Wai
It was a strange hour to be wandering. A crappy one, if it weren't a Friday night, but no one had anywhere to be tomorrow; and so it was just a little odd. 

Owen was, for reasons that were honestly beyond him, antsy. His guts spiked restlessly in his half-asleep body, and so he was up seeking whatever simple, tried-and-true comforts would lull him to where he wanted to be. Tonight, he decided, was old movies, and what are those without popcorn?

He had gone into town a few months ago and picked some up, forgetting about it until now- the night was cool, his teeth were bored, and absolutely *No one* Was around. 

Which was a jolly mood indeed! 

Sauntering down through the dark hallways of the Cradle, Owen let himself enjoy this strange hour. In one hand, a bag of microwave popcorn, the instructions all in Swedish, and in the other, the slightly annoying glow of a cell phone flashlight. And in the surprisingly good acoustics, the singing voice of a fellow with his headphones turned waayyy up who thought himself totally alone. 

"*...And we will find you acting on your best behaviour, turn your back on mother naaature, everEYbody waants to ruule the wOOORLD...*"
Mary
Uriel does not sleep often. 

Well, that's partly a lie. Uriel is *Asleep* Often, but not really— most of their time is spent being pulled into other people's nightmares and dreams, which used almost as much energy as being awake. Unfortunately for Uriel, sleep was never truly a resting moment, not like it was for everyone else. 

Which is why, when the tug of unconsciousness pulled Uriel into a dreamless slumber, they accepted it with open arms. It was... *Bliss*, being utterly, truly, perfectly asleep. 

Until it happened. 

*"...EverEYbody waants to ruule the wOOORLD..."*

Uriel refused to accept the fact this is how they woke up. As they slowly rose out of bed, hoping to *God* That whatever human was making that wretched (and off-key) noise would stop (to no avail), they begged whatever higher being that was watching to usher them back into nothingness. 

No answer. 

And so, Uriel arose. 

Perhaps it was not made to be. 

There was only one thing to do, now— with the same demeanor a solider would have before storming the trenched did Uriel don while opening their bedroom door and trekking into the shared kitchen. 

Uriel payed no heed to their current appearance— hair out of its usual ponytail, falling on their shoulders like silk, wearing a set of light blue pajamas with little sheep designs. 

Instead, they marched right on outside... And saw Owen. Instantly, all of the anger and frustration boiled out of Uriel, and they simply stared at the scene.

"Oh." The man did not turn around. 

Judging by the lack of a reaction, Owen's music was drowning out every other noise— perhaps too loud to be safe, but not Uriel's place to judge. 

*Interesting. I wonder what songs he'll sing.*

Uriel walked into the dark room and sat like stone on the couch, head craned to look at Owen's performance.
Wai
There was something compelling about the darkened common room, lit by a single stove light that cast a sleepy spotlight onto the kid in the half-zipped hoodie and soft-looking pyjama pants. His hair spilled down his back in a messier manner than usual- that one stubborn lock in the back that refused to cooperate on a *Good* Day was practically a backup dancer at this point. 

Still totally unaware of any insomniac in the room other than himself, Owen carried on with the show. He trailed off to put the popcorn in the microwave, and then resumed just as loudly (but this time, more on-key). 

"*...There's a room where the LIGHT won't fIND YOU-*" 



"*Holding hands while the wORLD COMES TUMBLIN' DOOWN*"



"*When they dO I'll be right besiide-* YOU?!"

The funky dance froze in horror. His eyes, sleepy pools of cocoa, widened as that last lyric squeaked out of his throat in a manner most undignified. In a desperate attempt to compensate, he clamped his mouth shut- it didn't work. 

"YyOUUuh, Uriel!!"

A hysterical giggle bubbled up through his chest at his predicament- locking eyes with his stone-still audience, he suppressed a peal of laughter-

-and another-

-and then all hope was lost. The dam broke, the volcano erupted, the crackling sound of nervous laughter bouncing off the meticulously dusted corners. 

When he felt he might be collecting himself, Owen dared again to make eye contact with Uriel. Bad idea. Eye contact always made it funnier. 

