Stella
Anthony had (finally) started to become familiar with the layout of Newton's Cradle. It had taken him a bit longer than expected to nail the building to his memory with the hard hammer of two completely filled notebooks, but it'd been cemented all the same. He now knew the place relatively well, likely better than some of the more laid-back students who had committed the place to such ritualistic muscle memory.
They probably couldn't get from 2-F to the Courtyard, and know (minimum) three different routes! There was comfort in knowing the place so well. Comfort in knowing.

He'd made his way to the common room, this evening. A space designed to socialize in and mull over in the bliss of relaxation. The former wasn't likely, given Anthony's... Everything, and the latter was difficult to grasp with the foreboding feeling of tension he'd been experiencing since his arrival. It was sure to pass, yes, but the common room seemed like the WRONG place to be right now. Logic says he'd be much better off in his dorm.
Hope says that maybe he was subconsciously searching for both the social nurturing and relaxation twofold. Not an impossible outcome.

He was sat elegantly on one of the loveseats that seemed to fill the room, staring intently at one of the smaller T.Vs. 
The T.V was off, yes, but it was something to look at. Focus on. A black screen that he could lose himself in. He deeply appreciated things you could get lost in.

Until something — rather, someONE — broke his focus.
He'd zoned in to the sound of breathing. The steady breathing that comes when one falls into a deep sleep. Small heaves. In, and out.
He shook his head a little, as quick as he could without causing himself to experience vertigo; to determine if the sound was real.
It was.

He stood from his seat, peering around the room, quietly investigating the source.
It wasn't long before he discovered it; a white-haired person of taller stature, passed out behind the very couch he'd been sitting on.
Odd.

They were obviously BREATHING, hence the noise at all, so he skipped the procedure of checking for a pulse. He knelt beside them, about a foot or two away, staring at them.
Was this... Common? People passing out on the floor? 
Maybe it was stress? Exhaustion? Some combination of the two? His brow furrowed in thought.

In any case, Anthony continued to do what he did best.
Sit there. And stare.
Helen
Uriel continued their slumber for far too long. They did not twitch or move while they slept— instead, they laid as still as a rock. No signs of dreams or any other thoughts twisted the albino's face into any emotion besides a pallid, empty one. 

Good thing Anthony heard their breathing. Otherwise he would have surely assumed their mind had left to some other ethereal plane, leaving a pale shell before it departed. 

Five minutes is what it took for their mind to wander its way back inside their skull, for the snow-white eyelashes so still that they seemed suspended in time to move again. 

Uriel awakens to the face of a stranger peering down at them. Unfortunately for the narcoleptic, this is nowhere near an uncommon occurrence; and so, with equally little emotion betrayed on their awakened features as their sleeping ones bore, Uriel stared back. 

They blinked twice— two very, very, *Very* Slow blinks— and waited for... Something. Anything, really. Everyone Uriel had seen wake them up either responded with annoyance, fear, or panic, and the dreamweaver was waiting to see which camp the lone stranger in front of them fell into. 

....

..And waited.
Stella
To some, five minutes is a long time to stare at the same, unmoving object. The seconds feel excruciatingly long, even the most earnest of people-watcher eyes begging to move elsewhere.
'Some' clearly didn't function like Anthony did. 
To him, five minutes is a blip. A fraction of a fraction. Tiny. He could easily spend 10, 30, 60, staring at the same subject. Breaking it down. 
Five minutes was as easy as it gets.

He was starting to count Uriel's pores when their eyes fluttered open, immediately locking into his.
This would've startled some. Some would've been shocked to watch their still-life portrait suddenly lose the 'still' factor. Maybe flinch a little.
Anthony wasn't 'some' in this case either.

They blinked. 
He blinked back.
The two sat there in relative silence, seldom an AC unit's gentle hum, and exchanged blink after blink. 
Still kneeling, arms crossed over his knees, he titled his head very slightly.

**"How did you get here?"** He asked clearly, but softly. Obviously asking them, not himself, as he was prone to doing. 
His brain raced over the possibilities.

*Exhaustion is choice number one.*
*But why?*
*What caused it?*
*Stress? A physical condition? Something else??*
*It's dramatic to pass out in public.*
*Concerning.*
*I can't wait to figure this out.*

He gave them a beat to respond, and when they didn't, he asked another question.
**"Where were you before? If you remember."**
Continuing to innocently continue this staring contest.

This was far from annoyance, fear, or panic.
Anthony was in a camp of his own.
Helen
*How did I get here...?* 

The answer was obvious, was it not? Uriel tilted their head, slowly rising to their knees as they did so.

"I entered the kitchen by walking," Their eyes flickered towards Anthony's in an attempt to gauge his reaction at their interpretation of his question. "And I was in the hallway before this, as I was walking to the kitchen." 

