Andre
All laundry rooms smelled like somebody else's dust, and this one wasn't special. It drifted, pitilessly dry, into the dark, bloodshot eyes and wrinkled nose of its only occupant at this hour: a figure hidden from the buzzing white lights by a charcoal-strike of frizzy hair and a green army jacket hanging off curled shoulders, planted stock-still in front of a grumbling machine.

Lucas ground his teeth. Tangled white threads fell through his field of vision, swayed by a tired breath every million years or so; every inch of him felt ripped, dragged, left to hang on some scraggly branch jutting out of the cliffside. All of their efforts, ripped like cheap linen, and this stupid facility didn't even have the decency to greet him with chaos—just a map and a room choked with that dusty quiet that was so thick he couldn't hear life through it, couldn't tear it from the walls or hide it under the floorboards. 

The dull ache in his hand throbbed, nudging the growing knot behind his eyes. *Pathetic. Just pathetic.* 

Only thing for now, then, was to keep his shit clean. Ever barer the threads got, tossed every which way by the cold water. If they had anything spare left in their stone gargoyle spout of a system, maybe it would have made them want to cry.
George
Night had come once again. It arrived with ample warning, and yet every time it clung like tar— weighing down in an all encompassing presence. 

Dae-hyun, with a t-shirt loosely pulled over his aching bones, needed to do *Something.* Something other than lay in his bed, and let his covers swallow him like an unforgiving sea. 
He tucked a laundry basket under his arm, placed his cane in his free hand, and let lethargic steps carry him down the hall. He had been putting off the task, letting it fester and rot in the corner of his mind, until it all rushed at him like a tidal wave that demanded action. 

Once he had reached the laundry room, he silently paused at the door. There stood one Dae-hyun had never seen before. Warm like mahogany wood, with a worn jacket made up like patchwork, they were an intriguing sight. The figure looked tired, and Dae-hyun couldn't even see their face. 

He blinked a few times, and took a breath. 

"How... Long do you have left?" 
The voice that broke the silence was almost just as quiet, with a rounded softness that did not give any room for alarm. It was passive, one that sounded as if did not threaten break surface tension. 

Dae-hyun was talking about laundry, but his words came out slightly choked. He didn't exactly know how to make his tired mouth and mind string together a proper sentence.
Andre
Words were trickling into Lucas' ears. Had they been doing that for long? A question hung in the air, pale and clouded like the voice that had asked it. Belatedly startled, the figure in faded green snapped his attention to the source, light glinting dully off the gold in his ears; they stood there for another moment, regarding him, eyes darting to the door and back from the new presence's tired eyes, the subtle ache in his stance. A softly-angled, shadowed face, dropped into his tense bubble of awareness like a splash of milk into a mug of bitter tea, just... Floating there, waiting to sink.

"About as long as it takes for me to piss off whoever—" 

*Wait. He probably meant the laundry.* His jaw clacked shut as his sharp eyes bored into the display, trying to make the number look like a number, and not a staticky, stifled squiggle. The edges of the laminated ID in their pocket dug hard into their fingers.
"Uh. Ten... Minutes."

The second bit was more halted, a dry sort of sheepish. Gravelly sleep added some weight to his voice. He was happy for that, any invisible upper hand, though his heart wasn't really in it; at least whoever this was came alone.
George
Dae-hyun lightly exhaled, a sort of smile pulling up on his lips. 

There was a bit of embarrassment, in knowing his poorly worded sentence hadn't immediately expressed what he had intended, but the response the stranger gave before correcting themselves was endearing. 

The voice of the one across from him was rough like the bark of a tree; it grumbled like distant thunder or shifting plates beneath the earth. It wasn't loud, or particularly sonorous, but it held a natural sort of presence. One that said, I exist. 

"...Alright, cool." 
Dae-hyun placed his laundry basket on the floor in front of him. 

"Mind if I wait around...? It's... Quite a walk back to my dorm."

Leaning on his cane, he felt a slight ache. Today Dae-hyun hadn't stretched, gone on his daily walk, or moved much at all, despite his physiotherapist telling him to stay active frequently. This, mixed with his general fatigue, meant his leg was all sorts of angry at him— and thus he would face the wrath of a permeating soreness. 

"If you'd prefer the privacy that's okay too— hence why I ask—"
His voice was slightly shaky, and it remained quiet and soft, but he was obviously nervous. He always was, when he felt as if he had intruded.
Andre
As the milk spilled deeper into the drink, so to speak, Lucas stared. His leg twinged in sympathy when the kid shifted uncomfortably; a dull star of pain, low, sickly and red in his bones, splintering pins and needles in his wooden toes. If he was glad for the kinship, he wasn't immediately taken by it; just, well, aware. Perhaps it made him sentimental.

"I guess so. Knock yourself out," He answered, tilting a shoulder toward the nearest place to sit that didn't look like it was going to give out. His downturned mouth quirked briefly into a line suggesting, to the most gifted of psychics, half a warm greeting, though his teeth still ground hard behind it. 

"This not a place you can linger long in the halls, huh?"