"EEeEveningUriel-", he managed to wheeze out, plotting his eulogy in his head, a dignified send-off for a tragic death by embarrassment. Know what? Why not here, hunched over at a funny angle, gripping a bowl white-knuckle tight, giggling like a schoolgirl? A fitting end for a fool such as he. Goodbye, cruelest of worlds.
Mary
Uriel had been watching for a couple or so minutes before Owen finally spotted them, the man collapsing in on himself in laughter. As Owen doubled over himself, Uriel slowly stood up, approaching and placing a (uncharacteristically) bare hand on the small of the boy's back, patting him ever-so-slightly. 

"If it makes you feel better, I've only been here for the past three minutes." They say, punctuating the sentence with a yawn. A smile quirks up on the dream-weaver's usually pallid face. 

"Might I ask why you're not only awake, but belting strange music at..." Uriel squints, looking at the nearest clock, "4:13 AM?" 

"...And, is that popcorn?"
Wai
"Ohhh, shite, it is 4:13 AM, isn't it," The thoroughly dishevelled boy wheezed, hanging his head in mock shame. The hand on his back surprised him a little, but he didn't complain. "Well, uh, first it was homework, and then I passed out in a weird place, and then I must have woken up from an awfully strange dream with this weird thing in my neck-" He pointed- "And now I'm, uh, goin' ta watch a movie or something." 

Owen looked up at the misty-haired company he had found himself in; the smile on their face seemed genuine, he thought, and so he loosened up a little. The groggy feeling around Uriel crept into the corners of his eyes, and coaxed a lopsided smile out of the corners of his mouth. 

"Yeah, popcorn- movie means popcorn, 's how it goes," He explained, straightening his spine one vertebrae at a time. Man, why was everyone here taller than him? That didn't seem fair. 

The microwave beeped; he talked while he dumped the mouth-watering contents of the bag into the bowl he had found. 

"Why are *You* Here?" Whoops, that was blunt. Did it sound mean? He hoped that his slightly dazed tone didn't lace his questions with malice. "Aren't you the sleepy bloke? What's the matter?" That sounded off too. Oh well, he was doing his best. The hour really was ridiculous.
Mary
"I..." Uriel paused, their speech slowing to a stop as they considered their next words. "Slept too long." 

A lie, one that surprised themself. Of course, the real reason was Owen's singing, but something about the smile on the boy's face made Uriel hesitant to tell the truth. 

Uriel didn't often see that kind of smile— and *Definitely* Not directed towards them. They felt a small part of their brain snapshot that smile, and tuck that pleasant memory away for a time in need. 

The memory felt warm and fuzzy inside of their heart. It made them kind of sleepy. 

"Regardless..." Uriel slowly, delicately, grabs a piece of popcorn, before chewing it with the same sloth-like speed. 

"I'd like to stay with you tonight. You make me happy... And this popcorn thing tastes delicious, as well." The words are delivered with the same monotone speech, but as they say the second sentence, the tone almost becomes soft and sweeter. 

Uriel turns towards the couch, posture straight as a pin, and looks expectedly at Owen with half-lidded eyes. They pat the spot next to them.
Wai
"You.. I, you do?" Owen's voice quivered ever so slightly. *I make them happy?* Whoa. That was definitely going straight to his head when he figured out how to process it. In the meantime, his crooked grin dug deeper into his cheeks, which bloomed a shade pinker than they were previously. If he weren't holding onto that bowl of popcorn for dear life, he might have crushed Uriel's ribs. He certainly wanted to. 

"Of course you can- I- fuck it, sure." Nice. Sentence: Executed. "It's, it's kinda cold down here," He started, still hovering a little next to the couch. "I have blankets. And a Netflix password that most definitely is not mine." Another small crackle from his chest. Nerves and excitement were the same sensation, weren't they? Sounded the same in the middle of the night, anyhow. His heart beat hard in his chest. Man, he needed to get out more. 

Shoving a few pieces of popcorn into his mouth, he shifted his weight onto his back leg, and slipped his headphones down to rest around his neck. 

His sleepy eyes glittered. "We *Do* Have all night."
Mary
Whatever inner turmoil was going on inside of Owen's head was undetectable to Uriel. 

"I mean— of course?" Uriel tilted their head ever-so-slightly. "Isn't that what being a friend means?" 

Owen's reaction confused them. They'd thought this to already be established, but... Perhaps not. Uriel wasn't too well-versed in the criteria for friendship, or the specific boxes that needed to be checked off in order to classify people appropriately. 

A brief shot of anxiety pulsed through Uriel, a feeling unfamiliar to them. Did they make a mistake...? They wouldn't want an erroneous label to harm their kinship with Owen. 

