Emily
I CAN START
Gotta set the scene, *AHem*

*Ffycffycffycffyc. Ffyc.*

Owen's hands jittered as he ran frantically around his room looking for his key card and an extra layer. 

*FFFFFFFFFFYYYC.*

Maybe he was even denser than he had thought, but the string of messages that still lit up his phone screen had come flying out of left field and clocked him in the jaw. It buzzed again while he wrangled on a dark green plaid flannel, nearly sending his stomach into his mouth. *Calm, organs, pacify, chillax, we have to be there for someone-*
Whoops, that practically sent his intestines into his sinuses. *No pressure, none at all, this will all be FINE.*

Worn Blundstones hit the ground with heavy *Thuds* As the coppery flash bounded down the halls and stairs, skidding to a halt in the kitchen. 

*Did he have the time for a harebrained decision?*
*Well, he certainly didn't have the time to dally on it.*

Scrambling to grab two plastic cups and his carton of his favourite cranberry juice, Owen resumed his mad dash outside. 12°C and partially cloudy- just enough chill to bite at his nose, but warm enough that his body complained about the extra layer. Never mind that. Slamming the juice and juice receptacles onto a picnic table, Owen turned to face the entrance to the courtyard. 

*Why did he always have to bring people in crises* Here*?*

...Something about the trees. Standing on one of the benches and clicking his favourite pen at speeds that must have been high enough to toast a marshmallow, Owen waited in disbelief to receive his friend and their stomach-searing dilemma.
Donna
Finley wouldn't call it a *Crisis*, per se. Just a fair bit of pure unadulturated panic, coupled with a gripping fear of destroying one of the most meaningful friendships they'd had to date. 

So when they walked down to the courtyard, they tried to take a *Deep* Breath and settle the way that their knees shook worse than their hands. Realizing you had a crush never got any easier than the rudimentary experience it was in middle or even high school. Even at a magical boarding prison, Finley still had time to fall for troublesome boys with anger behind their eyes and mischief in their hands. How rude of them, really. 

"Owen?" They called, as they stepped outside. "I'm so sorry for panicking, really, chap, you'll have to forgive me - I just - this never gets any easier, and I'm just very worried about the whole thing, because, I don't want to ruin my friendship with him, and- Good heavens, you don't even know who I'm talking about, do you?"

They sat down on the bench beside Owen and rubbed their forehead, taking a deep breath and catching sight of one of their best friends in the whole Cradle. 

"Hello. I am sorry for my panic. Let me reorient myself. How are you?"
Emily
"I! I am.. *Bloody hell, Finley, that is not why we're out here!!*" 

An incredulous giggle punctuated his exclamation, equal parts nerves and sheer disbelief at Fin's attempt to turn the conversation to *Him*. Were they trying to make the both of them combust?!

He plopped down from his feet to his butt on the bench, where his leg started bouncing wildly. Though he was flattered and flabbergasted that he was trusted with this, it scared him shitless- so many things could spawn from what he said here, and he only hoped that if he couldn't be a help, he could be a comfort. 

"Who, what, when, why, what again, and coc y gath, *Slow down.*"

He slammed a cup of cranberry juice down in front of them. Nothing like cold juice down the gullet to chill one's thoughts a little. Still, his eyes burned with a radiating intensity as they peered at the blond from over the rim of his own cup.
Donna
Finley burst into a nervous sort of laughter, taking the juice from him with a laugh. They gave it a sip, and set it down, laying their head on Owen's leg and letting out a loud sigh. Their Docs hung over the side of the bench, clacking against the dirt. Owen, as always, was warm and solid, and his presence was grounding, so they could finally pull in a deep breath through their nose, muttering something in French about their own madness.

"I tend to get panicked," They apologized, looking up at him. The late-spring weather was almost balmy, a breeze settling over them. "But - Owen, it's Ares. I think I'm attached to him, and I shouldn't be. I'm so scared of running him off. If I admit anything, or even show it, he'll leave, and I think that would hurt most of all."

"It happened hardly a week ago, really, and it only hit me just now. I went to get dinner with him - it's something we do frequently, you know - and he was telling some long winded story, and I just looked at him for a while and couldn't understand the bubbling feeling in my chest. It was something of a catastrophe, internally, but at least he didn't pick up on it. I don't know what I'd do if he found out about this."

Finley rubbed their forehead again. "He's just my type. It's horrible."
Emily
Owen squeaked a small "Oh!" When Finley plunked their head on his lap, a minuscule spark of fear shooting up his spine when he felt the staticky kick that came with it. Couldn't be helped- he was a little nervous around all things lightning, but the pleasant shock of such a platonically intimate move overtook that. He took another sip to mask the brief lunatic grin that spread across his face.