*Might as well try to get a feel for this place*. A concrete cell full of people supposedly more dangerous than anyone he'd had to fend off before; Lucas had his strengths, but he wasn't kidding himself, already pathetically naked-feeling without his pocket knife. Even after the last time he had used it. Maybe this sweet-voiced guy would unseam his face along the jaw and tip their bones down his neck, clear through the skin. The hell would he even do about that? What could he say, here, with nothing on his side anymore, no one for miles? *'Poor choice, I'm skinny and full of microplastics!'*? *Hell.*

He didn't look the sort, at least. They sighted sweat on the handle of his cane, that aversion to breathing his air; a soft underbelly, rolled toward them without much question. His eyes were too sparkly, not as dead and hungry as Luke would remember his average bone-sucker. *Sparkly...?*
George
"Thank you." 
Dae-hyun let his mouth spread into a proper smile. It was a friendly expression, one that pressed his cheeks up to his eyes. Then it settled, back into a soft expression.

He slid his laundry over towards the machines with his *Good* Leg, making sure it was properly out of the way. Exhaustion made him move slowly, and politeness made him keep a good distance from the stranger. 

Once that was done, he took the offer of where the other had gestured towards, and sat down. The weight off his leg was a rather quick relief. The tenseness remained, between his bones— pulled up against his muscles, but the dull pulsing ache subsided. 
A part of him didn't like having to sit down, being unable to simply stand, but that was a thought far in the back of his mind. 

"Hm. You *Can,* But it's not exactly a *Nice* Type of lingering environment. All the concrete makes everything feel kind of, claustrophobic." 

The words Dae-hyun strung together had breaks and pauses, a sort of buffer between each main chunk. As if he needed to think, chew, and then digest before he continued to speak. 
It was obvious he didn't like it here. 

The boy pulled up his arm up onto his knee, and rested his cheek in his palm. Wide round eyes wandered— Dae-hyun was not the best at eye contact. 

"Ah, pardon my question, but are you new here? I ...Haven't seen you around before."
Andre
"Sure. Not the boss of you."

The boy's words were blunt, and not delivered with much particular care, but it wouldn't be quite right to pin him as malicious, or even particularly annoyed at the one he was talking to. Not being the boss of him was a nice thing, wasn't it? Better than being some ass bogarting the laundry room, of all places. 

Lucas just stayed fixed on his stuff, arms crossed over his bulky layers. The plastic shape of something pink and faded dug into his chest through the pocket over his heart. He kept it there, and swallowed hard. Laundry boy seemed to be mincing a lot of words. Pain, or?

"Yeah." Against his best efforts, it sounded like he was about to cough a hairball onto the concrete floor. "Fresh out the frying pan." A wry, downturned grin stretched for a second over his spotted face, desperately avoiding the chain of memories he would be sent careening down otherwise. His bandaged finger throbbed, complaining bitterly as he stretched his flesh-and-blood hand.

"So, you fuckin' *Hate*-hate it here." They snorted, blowing a loose lock away from their dryly bemused expression. The sentiment wasn't exactly reassuring, but he was thankful not to be speaking to yet another cop.
George
Dae-hyun did not seem bothered by the others tone. In fact, he didn't notice, and didn't care. Even with the bluntness of his words, they were kinder than some he had heard in the past week. It was refreshing. 

His eyes remained staring off towards something else, almost as if there was a far off object or person just out of view. He looked distracted, distant. Matching well with the stranger in the laundry room, who also appeared to be out of it. 

Dae-hyun remembered his first day. His first week, first month. It was all pretty much the same. First jet-lag hell, then the crushing isolation, then the overwhelming realization he'd be stuck here for multiple years. The boy wondered if the one across from him felt any of that. 

"Ah, well, welcome—" Dae-hyun looked back towards the other boy for this one. He wanted to at least attempt to be genuine. 

"And... I guess I do, but the people are nice, and you get free food— but yeah, I'm not sure." 
He shrugged. Dae-hyun had... Conflicted feelings on Newtons Cradle.

"Upside for some people here, is that the staff basically leave you *Completely alone* Unless you break the rules. Which is... Actually rather rare. We are kind of left to do our own thing. Allowing independence or something like that."

The boy then straightened up, with a sudden look of embarrassment on his face. 

"Ah— I'm so sorry, where are my manners, *Uhm,* 
My name is Dae-hyun by the way— I probably should've introduced myself first."

He gave an awkward sort of exhale, that was almost a laugh but not quite. A brief sound of wry amusement to soften his shaking nerves.
Andre
Though Lucas' resting expression seemed only to communicate that he wanted to collapse, he listened intently, stealing a glance here and there at the skittish kid now picking through the ups and downs of Charles Xavier's Rehab Centre for Kids Who Disrespect the Laws of Physics. They leaned on the stacked machines, covertly giving their own bad leg a break as well. They met his eyes when he looked back at them, just to make sure there were actually—stars. *Stars in his eyes*. Wasn't that just *Perfect*? 

They didn't even want to think about food, with the knot in their stomach, but they perked up anyhow at it being free. Hands-off staff suited him fine. It certainly wasn't a surprise; call it being optimistically pessimistic.

