Lynn
Another evening, stretched long and strange by the ever-present static in Owen's gut. Today, it was little more than a whirlwind of dust, a dry pile of leaves kicked up into a little tornado scraping across the concrete, but he could feel it nonetheless.

The tunes did help, though. His trusty '70s playlist, playing on a surprisingly low volume from the Bluetooth speaker sitting on his still perpetually messy desk, brought the static comforts of the room to life. The soft orange Christmas lights strung just above eye level bounced off of walls of posters, the bed made with blankets still fresh from the dryer, the deep red carpet spread over the cold grey floor to make it just a little less so. It's the same hard box as the rest of the dorms, but it's been lived in, softened ever so slightly by the boy sat in the middle of it.

Said boy was hunched over sitting backwards in his chair, his legs stuck through the spaces between the arms and the back, toes digging into the carpet and idly pushing him from side to side. Spinning chairs were irresistible, even when he was focused. Slung over the back was a heavy black leather jacket, being lovingly attended to by a microfibre cloth dabbed with an odd-smelling goop. 

Weather-proofing his dear jacket was long and repetitive work, but Owen was happy to just zone out and do it. No thoughts whatsoever besides his practiced (and borderline obsessed) technique, and perhaps how nice the light from the setting sun was filtering through the window.

The words of the familiar song playing softly warbled from his mouth, filtering through the atmosphere along with the lazy dust particles.
Joanna
Yarimiel had been broken by, something. Perhaps it was the self-realization, coming to terms with her trauma, facing it head-on. It was too much for her dumb little brain to handle, and so for the next few days she'd holed herself up in her room, barely subsisting off of snacks. By the time she got out, it was dark, quiet, and most were asleep, and if not, in their rooms at the least, it was raining, the weather couldn't be more perfect for a cold night in.

She crept past the door of her room, opened by a crack, which she didn't even bother to close, leaving it open, prone to letting others the absolute mess the room had been made into. Her face ran cold and rough from all of the inky tears and wounds gained in the sheer confusion that made up her post-realization lunacy. Her clothes had gained massive black stains, and this time she had worn a short-sleeve shirt, which made her arms visible, exposing how they have darkened near the hands, giving her an even more ghoulish appearance than usual. Aside from this one change, she looked the same, long pants, barefoot, etc.

In a moment of silent, overpowering clarity, she had decided to go to the one person she knew better than just a small talk and a wave goodbye, but thinking back on that, she found it all to be fake, all were just actions performed by a mask, an intruder created by herself, to kick her from the wheel and regulate the true self.

Weakened by these few days of manic rages within her room and the lack of food and sleep, she hobbled over to where she remembered Owen's room being. On the outside, her face was blank, stone cold, but not in the bug-eyed way she'd presented herself usually, it was cold like frostbite, a glare equivalent to a razor-sharp icicle, and a face telling of what was, or what is to come, perhaps both.

She got there, and knocked three times softly and slowly, but audibly enough to shoot through the already existing noise in the room. She began to tear up as she waited.
Lynn
*Knock?*

The soft singing stopped.

*Knock.*

"Hm?"

*Knock.*

"Hello? Uh, now-now inaminute-"

*Who on Earth could that be?* Uriel normally texted first, Ares knocked a lot louder and called him some names, Fin's knocks were firmer... Owen pondered who else would need him at this hour while maneuvering his legs out of his chair- falling out of it and landing flat on his back in the process. A muffled *Oof* Could be heard through the door, and then the muted scrapes of his limbs figuring out how to right themselves on the soft carpet. Straightening his *Diamond Head* Shirt and, er, *Comfortable* Old-ish shorts, he padded toward the source of the unfamiliar noise.

When the door clicked open, Owen was surprised by a familiar mess of thick black curls. 

"Yarimiel? E-evening!"

Owen stepped back a little, so that he could look at her face rather than the top of her head. She was small, almost frighteningly so; he worried sometimes that he crowded her, his own figure tangibly denser. Perhaps he was just unused to being taller than someone here. Pressing the tips of his fingers to his thumb in a familiar pattern, Owen got a better look at her face. The dust cloud picked up as his heart dropped into his liver.