"*Ares?!*" 

Owen blurted out their friend's name before he could put a second thought to it. "Aw, Fin.." A shaky but comforting coo, as a *Number* Of things suddenly made sense. He threaded a hand through their hair, lightly and tentatively at first, like Mama used to when he had a nightmare or ..Funnily enough, crush troubles. Callused, gentle fingers wound through spun wheat as his dear friend talked, his stomach plummeting along with theirs. 

"Aye, that *Is* Horrible," He started. "Well! 'Least he's dense!" It was true. Ares was smart, he knew that, but it took dumb-as-bricks to know dumb-as-bricks. An old coil of some bottled-up emotion curled in his chest, leaking out of its cork as it detected itself in Fin. 

"Hmm. In this state, doing anything about it would be.." He trailed off. Fin knew it would be disastrous, that's why they were here. "Maybe.. Time to think? Not think? Listen to sad love songs and eat so much popcorn that, I dunno, you mellow into a cool buttery state." A crooked smile at his terribleness. "Breathe, love, the world's still turning."

That always worked when his mother said it. His accent shifted closer to hers, low and smooth, the vowels and sweetly stressing and his r sounds buzzing slightly; the voice of comfort, he hoped.
Donna
Finley leaned into the hand in their hair, closing their eyes with a great sigh. They had a French mama, not Welsh, but Owen's accent still brought some semblance of comfort along with it. For a moment, they were quiet, letting the words wash over them and a deep breath sigh out of their nose. 

"Sorry about the static," They said, "It's just a thing about my powers. Can't touch anything without shocking it. I hate plugging things in."

They looked up at Owen again, opening their soft blue eyes to stare at him. 

"He's dense as a brick, is what he is. I can't tell if that makes me like him better or not. The whole thing's screwed. I should have known I'd find the biggest troublemaker and fall for him - it's just something I'd do - have done - and will do. My God, what am I supposed to do with all of this feeling? I guess it might be nice to eat popcorn, though. Amelie's got some absolutely rocked sweets. Have you tried them? You should."

Finley let out a sneeze, which, unfortunately, would probably give Owen a little shock, just a baby one, but ashock nonetheless.

"Sorry - another thing with the static. I know you don't like lightning. And it doesn't help that he teases me at any chance he gets - what if I slip up, and admit something, or worse, show something? I'm going to have to grit my teeth so hard I'll be hauled to a dentist in a week, tops."
Emily
Owen put all his attention into following Finley's nervous rambling. He knew the feeling well- he could practically see the thoughts zipping around in their head, crashing into each other and shooting past their lips in any which order. All urgent, though, and received as well as he could process. 

Yelping a little when they sneezed, the boy in the *UFO* Shirt twitched almost like he himself had sneezed. The shock didn't hurt, but his heart wasn't exactly jazzed about it. He was determined not to let it bother him for long, though.

*Come on, scaredy heart, this is Fin. We like Fin. They're not going to sear us onto a boardwalk like that last one.*

"You can't help it, don't stress," Owen murmured, moving the offending loose lock of hair away from their face, tucking it behind his ear. Whoops. 

His eyes darted around from anchor to anchor on their face as he smoothed the rest of his hair down, the static making odd strands stick up a little comically- not the first time, and he hoped not the last, if he was honest. Closeness was closeness, even if it messed with his mane.

"Then, I guess, you come clean, and then he'll remain your friend anyway because evidently you care for each other a lot," Owen reasoned matter-of-factly. 

He would know- he had hung around them quite a bit lately, and seen their dynamic. Though he was all too aware of how overwhelming romantic feelings were, especially for friends, he was having trouble conjuring up the image of Ares' face twisting in the same disgust that others had, smiting Fin's heart off the mountainside and that being *That*. 

He sincerely hoped he was right. 

"If you wanna ruin your teeth in a more pleasant way, though, there's no dearth of sugar for the inhaling around here- you're right, Amelie's sweets are something beautiful."
Donna
"Sweets it is," Finley decided. They looked up at Owen, studying the underside of his chin. He truly was one of the closest friends that they had at the school, and knew for a fact that they could trust. Not that, of course, they couldn't trust the rest of the Club - they were all a bond for a reason, even if they didn't have their official moniker yet - but they still had more faith in the ginger.

"I don't want to tell him, not yet. I just want to see if it goes away."

And it was a reasonable assumption - many times, crushes would simply turn out to be infatuations, little flutters of the heart driven by appearances or a connection, and never anything serious. With luck, this little storybook-esque draw to a boy with trouble spelled into his every fiber would simply roll off Finley's back like a tidal wave - and not take them with it.

And whether or not Owen, or anyone else believed that, was surely not up for discussion, Finley reasoned to themself, because it hadn't happened yet. Who knew. They could very well be over it by the next time they even saw Ares, boxing up the feelings, putting them on a shelf, occasionally looking back on it with a healthy dose of humor and amusement. When they were fifty, maybe, they could look back on photos from this time in their life and say, *'Wow, I can't believe I had a crush on him,* And that would simply be that.