"*Dae-hyun*," He repeated, running the name through his comparatively-blunt accent with an extra note of grace. "That's.. A good name."

Something awkwardly hopeful stirred in his chest, for the first time in days. A *Really* Good name.

"Lucas," They gave in return, straightening, just barely. It felt a little silly—*'here's my Cool Guy codename, I got it from a book I read when I was twelve, and it suddenly feels like the roof will cave in if you don't say it back to me, even if I have no idea who you are!'*—kind of. He missed Steel so much all of a sudden, as he heeled the yapping puppy in his brain, that it hurt, deep in his haphazardly-bound chest. Heavy eyelashes shaded his briefly-widened gaze, all dark save for a clipped edge of snowy white. They couldn't seem to hang onto themselves entirely lately, even though moving was hardly a shock by then. *Get a grip.*

"Welcomed plenty."
George
"Thank you! I picked it myself."
Dae-hyun finally gave a proper laugh. It was a short giggle, one that fed a warmth in his chest that he hadn't felt burn in a while. The boy always loved saying that after someone complimented his name— he had heard someone else say it at some point in time, and picked up the quirk. 

"Nice to meet you Lucas." 
There was something in the way Dae-hyun spoke. How it contrasted Lucas so oddly— and yet there was beauty in that, he figured. 

"You have a nice name too." 

As more and more began to draw Dae-hyun towards the conversation, he took the time to properly look at, who he now knew as, Lucas. *Luke maybe, no, Lucas.* 
They had an almost, electric appearance. Hair that puffed on their shoulders like dark storm clouds, with streaks of white lightning weaved within. Their skin looked rough, and yet also like a forest dusted with snow. They looked like they had stories— a life, memories in each branching vein. 

Perhaps, Dae-hyun was falling into that habit of his. The thoughts, the day dreams. The silly things he filled his mind with like empty ballrooms filled with ghosts and if snowflakes could remember every person they have kissed. 
The boy gave a deep sigh. One that was slightly dismissive, but clearly dismissive of his own thoughts. 

"Yeah, I'd bet one of the staff members already gave you the whole welcome speech." He rolled his eyes playfully. 
"I wonder if they get sick of it, having to do it over and over again..." 
Muttering, muttering, mostly to himself. 

"Oh yes," He spoke up, "If you... Have any questions feel free to ask. I don't mind answering anything."

Once again, the *Proper* Polite thing to say was tacked on at the very end. Almost like an apology for everything that came before.
Andre
Lucas' grin this time was just unrestrained enough for a crooked canine to peek out over his lip. He couldn't help himself; an excuse to smile was just as tempting in his sleep-starved state as an opportunity to flip a table and start yelling—that is, to say, *Very* Much so.

"Thanks. I picked it, too."

Dae-hyun was looking right at him now. *Right* At him. They shifted a little, electing to look back, give him a taste of his own medicine—they understood, begrudgingly, why someone might stare; they looked like hell, jet-lagged-life-collapsing-can-barely-see-straight hell, and, of course, his... Skin. The colourless patches felt like they were burning again, the stupid things. Lucas looked, teeth clamped tensely together. They never forgot a face. Shaggy black hair, nervously twisted mouth, a lone ink blot on each cheek, starry eyes, Luke never forgot a face. *Take that, Dae-hyun, for all your staring.*

He spoke again, swiping a gap in the chalk circle with his foot. His summons picked at their hands.

"Pfft. The one I got seemed freakishly chipper. This hole's the fuckin' Twilight Zone—all the social worker-types. Completely nuts."

"Sure, uh..." He knocked his head against the noisy box, picking through his exhausted head for any of the noisy, worried shit that was *Just there* Not even an hour prior. Might as well go with the obvious. "What's the... How scary is scary here? What am I watching for?"

He swallowed the lump in his throat, and felt it lodge in his stomach. Lucas knew well the weakness in his body, and felt it here like a burn that never closed; one thing was certain, and that was that he must be among the weakest there, in this remote menagerie of delinquents, with his sticks and stolen wires. X-Men jokes aside, it scared him shitless.
George
Dae-hyun's eyes lit up slightly, and a very obvious shift in demeanour was noticeable. He stopped slouching, pulling his shoulders back into a more comfortable position. He was suddenly less insecure with himself. 

"Nice choice." He smiled. 

There was always something immediately comforting about someone that was *Like* Dae-hyun. There was less necessary pretending, less required performance of something he wished he was. Immediately, a sort of connection sparked in him— reassurance in four words. He felt it every single time he met someone that could genuinely understand him in the aspect of his being. It was far too engraved in his bones, etched into his soul and heart, for it not to matter. 

"Oh, that probably was Pernilla." Dae-hyun stretched his arms up, pulling his back tight. "Lucky..." 
He let out a small sigh as he lowered his arms. 
"She's one of the better ones." 

The idea of Oliver made Dae-hyun shiver. 

Once Lucas brought up what was *Scary* Around here, he immediately knew the other meant in terms of powers. It was a good question to ask, paranormality was freaky. 