Was *"You don't look so good"* Too obvious? She was probably more than aware; *"You feeling okay?"* Was also off the table- the answer practically radiated from her cold, dark eyes and subtly drooping posture. Owen decided to skip the pleasantries. He doubted either of them particularly liked them anyhow.

"Come in.. Ah, sit anywhere, I'm just conditioning my jacket-" 

*Come on, a little more affection couldn't hurt.*

"Do-do you want a hug? Or to talk, or..?"
.

The boy's voice, though uncertain, was gentle and genuine. He knew faces which had just shed tears and would again soon, and kids who just needed to be held; he didn't necessarily know what to *Do* About those, but he aimed for his best. The sight of his odd friend like this turned something in his chest, the concerned-older-cousin instinct kicking in despite not knowing her as well as his own back home. Out of habit and perhaps their own free will his arms opened in her direction, a warm invitation for her to take with no questions asked.

He hoped the gesture wasn't unwelcome- some people appreciated it, others didn't, but it was all he really knew that worked.
Joanna
She could only stare back at him with her cold, pained eyes under the net of curls. Her mind began to fill with fog again, she tried picking up the shards of what remained of herself in her head, but there were too many, scattered and fragmented, some pieces were fine grains instead of shards. She could not hops it back any longer, the emotion began to overcome her once again, and with nothing left to hold it back, she slowly wrapped her arms around Owen, her grip on him was weak, concerningly so, and her hands seemed shaky, but as she began to cry again, the tears began to smear both all over her face and his shirt. A mixture of various inky liquids of baryig consistencies would begin to spread from her face. She didn't even let out a sound, only quiet sobbing and an overflow of tears from the girl.

She found solace in his warmth, and let herself melt away in it, remaining in this hig for as long as Owen physically allowed her to, she even began to rest her weight on him, but by bit. She did not speak, either, as she did not need to communicate what is already visible, but after a while, her hug began to get tighter, as if she really was trying to hold on to him and never let go, her arms holding him tighter and her hands holding fistfuls of Owen's shirt. Her heavily knotted hair gsve off an odd, scalpy odor, telling to her *Subpar* Hygiene.

One thing was obvious, she needed to rest, because whatever caused... This, needs to be dealt with as soon as possible before it gets worse. It needs to be dealt with, before the environment and possibly people around her suffer, but more importantly, her.
Lynn
"Oh, oh dear, let-let it out, love," The startled boy murmured, strong arms wrapping around her; one hand reached around her shoulders and the other fell gently on the back of her head, instinctively creating a nice, small space to curl into. The tears (*Tears?!*) soaking through his shirt and into his chest didn't feel like normal tears. He shifted under the slight discomfort at the sensation, but for Yari's sake he stifled his squirming. He could manage.

The ache to ask what was wrong, what shook her frame and twisted her face and stopped any words dead in her throat was strong, but he knew better than to press it right that minute. Owen managed to close the door with his foot, careful to move as little as possible. 

Shutting his eyes to concentrate, he pulled the rivers of heat running through his body toward his chest; though he was incapable of feeling it from any perspective but his own, Owen imagined a blossom of hearth-flames blooming across his chest, tender and all-surrounding. That seemed to work.

Owen's heartbeat, she would likely notice, ran with more force than most. Not faster, or more erratic, just *Harder*, thumping against her cheek like a red-hot metronome. He hoped it didn't freak her out- gods only knew it unsettled *Him* Enough.

He stumbled back half a step with the force she was putting in, a surprised noise rumbling in his throat- he never quite expected people to lean into him like this, especially not in a prison-not-quite-prison such as this. It, *This*, required a lot of trust, trust that he was flabbergasted that she or anyone would find in him so quickly, disregarding how easily he trusted others. Or perhaps he was just the nearest set of arms? That was.. An acceptable explanation. Reasonable, at least. He could be content with that.

*Stop rummaging around your own head, spacey fool, there are more pressing things to be thinking about,* Quoth a nibbling bug in his head. 
.

"Rough time lately?" A dry gulp. "You, um, haven't been doing so good, have you." 