Or, perhaps, Finley thought with a sigh, they were entirely and utterly screwed.

"I wonder how she makes them," They said, clearing their throat, "Amelie, I mean. It was nice that Uriel came, as well."
Their eyes sparkled.
"How *Is* Uriel anyway, Owen?"
Emily
"Uriel's fascinated with their roommate's new snake- I've seen it, he's adorable," Owen beamed, happy as ever to think about his sleepy yet tremendously loving friend. His hand tapped out a happy rhythm on the table.

"They're still tearing me into miserable ribbons with the *Monty Python* Quotes, but my, they have a talent. Beware of Uri, more brutal than they seem!" His laughter was a crackling, giddy sound, easily summoned but sincere nonetheless. 

*He was making friends!* Real, human friends close to his age, who he could share snacks with and cuddle up to and know things about. There was a time when he never thought he'd see the day, but here he was, playing with a dear one's hair and gushing about another. His feet tapped away on the ground beneath him, and a warmth both physical and otherwise radiated from his chest.

"Really, though. We're kids. Dumb ones. I'm sure we've both felt like we were dying of a pre-broken heart before and turned out all right, ah?"

He really ought to take his own advice, he thought to himself. So much energy, wasted on scripting and directing catastrophes, only to re-realize his above statement afterward in a crater of blankets and junk food. *Pff.* He was a silly boy, saying silly things to his silly friend; what incomparable joy.
Donna
"Uri, then?" Finley asked, amusment in their tone. They tilted their head a bit to watch Owen's mannerisms as he talked about Uriel. They clearly meant so much to him - it made Finley smile to look at it. They reached up and twisted some of Owen's hair around their finger, very gently.

"You're so sweet on them," They said, "I can see it. Don't tell me you should be taking your own advice here, Owes."

The courtyard and Owen's warm presence had settled Finley's anxiety to settle into beautiful monarch butterflies to flutter around and away, off in the background.

"I forget we are kids, sometimes. It's easy to forget your youth when everyone around you has as well, don't you think? I mean, look at us - we're in prison, almost quite literally. At least it's not miserable - not really. I know it's strange, but I think I am content here more than I was at home, or perhaps just towards the end. I miss Nadia, sure, but, not much else, apart from my mother, and my cat."

Ah, yes. What else did Finley have waiting back at home? They were unable to dance again, and even if they were, they never wanted to go back to the company - and see Victor's face? Ha. They'd *Burned down* The theatre that was kind enough to let them do work at school - burned down a *Portion* Of their high school. When they got back, they would surely have to find a new school, or just get some sort of GED, anyway. Newton's Cradle was, for now, perhaps the best option.
Emily
"Gaaaa*Aaaaahhhh..*"

Much to his hopeless chagrin, Owen felt his face turn hot. *Really*, Uriel just.. They just made him really happy. That was all there needed to be to it.

"Youuuuu... By that metric, I'm 'sweet' on a lot of things," He squeaked, playfully batting a hand over their face. Psshhh. Play with his hair and call him nicknames and make him grin ear-to-ear, will you? At the price of your eyes, sparky blond within swiping distance. 

His goofy expression turned more thoughtful at Finley's musings on their bittersweet situation. A part of him, bigger than he would like to admit, agreed with them, though it was an uncomfortable pill to swallow.

"Yeah.. I miss home, and how simple everything used to be, but. Shit, this is the most fulfilled I've felt in ages, if also, uh, the most terrified and uncomfortable," He tentatively affirmed. "I miss my mams. And my dog. And the route I took to school in the morning, and how it drizzled this time of year, but.." He tilted his head as the end of his sentence trailed off, as though it weighted down his jaw. More than his jaw.

"Not going to lie to you mate, I was lonely." He had convinced himself that it was alright before, but even then he must have known he was lying through gritted teeth. 

"It's like, I don't want to be that sad little kid anymore, but I miss him, you know?"

Voice wavering on that last word, the hand previously splayed over Fin's face now absentmindedly winding a flaxen lock around his fingers. His face was still curved down to theirs, but his eyes looked elsewhere; they saw different trees, different hands running through scruffy fur and rifling through boxes of records, covers and labels blurring together in his memory. His lip quivered a little. 

.

There was more on the tip of his tongue, more that twisted in his cheek and pushed behind his eyes, but nothing would articulate itself; all he could do was hope that Fin understood. They usually got it. So did he. The two of them were surprisingly similar- a comfort where he didn't think he would find one, that he had forgotten at some point that he needed. 