"Well..." The boy paused, clearly thinking of a way to articulate his words in a way that wouldn't scare the other. 
"There are some *Really* Strong people here— I think the ones with abilities that can control fire, or explosions, or heat, are particularly scary— but students here don't attack other students. I think the one time someone did, it wasn't even with an ability, they just got into like a fist fight I think."

He shrugged.

"I understand though, I don't have a powerful ability whatsoever. It's kind of... Unnerving to think we are stuck in a concrete building with people that could probably level it to the ground—" Dae-hyun caught himself.
"—but uhm, again like I said, won't happen." 

"The people here are nice."
He chose not to bring up the fact the students weren't what you should watch out for. The distortion... Giannis... It echoed in his mind.
Not now.
Andre
Dae-hyun stretched like a cat on a pile of clean laundry, and Lucas watched him like one. They tried to pin him as something or another; were they a cat, then, able to sprawl out more or less anywhere he pleased? Did he yawn like a dog, uncomfortable as all hell, face pulled into a grin by anyone's standards, stiff as a board in his folded joints. Likely both, with how unluckily-lashed together he must have been to have landed here.

The ways they were the same didn't offer much clarity, though it made the need for it much itchier around his temples, the back of his skull. Silently, they willed his shirt to shed a spare fibre, his cane to make its way to the tip of his finger, the curl of his palm; they were blind in this noise, blunted by custom and circumstance, dangerously close to disarmed (ha).

If Lucas were to be grimly right about anything, though, it was that none of Dae-hyun's assurances were particularly comforting. It didn't take anybody's godlike breaking of the world to fuck things up this badly *So* Far—in his experience, that was a thing that required nothing more sophisticated than a rock to the head's helping of human stupidity. His own... Adaptations seemed more unsettling in that light; what other parts of people could be over-flexed like that, at bay behind the same lock? The idea was too dumb not to fall apart under a minute's scrutiny, and yet, here they were.

In short, his chair would sleep under his door's handle. Something to feel like he'd tried. Call it a work in progress, for Lucas *Did*, in fact, intend to last that long.

The boy in the army jacket had nothing to say for a moment but a tired grunt of acknowledgement as he checked the timer again. *Nice, desperate people.*

"You seem confident enough about that," He said, toothlessly sarcastic. Even this sweet boy, nobody was that convincing.

"This ain't a cult, is it? Blink if we're getting *Midsommar*Ed, if you don't rat I'll make you a shiv."
George
*The people here are nice.* He was convincing himself more than the one across from him, it was clearly painted on the blank expression of their face. 

Dae-hyun gave a breath. He looked off towards the distance once more. Perhaps he'd find an answer out there, a guide on how to properly articulate his own thoughts. A step by step; a fill in the blank path to successful conversation. Was he digging himself into the dirt again? 

He felt his pulse in his chest— like the battering of a ravens wings against his ribs. 

"I am not confident about it all the time— but I am not lying."
He supposed there was a difference, but was uncertainty less truthful? Did he need to be sure to be honest? The boy didn't know. 

"It's not a cult, more like a prison."
He wanted to laugh at Lucas' joke. 

"But they let me bring my bird so I can't be mad." 
His tone shifted to be a tad more lighthearted.
Andre
"Mmm." Nothing he could really say to that. If he believed it, he believed it, and Lucas didn't feel enough like an asshole to try and poke holes in something that was obviously putting in the hours getting him out of bed, nor did he really have the energy. It just irked him a little, so he'd believe what he saw, like he always did. Big deal.

His thick eyebrows quirk at what was almost a laugh. Dae-hyun's determination to be as helpful and specific as possible was... Endearing, if that was the word for it. It was genuine. Lucas wouldn't rag on him for that. Hell, they might even begrudgingly appreciate it; the looming eclipse drawing all the gravity around his stomach was still there, but they'd feel weirder if it wasn't, so—happy equilibrium in a well-maintained status quo?

"Me *And* My birdy are mad. Hah." They smirked, but tilted their head inquisitively.

The washing machine chose then to belt out its ear-splitting closing number, as though announcing the belated formation of a thrilling new synapse. It was squarely comical—Lucas momentarily torn between things to jump a little at, still with his permanently-unamused face, his hard-packed inflection.

"*'They'll yet regret they sent Jim Jones 'nd his bird to Botany Bay..'*", he murmured as he flung open the door, mostly to himself. Lucas thought he was funny. 

Quickly, they grabbed what handfuls of dark layers they had seen fit to wash, chucking them into the dryer. Wooden fingertips bending from fingerless gloves dully *Clunk*Ed against the metal. Their sharp, dark eyes flicked back and forth between Dae-hyun and their task, though, burningly curious.
George
At the mention of a bird, Dae-hyun's eyes lit up with excitement. He leaned forward, both hands on his jaw holding up his head, with his elbows on his knees. A look of curiosity was painted within the endless pools of his gaze. 

"You have a bird too? I haven't met someone here yet that has a bird!" He smiled. 
"What type of bird do you have? I have a green-cheeked conure, his name is Miso. He screams a lot but I love him *Oh so* Dearly." 