*I feel as if I am missing something...* Uriel thinks to themselves, attempting to gather whatever pieces that were lost by searching within Anthony's face. However, they were unable to find whatever hidden metaphor or interpretation of his words they were missing— all they knew was that the boy in front of them was not feeling strong enough to make ripples in the strings that connected their minds, but was that nearly enough?

Oh well. Uriel was handicapped in this area, that they've known for a long time. There was nothing to do about it now, especially since he seemed ambivalent towards them. 

"I suppose I should ask ask the same about you," Uriel responds in turn. "Ah— I am not missing class, am I? You were not sent to fetch me?" A jolt of surprise echoes through their voice, but their body doesn't react at all.
Stella
Vague as ever. Nothing Anthony couldn't work around, really. He did love a challenge.
NOT like this was an actual interrogation. A couple questions, and he'd be done. Be on his way to his dorm. Let the other — previously unconscious — person go. 
*Just a few questions.*
*That's it.*
*I don't need to know everything.*

*...*
*I WANT to know everything nonetheless.*

They'd come through the kitchen. That's one thing.
Hallway came prior. 
Then there was nothing. Lost time, maybe? Empty spaces between coherent thoughts. Blanks.
He decided he wanted to help fill them; no matter how futile the effort.
If he couldn't break them down, at least he could figure out why the passage to do so was blocked. 
*Always leave a conversation with some kind of knowledge. No matter what.*
The hazy confusion in their eyes was understandable, and didn't seem foreign to them. This had to be a frequent affair.

His mind continued to run a race in (minimum) 5 different directions, as his mouth spoke calmly and with eloquence. No trace of it.
**"I was in the hallway too. Making my way here."**
He left out any details about his strange encounter that had left his brain more wobbly than what felt comfortable. What felt safe.
He shook his head slowly at the second comment.
**"No."**
He flashed a quick glance at his wristwatch.
**"It's a bit past midnight. No classes right now."**

He gave a barely-noticeable half-shrug. **"I found you behind the couch. Nobody sent me."**

He asked one of the burning questions that had been etching itself into his tongue.
**"Does this happen often?"**

The two sat; kneeling next to each other. Both equally still and unbothered. 
Perhaps, in a way, they were both doing more than just that.
Both individually hunting for information. One wants to know how they got there.
The other wants to know that and *Everything else.*
Helen
"There is no need to worry," Uriel says, getting to their feet. Now that they're standing, it's apparently just how much they *Loom* Over Anthony despite their soft voice suggesting otherwise. "I am a narcoleptic. It is commonplace to find me asleep around the Cradle. You must be new, if you have not seen me fainted before." 

*Past midnight? That explains it...* Getting snatched out of their mind and into someone's dream was a more often occurrence at the times people usually slumbered. 

"I apologize deeply if I frightened you. There are many strange things at the Cradle, and people like me are one of them." They bow their head to show their sincerity, and their pale bangs fall over their eyes. "I hope I may find an opportunity to make it up to you." 

The corners of their mouth raise in a gesture meant to show their good will and positive intentions; however, paired with the bags hanging under Uriel's eyes, it looks almost unnerving. 

"You are awake because of jet lag, yes?" Uriel furrows their eyebrows slightly. "Or are the dorm beds an uncomfortable adjustment?"
Stella
They're right; they absolutely do loom quite a ways over Anthony, especially when he's kneeling like this. He quickly follows suit, rising to his feet with elegance. 
When standing, they aren't *Too* Far apart in height, but just enough to note a sizable difference. Just enough to make him feel a bit smaller in their presence. Small.
*Not the best feeling.*

When they note the information regarding their narcolepsy, his interest obviously peaks. He (once again) is forced to physically bite his tongue; to prevent too many questions from leaking out. There's always too many questions. It's only a matter of how much is able to slip through the cracks. How many inquiries evade his capture.
The light that has fluttered into his brown eyes is not quick to fade, however, and even if he can't speak every single thought that has rushed to the forefront of his brain, he can still remain excited at the prospect. 
**"How long ago did that start?"** He blurts out, not catching himself in time. 

The byproduct of *Several* Mixed factors, factors that made his insides twist with his brain following in their footsteps.
New environment.
New people.
Ability usage, amidst all the stress.
It's a recipe for his mask to drop. Just a little.

But Anthony isn't one to back to. He's a fellow of commitment, and he stuck to his abrupt question with determination. Not backing down, no matter how embarrassed he might've been beneath the surface. Not exactly professional.
Then his switch flipped again, and his train changed course.
**"I am new. Two days."** A nod of confirmation, less for this stranger, more for himself.