A heavy sigh, like a tired dog curled up at their feet, and another sip of juice. *The world's still turning...*
Donna
"You have grown," Finley said, "And you'll grow still. There's nothing to be feared with change, even if it is, of course, painful. You'll be alright, Owes. I know you will. One day, we can go back to Wales - Wales, isn't it? - together. I'll meet your moms, and your dog, and I'll get laughed at because I don't understand Welsh."

A laugh pulled on their face. The thought was sweet, they, and Owen, going to see their families together. With luck, maybe the rest of the gang could come. Ares talked very fondly about Puerto Rico - after Finley got over this *Dilemma,* Maybe they could visit there, one day. Not necessarily to see him! Of course not. But if they just so happened to *Run into* Ares while they were there, then, all the merrier, right? They wouldn't be there because of him, but just to look around, and explore. Definitely. 

"And in return, you're coming to France. Nadia will love you. You'll be another little brother to her to thump on the forehead, and make dinner for. I'm sure you know I can't cook by now. I burn everything I touch."

Ouch.

An image of a burning school flashed behind their eyes. It was the only fire in their life they hadn't meant to set. The smoke had become too much, too fast, all that burning rubber, all that choking blackness - the emergency lights had been like lighthouses, speckled at too sparse intervals along the ceiling. Finley, for all their powers, wasn't immune to the smoke, and crawled out of the door only to be swooped by a police officer, handcuffed, and thrown into the back of an ambulance to be looked over.

They blinked their own eyes, clearing their throat. No reason to cry over what had already happened.

"Come on now, mate. We're both about to cry right about now." Finley gently sat up, and put an arm around Owen's shoulders. "Look at me. We'll both get home, and go see our families. I miss my sister more than anything - and you miss your moms, I know that - but we'll see them again. Who knows. Maybe we'll start a band, and get so filthy stinking rich we put Haoran to shame. I'll buy your moms a boat."

"You're not that sad little kid anymore. You've got tons of friends who care about you."
They pointedly poked him in the chest.
"And you're powerful - we all are, rather we wanted to be or not. And you're learning how to use that power - you should be proud of that! We're going to graduate, be totally in control of ourselves, and *Mon dieu,*Maybe I'll finally learn how to cook by the time we're out of here. Can you trust me on that?"
Emily
When Fin's arm wrapped around his broad, questionably-postured shoulders, Owen couldn't help but let his head flop into the crook of their shoulder. A goofy smile snuck across his face; didn't it know he was being all melancholy right now?

*Pff.* His moms would have too much fun with a boat. Mom would turn it into the most metal noise complaint of the seven seas, and Mama would probably dive for enough treasure to buy a second boat just for Lemmy. The thought of them made him homesick, but reminded him that they were still there for him, that one day he would be in their arms (and paws) again. 

And, gods, being in a band- that was the *Dream*, since he was old enough to have them. That Finley would want to do that with him, that it had the smallest hint of possibility- maybe there was a future for him to be found here. Notes picked out of the chaos formed their own lilting tune, one that he would play for the world one day.

"I don't know about that- didn't think it was *Possible* To burn a grilled cheese like that," He snickered. "Blackened and mangled so brutally.. I would be concerned if I wasn't honestly impressed!"

A thoughtful beat as he turned their words around in his head.
*Powerful...*

A strong, flannel-clad arm clapped around his friend's back, resting over their shoulder. 

"I'll take you to Wales. You'll get electrocuted in fifteen minutes with the rain and all but they'll be a *Sick* Fifteen minutes," Owen dreamed. "I think you would love the shop. And my moms. My dog might eat you, but you wouldn't even mind- little bugger's cute enough to get away with mauling even Mr. Rask, I reckon." 

The feeling of shaggy fur between his fingers and playful dog teeth mouthing at his nose came back to him for a moment; it faded too quickly, but he was glad for even a whisper. He hadn't forgotten. 

With the hand not clutching Finley's shoulder, Owen swished the last mouthful of cranberry juice around. 

.

"To sad little boys and boy-adjacents with musical instruments who miss their mams and got sent to fantasy juvie for putting flaming holes in things who are gonna be filthy rich and decent cooks one day!"

*Gulp.*
Smooth. 

The sad little boy in him wiped the salt off of his face and looked at the cherry petals pressed into the table; he's wanted around, loved even, and under this crisp sunlight and teen angst-scented breeze, he decided he would believe that.
Donna
"I'll bet you on it," Finley said. "When we get out of here one day, I'll go with you to Wales, and I'll meet your dog. He sounds like a keeper, away. And I mean - I think I'm somewhat immune to lightning, anyway. It'd be a bit ridiculous if I wasn't."

Fin lifted their own cup of juice in the air.

"To us, my friend. To us, and a thousand futures that we'll have, and to our friends, who will be able to join us in those futures, one day."

They took a swig, and leaned against Owen's shoulder. They were able to breathe, now, here.

—hehe done—