Clearly, this is something Dae-hyun deeply cared about. The tone in which he spoke got quicker, more outwardly rushed with a newfound energy. Though it was still calm, like a small ripple in clear water, it was dancing with the reflection of midday sun. 
He almost didn't notice the others laundry was done.
Andre
"Uh," He blurted, now unsure what to do with... Pretty much the response he was hoping for. Dare he be *Delighted*? That itchy feeling was back, when Lucas was being leaned toward; he cracked four knuckles, biting down on his back teeth as though there were a bit between them, some bridle of pressure there to steer him, if only he ever listened. The buttons for the dryer's settings stuck, so he jabbed them harder.

"Tifa." Lucas dragged the feeling of dampness off on his pants like it was corrosive, though something tender ran low through his voice, warm wind through dry grass. "She's a pigeon. I... Found her. She steals shit, and sleeps in my hood, and... Generally sows dissent." 

It couldn't be truer that they adored her. It was nice, to love something so precious. A few of her young, waxy pin feathers were folded into his fingers, pointer and middle; he rubbed them together.

Dae-hyun was sparkling even more, which was apparently (freakishly) possible. No, maybe twinkle was the word for it—his voice was a bright, tinkling spout, shiny bottlecaps in a cup. Lucas really must have been tired; they almost wished they were in a better mood themselves. *Dae-hyun loved a little birdy too*.

They decided they liked that about him.
George
Dae-hyun leaned back, letting his hands fall down to rest on his legs. He tapped them lightly. 

"That's really sweet of you, to take her in. She sounds like a lovely bird." He gave a small laugh. 

Tifa, in actuality (similarly to Miso) sounded like kind of a pain, but that didn't mean they loved them any less— or that they weren't worth the effort.
Dae-hyun knew that no matter how much Miso screamed, or how many messes he makes while eating his berries, he'd love him more than the sun and sky itself. 

"My older sister got Miso for me, as a gift— and I have spoiled him since." 

The more similarities that blossomed between the two only gave Dae-hyun more and more reasons to come out of his shell. The demeanour he now had, despite still being calm and slightly tired, was much different than the one he walked into the room with. He was less unsure, less stutter-y and anxious, more his usual self. One he hadn't been able to express in a while.
Andre
Warmth tugged at Lucas' cheeks; something like the sun, shining somewhere buried so far beneath it. Talking about Tifa to someone like-minded was good. His little feathered heart, the same as he was, and so much better.

"Hmmph."

Dae-hyun sure did like to giggle at things.

They shifted their weight as they listened, sore bones to sore bones. Hot fuzz pricked at an odd fold of a muscle—how long had he been sweating for? Or *Standing* For, tilted to the right like a wiry sapling growing against the sea wind, blinking away hot droplets of static in that cold laundry room. *Fuck.* He sat hard in the spot next to Dae-hyun, as nonchalantly as possible; his posture was leaned back, but arms folded tightly over his chest, to prevent something from slinking away, slipping, deceptively fluttering. They blinked. Hooked one ankle behind the other. *Listen. Birds.*

"Li'l treasure. Of course." *A gift from his sister*. The chasm between them was so great that it looked like all of the centimetre or so between a couple of shitty chairs.

"Tifa fell out of her nest." The itch to tell things to this rando was dangerous. More pressingly, it *Itched*. "Doesn't take much to spoil a pigeon, but on behalf of my species, I owe her. Heh." He must be delirious.
George
The sudden presence of one beside him was nothing that set Dae-hyun on edge. He didn't shift, or move, very obviously the proximity was welcomed and accepted. Maybe ten minutes ago he would've granted more space for Lucas out of some surface level politeness, but now the boy wasn't nearly as on edge as he was— so he remained stationary. 

He'd get up for his laundry in a second now that the washer was free. Ever the procrastinator on mundane tasks, Dae-hyun didn't want to yet. 

"Aw, poor girl. She's lucky you were there then." 

Miso wasn't any sort of rescue case, in fact, it was the other way around. Miso rescued Dae-hyun. Kept him from loneliness, gave him a reason to keep getting up each morning— even just to feed him, made him laugh. Similarly to Lucas, Dae-hyun owed Miso, for everything. 

Dae-hyun sighed. A sort of loving sigh.
"Pigeons are adorable. I always love feeding the birds when I go out into town. I look like an old man, but I don't care, they're so cute. I cannot help it. Old people are onto something— bird feeding is a lovely hobby." 

Perhaps that was embarrassing to admit, but that didn't even cross Dae-hyuns mind. He was just happy to be speaking to someone about something so casual. No end of the world scenario, no moral dilemmas or tension, no tears or shouting, it was just birds. 
He missed such simple conversation.
Andre
Lucas' deep-set eyes couldn't pick a place to look. Staring straight at his feet made him feel like he was in trouble, and looking at Dae-hyun's face was... Too many things at once. His eyes were information, nonstop streams of it—making their head hurt, despite what they'd like to do with it. People could be deciphered less intuitively than the things they left behind; and the other boy was definitely still there, close enough to scrape with the shoulder of his jacket, to pluck a feathery black hair from. Talking to him pleasantly, and not moving.