As their hair obstructs their vision, he can't help but notice what an eclectic cast of characters have taken their roots here.
Between Ares (last name to be discovered), and this new entry, he could only be left to wonder what other kinds of people might be calling the Cradle their home. 
This was nothing like where he was from.

He changed courses a final time, practically leaving his first question in the dust, behind, but not forgotten.
Operating at a much faster pace than usual, his heart rate following in time.
He shook his head. **"No. Couldn't get myself to rest."**

*I don't sleep much anyway,* He didn't say.
*The nightmares keep me far away from my pillow these days.*
*Let alone somewhere like this.*
*Circadian rhythm be damned.* 

He stood, not far from the room's second inhabitant, waiting for an answer to any (or, preferably ALL) of his questions.
Staring.
Helen
Uriel blinks twice at the barrage of information. It was a nice change of pace for someone to be so eager in talking to them, even if they were sure their answers would leave the new person unsatisfied. *New person... I should ask for their name.* 

"Everyone in my family is a narcoleptic since birth." They reveal tentatively, trailing off a bit at the end. Why was this new face — "Pardon me, but I do not know your name," They manage to say, — so eager about when it started? It was a question a doctor would ask, not the many gossiping students would want to know, and it make Uriel tilt their head in confusion. 

Not that they were worried about this strangers motives; it was their job to answer questions with honesty, no matter who was asking and for what purpose. After all, it was too confusing to clue out other people's intentions or motives, and too dangerous if you managed to get it wrong. It was more natural for Uriel to simply not care about what people needed to do and why. People had their own lives, and Uriel had their own— they were sure their own meddling would happen in the midst of slumber, when they picked apart the subconscious of sleeping students and teachers alike in their dreams. 

"Two days without sleep is dangerous," They sigh, looking at their companion with pity in their eyes. "But you are far from the only resident in the Cradle with such problems. Perhaps a long conversation will tire you out, and I may get to know a new classmate while I am here." 

More new people. They were always glad to see new faces— it felt like making up for lost time, to be able to chat with someone without the baggage that came from being born in a small town. New faces and potential new friends, more pleasant memories they can bottle inside their brain and shelve inside their heart. *Then I will try to show them the best of what the Cradle may offer*, Uriel vows. They sit down on the couch, and gesture to the other to do the same.
Stella
There was a lot of prolonged eye contact and sporadic blinking happening in this conversation.
This would continue. No doubts about it.
Anthony never considered himself 'eager' to talk to someone, at least, not before arriving here. It was a step into new territory, and a scary one, at that.
He might just leave the Cradle with the ability to have a regular, human conversation. Fancy that.

At the first information reveal, he nods his head slowly, taking it all in. 
*Everyone in your family, hm?*
*It's got to be a parahuman thing.*
*The odds of that are WAY too low for it to be anything else.*
*Has to be.*
*Parahumanity that deals with narcolepsy.*
*Odd.*

Then they asked for his name. Easy enough. The practiced and perfected words rolled off his tongue before he could even realize it.
**"My name is Anthony Solace."**
The typical pause;
**"And yours?"** With the small smile that came attached. A packaged deal.

Then he picks up on the rest of their sentences, advancing the back-and-forth.
**"Dangerous?"** He quietly inquires. 
He knows the (in his eyes, mild) risks of going *Too* Long without sleep, but this isn't like that. It's only two days. That isn't unthinkable.
His brain runs. He tries pull it back to the moment.
He shakes off his practically inaudible question and focuses on the next part.

**"...I see."**
He looked at them. Curious.
Y'know, maybe he WAS eager. Not for the conversation, but for the knowledge that followed.
Knowledge tasted so sweet.
He shrugged lightly. **"Maybe it will."**

He sits next to them on the couch, still standing with stick-straight posture.
There's a sense of fear that rises in his stomach. The sense that maybe this person is hungry for knowledge too.

It's a feeling he does not linger on,
But is careful not to ignore.
Helen
Their light features soften, and Uriel smiles. 

"My name is Uriel. Solace is an interesting last name— I do not think I have heard it before." They muse to themselves. "It is poetic. *Comfort*, it means in English. I am one to agree." The breathy, musical laugh that followed brought some color back into Uriel's face, their pallid pale turning a bit more pink in the cheeks as their gaunt face relaxed itself. 

"You should continue sitting where you are." Uriel stands up, despite only just have sat down. "I will make us some tea, if you would like any. It is only natural to have something warm and comforting at hours such as these, after all."

