that would have to haggle with him over it."

"I'm... Owen, by the way, but you already heard my name." Owen thought momentarily, then gingerly held his hand out to shake, the movement screaming uncertainty. "Do you know other things besides bees, oats, and wolves? I'd... Like to hear more if you'd be up for it. You can always say no, though! I don't want to put you out at all!"

He felt his face warm but tried to swallow down his nerves. The worst this stranger could say was no, and he could always... Find another learned man, surely? Someone who'd answer his questions, or speak on and on while he listened? Men liked to talk, his sisters were always saying that, but Ike felt different: those men would go on about working or something crass, but never something so interesting like bees, surely.
||
Gary
Ike's skin tingled. Pleasant little pricks against his skin. A thousand benevolent insects skittered across his chest. His arms. Up his spine and to the skin of his neck.

Excitement.

Ike was able to identify this feeling, not because of symptoms but because excitement was *So very rare* These days. It had always been uncommon, but lately Ike had been unable to grasp the mere inclination of it. With every thought of morality scraping the insides of his cranium, the thoughts of man and monster, feelings blossoming in his chest that scared and aroused him. A wolf inside his ribcage. A wolf, caged but barely. A wolf rabid for flesh, inside the body of a man equally as rabid for it.

Ike wasn't sure whether he wanted to touch someone, or sink his blunt teeth into their soft flesh. Ike wasn't sure whether one was himself and the other a monster, or whether he had simply been starving for too long. Perhaps both were Ike; the wolf asleep and curled up peacefully while the man agonised over his own monstrous shortcomings. 

"Isaac." Ike croaked, "Ike. Isaac Horowitz."

The opportunity arose, then, to press his skin to Owen's. To feel the distinct *Lack* Of pain that it wrought. Ike jumped at the opportunity like he never had before. Their hands made a noise as he smacked them together. A soft noise, like a bug that hit a window.

"I like bodies." Ike blinked. Pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. He was still shaking Owen's hand. Still grasping it.

*Warm.*

*Calloused.*

Ike wanted to take one of Owen's fingers and inspect it. Wanted to hold it close so he could map the hills and valleys of skin. Ike resisted this urge, but he felt the distinct tensity of his arm as he let go of the others hand.

"I... I work with dead people. I... I have a sketchbook of medical diagrams. Some I drew myself. Some from experiments with food and woodland creatures that died in the forest. I think man ought to know how decay takes us. If I could pinpoint exactly how a woman died, and exactly when it happened, then perhaps I could avenge her." Ike looked down to Owen's hand again. To his hair.

"If you wanted to look through it, that would be," Ike crumpled his grocery list in his hand, "Good. No one else ever has."
Susan
*"I like bodies."*

Owen didn't balk, nor did he laugh at the words. He focused on shaking Ike's hand- not too rough, lest he jostled the smaller man's arm off his shoulder. His hand was smooth and slightly colder than the air around them, but still far removed from the chill outside. 

It was... Nice, pleasant, even. He couldn't even recall the last time he'd been able to hold a conversation like this, without the telltale wisps of fear clinging to him like moss to a tree. Owen was still nervous, granted, but it was almost a *Giddy* Nervousness- something he hadn't felt since he was a teen.

He tampered down his disappointment when Ike let go of his hand, and let his hand fall to his side.

"That's... Gosh, that's fascinating. Almost like seeing into the past, isn't it?" His good eye widened. "You'd be able to do so much *Good* With that, Ike- hell, you could always apply what you learn to living people too, right? You could *Stop* People from dying! That's... Amazing."

Owen looked downright shy at the offer to look through the notebook, his shoulders hunched up to his ears. "I'd love to look at your drawings, as... Long as you tell me how you draw? I always like watching people draw, if they let me. Y-You don't have to, though- I'm just grateful that you'd let me look at your notebook."
||
Gary
That giddy nervousness infecting Owen had become a roaring fire inside Ike. He could barely breathe, barely even look the man in the eyes. Ike could barely keep Owen's gaze but also, at the same time, he wouldn't dare look away.

*'That's... Gosh, that's fascinating.'*

*'You could stop people from dying!'*

"Yes! Yes, precisely. I could stop people from dying if I knew how to find killers based on how they kill, and how the bodies of their victims decompose after death. It's..." Ike swallowed. He blinked hard, and then huffed out the closest thing to a laugh he could muster.

"*I would be honoured if you looked at my drawings.*"

Ike meant every word that he said. He had no idea what it was that had sparked between them, just as he did not know why his usual reaction to touch didn't occur, but what he did know was that Owen was the perfect person to open up to. The strangest, most off-putting parts of Ike seemed to fascinate him.

"I... I could show you how." Ike offered. "So long as we meet somewhere quiet, and we have time to stay a while. I've... I've never had the opportunity to teach someone something, but I've always wanted to."