His hand quietly creaked as it squeezed his upper arm. *Keep talking.*

"Yeah." They landed on a messy wave that stuck out from his bangs to focus on. Good enough. "They get so much shit—them versus doves, it's just, fuckin'. Bird racism." He snorted. "Ugh, that's dumb."

The last thing he expected from that day was to be talking about birds... With a dude who was just *Really* Into birds. *Mutant juvie*, and the most interesting thing about them was little Tifa. The moment they realized that they would like to *Keep* Talking to him, to braid him ever so gingerly into the works, was when things got difficult—his teeth and his tongue were no sharper than they were when he had walked in, but he could feel them sitting crooked in his mouth, cutting up his cheeks when he grinned.

But Dae-hyun understood. He saw, because he cared to look; his life lay in pieces, and here was the only one for lonely ages who knew his name. Something told them he would remember it, too—regardless of whether that frightened them or put something in them at ease, it was one thing they would be giving back.

"Good to know I'm not the only one who's... Always walking around with seeds floating around my fuckin' pockets." *Snicker*.
George
Dae-hyun gave a small laugh at what Lucas had said.

"It's not dumb, you're right. They're like *The same bird—* And yet people treat pigeons like pests." 

With a tiny sigh, Dae-hyun stood up. He stretched his arms above his head, pulling his nose, mouth and eyes into a scrunched expression before he let it fall back down. Rolling his shoulder softly, he looked over at his laundry, and the tiny basket he had it all in. It was to encourage him to do it more often, but that didn't exactly work; the few hoodies haphazardly stacked on top were proof enough of that. 

It was time to do the task he had come here for, which had almost left his mind. Conversation was always rather distracting, and the one he was having with Lucas was especially so. He loved birds, much to the detriment of his ability to focus. 

Once again with his good leg, Dae-hyun leaned on his cane and moved his laundry towards the machine with his foot. He popped open the door, leaned down, and started throwing his clothes in rather quickly. His forearm now holding him in balance rather than his hand. It was... Strange doing such a mundane task around a stranger. It felt personal, which Dae-hyun didn't mind, but it was something to note. 

The second he was done, he closed the door and straightened his posture. He began pouring laundry detergent into the machine. 

"Oh yeah, I have bird seed in my pockets all the time." He laughed softly. "I've actually opened this washer a few times only to be met with seeds all along the rim—"
He set the laundry detergent back into its place, pressed a few buttons, and the machine whirred to life once again. 
"—Oops," He said sheepishly with a smile. "So far I haven't broken it but I should be careful about emptying my pockets properly."
Andre
If he were to make Dae-hyun (*If*, and purely that), Lucas would use the clay under the river silt. He folded and smoothed, just so. Under a glaze of running water.

He was the one staring, probably, but the boy frosted like a windowpane felt looked-through instead; exposed by way of his breaths somehow rolling up Dae-hyun's shoulders, upsetting the hair on the back of his neck, looming. Lucas felt sometimes that he had eyes the way dry grass did, only when he was alone with it—a spread of dormant nerves, murmuring pictures amongst its blades of whoever's ankles it was clutching. Sprawled, suspended, staring, even when he wasn't.

They'd been called paranoid before, but Lucas knew better, after all, having used the stuff to pad his foot.

"Pfft. Petty crime. I once broke one of these things with half a Lego stormtrooper unit." He'd hidden in his room for weeks, not that it had helped much. It was a much friendlier story without that bit.

"I mean, Tifa would probably eat 'em anyway. All looks like ants to she, the great equalizer."

Would that he could catch the little things he said, lest they started to fit together. Two stray pieces—marbles, right front pocket—clinked together in his palm, tasting distantly of dusty, years-old sunlight on mulch.
George
Dae-hyun covered his mouth at what Lucas had done. He didn't want to be impolite, and laugh at something potentially embarrassing, but he was hiding it poorly. The small snicker came from behind his fingers, like a grasshopper chirp behind riverside cattails. 

"Not an easy task..." 
His voice sounded slightly sympathetic, but in a lighthearted sense. Playful.

Dae-hyun paused, clearly suddenly focused on something. The room fell silent. 
Then, underneath the whirring of the machine and the buzz of electric lights, there was a *Sound.* A small metallic chime, completely inaudible to everything but Dae-hyuns own trained ear. After a few seconds, this ghost sound prompted the boy to very quickly press the off button on the washer. 

The clothes halted, Dae-hyun popped open the door and began to rummage through the damp clothes inside. He moved like a fox, thin limbs prodding for something hidden only he knew of, like the inside of a rabbit burrow. 
Without explanation, this action looked incredibly strange. 

After about a minute, Dae-hyun pulled a bottle cap out of the pocket of one of his jackets. A small, silvery circle, with some indecipherable brand on the top. Rusted, aged with time. 

"I knew I heard something..." He muttered under his breath. 
He looked satisfied. 