"You're right, though, it is pretty cold— although, I'm always at sleeping body temperature, so it's always cold to me." Uriel grabs the end of the blanket, and burritos themselves the best they can while saving the other half for Owen. 

"Now, you wanted to watch a movie? I only watched a couple of those, and on rare occasions... But most of those were in black-and-white, and things my mom liked." They looked at Owen, a curious expression on their face. 

"Although, considering how I didn't recognize your music taste, I'm positive whatever you put on will be something new and interesting." They laugh to themselves, a breathy, airy thing.
Wai
Now they were both a little confused- that was a comfort in itself, actually, proof that sometimes people other than him have trouble making sense of things. Something occurred to him when he saw the concern on Uriel's face, and he made a decision: the almighty *"Screw it, I'm rolling with this."* It had been a while since friends had happened to him- *Dammit, Owen, stop thinking so hard. It's 4 AM, you're not supposed to be doing that.*

"Yeah! Y-yeah, I suppose it does," He beamed. "You're downright lovely." That last part came out quicker, like it was breathed straight from his head to his mouth rather than tumbled through the usual filters. 

Curling an arm around the popcorn bowl and grabbing the other half of the blanket, he nudged them forward on their journey towards his dorm. It wasn't *Too* Much of a mess when he left it. 

"Eh? Well, good thing I'm practically a radiator!" It was indeed quite some luck. The rush of pleasant emotion brought a wave of heat to Owen's skin, which no doubt aided the blanket in its duty. 

"Hm? Really.. Well, it's not a terribly strange thing- I've been teased for having the music taste of an old man!" An amused snort. "No movies, though? What did you do for fun back home?"

He found himself further intrigued by his dreamy company as they padded softly through the halls. What better opportunity to learn more about them?
Mary
As Uriel walked with Owen, they took particular note of the words the boy used. *This is how friends talk to each other, then?* It was an unfamiliar feeling, the emotional intimacy Owen was pouring into them, but it wasn't unwelcome. It was thrilling, almost— having someone be honest and open with you, not having to doubt the sentiment behind every word... 

Uriel snaps back to reality when Owen poses the question, blinking a few times to re-align themselves. 

"Oh, well, not often. I grew up in a small town deep in the forests of France... Well, the outskirts of that town, in a small cottage with just my mom. It was about as 'off-the-grid' you can get before being in a commune, honestly. A lot of books, a lot of quiet life alone. This whole... Thing," Uriel gestures around Newton's Cradle, "Has been quite the culture shock. I think I saw more people on the first day than I did in my life before that." 

They hums to themselves amusedly. 

"But, I've come to the staunch realization that most people grew up... Differently. Everyone is much more experienced in the skills that are actually important in this new environment, and it's left me feeling a bit.. Lost, I suppose." 

Uriel turns towards Owen, and looks intently into his eyes. 

"I'm... Very grateful for you. For this adventure you've taken me on." *That sounds like what a friend would say to another friend.*

Uriel listens intently at Owen's tale, eyebrows knitted in thought. 

"You say you don't people all that well, but you seem to be doing a fine enough job as is. I think, perhaps... You're being a bit too harsh on yourself." 

As Uriel examines the room, they hesitantly approach the posters and various musical equipment, brushing a hand lightly across the surface. 

"This... Is rock music, no?" They turn over to Owen, eyes lit with an unexpected fire. "You can play music, then? Like the guitar? You can *Do that?*" 

As Uriel takes notice of the room, they're struck with the sudden realization of how *Homey* The place is. It's nothing compared to their side of the room, with the only ornaments being a stack of books and a single, slowly wilting plant. It seems like a room a teen boy would inhabit, something *Normal* And filled with being. 

Owen *Teems* With life and personality and feeling, and it's utterly fascinating to witness. Uriel feels a sudden spark of shame as they notice their own clinical curiosity at life outside of their own, but attempts to push those feelings to the back of their mind. 

A twang of jealousy fills Uriel, as they're struck with the sudden feeling of emptiness— not of emotion, but of experience. Seeing all that Owen is displayed across these walls only helps Uriel realize all that they've missed for most of their life— no family reunions, no close friendships, nothing but the story of an estranged teenager and her lone child, who never had anything else but each other. 

"Your life seems... Well, lively— it's wonderful to hear about. And your room is rather well-decorated." They keep close to Owen, the warmth radiating off of the boy making up for Uriel's lack of mittens or scarves.