After a moment, Uriel pauses from their walk towards the oven, craning their head to look back at Anthony. Their face is barely visible, obscured by the fluff of wispy, white bangs and baby hairs that escaped their braid. "Unless..." They shuffle their weight side to side, the movement reminisce of a baby deer's attempt to balance on its too-tall legs. "You would rather not have any tea. I can sit back down, if that is the case. Or I may fetch you another beverage of your choice, if you would prefer."
Stella
Uriel. Uriel. Uriel.
Nobody here seemed to give their last names. 
Whatever. *Uriel.*

When they commented on his surname, he simply nodded once more.
**"Thank you."** He spoke. 
It was... Ironic, that he had such a title. 
Anthony never bestowed comfort. He didn't believe he experienced it much on his own, either. 
But if this stranger, this... URIEL, believed it suited him, maybe he was off the mark.
Who knows.

When they stand, he almost instinctively started to rise himself, before realizing that this was not what they intended. He sits back down, trying to brush it off.
**"Tea sounds great."** He spoke colloquially, not trying overdo it, OR overstay his welcome. 
*Speak like a normal person.*
*Whatever that sounds like.*
He leaned over a bit and tilted his head to the side. **"Do you have Earl Grey?"** He asked the question innocently.

He watches their movement like a hawk.
Not with the intention to swoop down and snag its prey;
But only to watch. To learn.

**"...Do whatever you like."** He smiles gently.
**"I'll be here whenever it's done."**
*Plenty of things to occupy my mind with until then.*
Helen
*Earl grey is caffeinated, but I should not question other people.* Instead, they nod, returning to their trek to the kitchen. Anthony sees them take out two cups and an old, porcelain kettle with springs of lavender painted on the center. It looks worn, and yet Uriel clearly treasures it, handling the kettle with nothing short of reverence. 

Minutes later, they return with two cups of tea, and sit one in front of Anthony with a clink. "I drink a special type of tea blend that helps with my narcolepsy," Uriel offers, gesturing at the off-color liquid in their cup. "It is a family blend. I do not think you can get it anywhere else, or I would have offered you a cup." 

Their delicate mannerisms hide strong, sturdy hands that hold their teacup gently, yet it does not shake. Uriel scoots closer to Anthony, and takes a small sip of the too-hot water. It burns their tongue, yet they do not complain. 

"Many people have trouble adjusting," Uriel offers, looking at the smaller boy with warmth in their hazy eyes. "It is alright if you are one of them. I know many miss their family back home, or their old friends. This ordeal can feel..." They pause, letting the bitter tea soak on their tongue as they think of a word. "Unfair," Is what they choose, the soft word melting in the night silence. 

Uriel's eyes meander their way to look down at Anthony's face, gauging the other's reactions to see if their attempt at solidarity was successful. They cared little of their companion's past, but would gladly accept any conversation that would help the newcomer feel less alone. Comfort was something Uriel could provide in spades, if only it was welcome.
Stella
He continues to scan their movement, trying to dissect their emotions without the words to couple it. 
A challenging task. He likes a challenge.
He watches the care they give to the porcelain, the dedication and feeling they've given to the brews themselves. There is heart behind these wistful, foggy eyes. There is understanding.
He finds Uriel to be very understanding already.

He nods at the 'family blend' comment, smothering his curiosity with the equivalent of a paper sack. Trying not to let it escape his lips. Forbidding it the right to breathe.
Questions are silently running rampant. As they always do.
With Uriel closer now, their words feel a bit more tangible. Real.

Anthony often puts up divides. Barriers. He often creates a degree of separation between the words and the person speaking them, choosing to break them down analytically, bit by bit. Taking in their meaning in only the most *Complex* Way; spitting in the face of Occam's Razor. Never taking the simplest option.
But with them speaking to him so softly, so clearly, he does not have a barrier.
These are not just words that have wandered their way into Uriel's mouth, these are words spoken with a face and a name. Words spoken with meaning and PURPOSE.

*Trouble adjusting?*
*Not for the reason you'd think.*
Something about them seemed to beckon him to open up, to speak, a sentiment he fought defiantly. 
*Be vague. Be vague!*
*Don't overdo it.*
**"Oh."** He paused, stirring his tea thoughtfully.
**"I've never been a stranger to new places."** A true statement.
**"It's not like I miss much from my place of origin, anyway."** A half-truth.
**"I'm positive I'll be able to handle it nonetheless."**
A blatant fabrication.

If using his ability ONCE, so soon after arrival, rocked the boat to THIS degree, who *Knows* What would come about when he really needed it? What would the mental repercussions be?
Anthony was moved here to regain his stability. He was doubting he had any to begin with.

In any case, Uriel WAS being quite the source of comfort.
He'd already cracked a bit of his shell. Perhaps it was them, or the late hour, but it was a crack nonetheless.
It all depended on if he chose to fill it in or let the water of his inner self flow out.