The small door was closed, and the washer resumed. 

"Sorry— bottle cap." 

Dae-hyun held up the small trinket for context as to what he was talking about, but then came to a sudden conclusion. 
Painted on the top, was a desaturated greenish tone, with a splash of bone white and terracotta red for lettering. 

"Oh cool, it has your colour scheme!" 
It was eery, how nicely the green on the bottle cap lost somewhere in Dae-hyun's pockets matched the green of Lucas' army jacket. 

Fate, maybe. Poetic, definitely.
Andre
*There he goes, giggling again.*

Lucas held his breath on instinct as Dae-hyun froze like a cat, shifting on his haunches. The lights buzzed in their face, but no footsteps, no distant conversation. When he turned back and beamed, they almost felt a little silly.

"What the—" Bottle cap. "How the fuck did you *Hear* That??" He didn't mask his amazement, staring slackly at the offending pea in the mattress. "Wait. Hang on."

Without another word, he reached back into his hood, rummaging; he pulled and wrinkled-up red bandana from where he just realized he had left it, tying it around his neck, plucking a little grey feather from a fold. Adjusting the shock of red so it sat away from his throat, they grinned, half a wince from moving his bandaged finger, but letting the one canine smugly catch on his lip. No one could say they didn't acknowledge a little serendipity.

"Hmph."

His own chuckle was a dry, secretive little thing, the shadowed seriousness of his face briefly becoming part of the joke.
George
Dae-hyun was slightly taken aback by Lucas' shock. He tilted his head to the side, one slightly raised eyebrow.

"Oh, I'm a piano player— so my ears are rather trained."
He shrugged.
"But also I could just have really sensitive ears, I don't know. Could be a mix of both?"

For a second Dae-hyun was stuck in thought. There was a pull in him, a flicker of an idea that he figured couldn't hurt. 

Dae-hyun walked closer to Lucas, and held out his open hand. The cap resting neatly in his palm. 

"It matches you. You should have it." He gave a soft smile.
"Consider it a... Good luck charm? You're going to need it at a place like this." 
A wry sort of half-laugh bubbled out of his lungs. One that clearly held a story he wasn't going to tell. 

Was he being strange again? This was someone he had never met before. *First impressions mean the most,* The words of his mother echoed in his mind. Polite greetings and surface level small talk was what he should've done, but he was far past that now. He always seemed to stray past that.
Dae-hyun didn't really care if he was being... Weird.
Andre
Dark, serious eyes stared at the offering, their thoughts preciously veiled by angle, shadow, furrowed brows. Lucas' left hand hovered over Dae-hyun's, tracing the rim as they gingerly swiped it for himself. His spotted fingertips were cold brushing against the other's palm.

They regarded it closely, staving off the urge to slide it into his cheek, rust and all.

This one must have been found recently. It had a few traces of things—melancholy, grey daylight—but they were scattered, washed out (literally), not built up so thickly in the sharp divots along the edge. Still, anything so subtle might yet be telling; that little flutter of warmth at the centre, where Dae-hyun's finger might have rested, remembered just a little, which made this bottle cap a treasure.

"*Hum.* So I *Am* In for trouble."

Not exactly a *'thank-you,'* By most's metrics, but as quietly pleased as Lucas would be. He would know what to make of the gift later, though the gears did turn.

His right hand picked, spun, and deftly flipped the scrap like a coin. It landed face-up in his threadbare palm, after catching ever so slightly on a fibre of a treen finger.
George
Dae-hyun was very pleased when Lucas took the bottle cap without calling him weird. 
There was a level of expectation Dae-hyun had in others, and himself, and the standards he met and didn't meet— however right now none of that seemed to matter. 

"Hm. Maybe not *Trouble,* But some things just tend to happen around here? I assume it comes from putting a bunch of paranormal people in one place."
The boy gave a lighthearted shrug. 

"So, I am giving you good luck to avoid that stuff." 
He gave a soft smile. 

He didn't want to elaborate but he prepared for it anyways, since curiosity was only natural. Dae-hyun didn't want to scare him, so his words tumbled carefully in his mind.
Andre
Lucas tilted his head as he listened, idly passing the bottle cap from palm to palm. Either Dae-hyun hadn't noticed his wooden fingers, or he was pointedly trying not to—the former was a relief, he supposed, or possibly a vision issue on the other's part, the latter sharpening the lines around an image of a boy who didn't much like facing things so much putting others at ease.

Endless ease, even when there was little to be found in a situation, and less needed to emerge from it in one piece. It came in trinkets, long sentences unfurling without detail, catastrophe in the morning,

Lucas knew the kind well. He knew the habit always started about as well as it ended, and didn't feel great to watch, but nowadays it never failed to disquiet him. Dae-hyun really seemed to mean it, too, which complicated things.

The corners of his mouth quirked dryly on a reflex but that wasn't to say it was entirely dishonest.

"*'Stuff'* How? Do people break into your room, go through your shit?" Their now-whispered voice was forced like a dull knife. "The staff going on power trips, kids disappearing?"

They had started to lean forward now, despite trying for their own sake to keep their tone level. Dae-hyun might shut down and turn tail if he was too accusing, and Lucas might explode if they didn't pry some of those scarier cards away from his chest; a crummy balance.

*Do the people here hurt each other?*, but he already knew the answer to that, spreading from its bandages on the edge of his hand. Dull, pulsing pain, stabbing hunger, the need for sleep yanking him in every direction but 'his' bed; they had carried all of it with them halfway across the world, soothed though it might be by a pleasant conversation, gnawed at, worn thin. 

Lucas knew that nothing about themselves that they didn't make was special, especially not his termites, and therefore it was pragmatism barely more sensible than boots in the rain to search for them in everybody else.
_ _

The edges of the bottle cap dug into his bony, dappled fingers.
George
Dae-hyun tilted his head to the side with a sympathetic look. The fact such targeted things was the first thing this kid thought of made him sad. *You've been through a lot, haven't you?*

"Oh, of course not. None of the other residents can get into your room, your keycard is the only thing that can open the door. So, don't lose it." He gave a dry sort of snicker. 
"As for the staff, we have... Maybe seven staff members and all of them... Have been fine. We rarely see the Deans, the only people I think I can say I see often are the librarian and the nurse. Your contact also won't bother you if you don't need it— so uh, yeah we are pretty left alone by the staff." 

Dae-hyun shifted slightly at the mention of the staff being *Fine.* He didn't need to mention Oliver, he wouldn't mention how his skin crawled with thoughts and memories. It was his own fault anyways— he didn't need to put any poor images in Lucas' head. 

"I mostly mean... Uh... Sometimes we experience magic stuff? Again, I think because of the high level of paranormal energy in one area." He shrugged, and made a gesture with his hands depicting a tightly packed ball while he spoke. Then his nervous fingers returned to tapping on his leg. 
"Like... There is a group of Angels in town. You can wave at them if you see them in passing, some of them are quite nice." 

That was the most comforting example the boy could think of. Lucas would learn soon enough, but for now Dae-hyun wouldn't say much else.
Andre
Lucas didn't lean back in his seat, but he turned his head down, cold sweat pricking under his hair as he tried to make sense of any of what Dae-hyun was saying. Their mouth twitched when the other boy snickered, but their eyes looked far past the dusty concrete corner, as expressionless as dread could make itself.

"Paranormal stuff. Right."

What sucked the worst out of everything, they were realizing quickly, was that there was nothing to *Expect* There. What he might've known about others like him, he would never tell anyway, but... Here, the world had finally caught him in his trick, taken his most genius braid of woven wit and power, and given it a name so horribly broad and unknown that he wanted to scrape it like gum from the sole of his shoe; so insignificant, that he wished it was. *'Parahuman'*. *'Paranormal'*. Yeah, right. They were idiots if they thought that could hold him. Nothing could before, and nothing would—no foul word, no book of rules, no crushing emptiness to sand away his features into smooth, salt-bleached nothing. Idiots. *Idiots.* *Idiots.*

"*Angels*. What?-" They started to say, before cutting themselves off with a sharp, tired huff. Dae-hyun squirmed, and Lucas dared cut him some slack; maybe, then, they were making him more uneasy than the answers to their questions. A little reassuring, but still. "I guess I'll fuckin'... Find out." He tried not to look too tightly-wound, but it was a difficult thing to conceal.

Still, how could that be so *Mundane*? What had this boy gone numb to, that haloed figures dropped from the sky and waved at him and all he had to say was that 'some of them were nice'? They pictured blankly beautiful painted faces waving at Dae-hyun, reflected barely as clouds in his wide, starry eyes, waving slowly and stiffly like forgotten scarecrows. Nothing but their purpose, guarding this damned crop of souls. Angels had never been a comforting thought; at best, a hollow one.
George
Dae-hyun gave a soft sigh, with a content smile on his lips. Yet, mixed in with the smoothness there was an empathy, a sympathy, not pity but a recognition. Lucas seemed very stressed. The taller boy did not know if he was perhaps simply *Like* This, but the questions and reactions were obvious enough to draw a conclusion. 

"You'll simply *'find out'* A lot. There isn't really a manual for stuff like this," He shrugged, "But it's not so bad when you realize no one else in this building knows whats happening either! I guess, other than the staff."

He put his hands in front of him in a dramatic sort of way, annunciating each syllable he was about to speak. 
"Like, whenever *Anything* Happens, everyone is equally as confused. This lends itself nicely to teamwork I find— everyone wants to help each other understand. It's quite nice." 

Dae-hyun couldn't tell if he was simply making this all worse. He did have a horrible habit to keep going after one topic, like a dog chasing it's tail around in a circle, over and over, further and further. Sometimes simply saying more words, despite the content, made people anxious. 
He cleared his throat. 

"Anyways. My favourite thing about this place is the kitchens. We have literally complete control over the food, and are allowed to bring back our own ingredients if we have the money to buy it from the nearby store."
His tone lightened, Dae-hyun loved talking about this specific hobby of his.

"Do you cook? Or well, I guess more than casually?"