Well, that was an attempt. She could take it or leave it as she pleased; he had to test the waters somehow. Would she snap at him? Pull away? Go quiet and still, or turn into a sleep paralysis demon? He had seen her, haunting the intranet at odd hours, sinking deep into whatever this was, and he just hadn't known what to say. How could he assure her that he did care? What did she *Need?*

The befuddled boy let out heavy sigh that faded into a low hum, quietly rocking on his heels as a sweet, bluesy guitar melody drifted through the air. He would let Yari decide when to wrench herself out of his arms, he decided. She was the one who needed this comfort, right? *..Please answer me*, he thought hard. *Any sign you'll be alright...*
Joanna
She continued crying softly into Owen, turning her head to feel the warmth and oddly comforthing thudding of his heartbeat on her cheek. Her hold on him weakened again, and she brought her arms closer to herself. She found comfort in Owen, obviously it was mostly physical, but she found a deeper comfort, the warmth, the embrace, it was all she longed for, and now that she wasn't tearing herself at the seams in a confused rage, she could fully appreciate the moment, and truly let her emotions be free in a healthy, non-violent manner. After about a minute of her progressively calming down, she let go, her face now fully black, but not from the stains, it seemes to be her power, with a set of teeth and two eyes being the only visible features. She backed away to create some space, wiped her eyes, then simply asked, "Owen. What am I?"

All she wanted was a simple answer, she wanted him to look at her and answer that no, she wasn't a monster, but deep inside, she knew that the scars would remain, and that now, she was unfixable, she couldn't undo what had been done to her. She could move on, but that seemed impossible to her. She was too far gone to even see a path, so she hoped that wading through the fog and stumbling into the right path would work.

She looked up at him a few seconds after asking, more of her face visible, but there was still little to no detail asides from the purr white eyes and teeth that stood out from the black face, which seemed to have took on the shape of a human skull judging from the features.

She was baring her most honest question to him, and she wanted him to answer honestly. "Don't think about it for too long. And do not hesitate to answer." She spoke in a low, flat voice, almost as if she had rid it of all emotion, or rather, herself, for this brief moment. She wanted the comfort his embrace but now she also craved the truth of his perspective.

What does someone like Owen think of her? What does someone so kind hide behind their warm eyes and welcoming air? She had no expectations of this situation and was simply staring him in the eyes, not blinking the entire time until he answered, remaining as still as a statue.

I have decided to lie
Lynn
After a certain point in the embrace, time melted into the lazy stream of setting sunlight filtering through the room, his breaths becoming slow and even against the frail girl's cheek. When she wrenched herself away, his arms took a moment to detach; they had settled in their places around her, reluctant to release the centre of their attention.

She spoke, and Owen felt a single drop of cold sweat run down his spine.

"W-what? Uh-"

She spoke again, and threads of nauseatingly prickling electricity wound around his torso. *This is ~~too much~~ a lot of pressure I'm already hesitating she thinks I'm lying shit shit her face is melting she's getting worse what does she need* **Say something-**

"You- you're a person, um, a para- a parahuman, ah,"

*Nonono too surface level it's meaningless it's not helping it's not what she's looking for what is she looking for I'm making it worse I'm making it worse I'm-*

"You're- you're my friend, I- I hope, and and odd soul, but, a kind one," He stammered, finding anywhere to look but her eyes. Owen didn't know what she could *See* With them, in this state, but he didn't want her to see him struggling with this. That was irrelevant here, and would only unnerve her- Yari had come to him for comfort. He would give it, the best that he could.

"I'm sorry, love."
_ _

A queasy gulp, as he tried to find somewhere to look that wasn't Yari's eyes. He had no idea what she could see with them, and would rather she not be aware of how much he was struggling with this, if that was at all possible at this point. He felt a familiar thrum, the echo of his heartbeat, rushing throughout his body, forceful enough to make him waver ever so slightly before readjusting his stance. It crackled insistently through his blood vessels, waves of heat sliding through all his systems, unwittingly colouring his cheeks a deep red-orange as it pushed along his barrier of speckled flesh.

He had been called a liar before, many times, when he fiddled with his hands and averted his eyes and stammered and hesitated like he did, but the watery shine in his long-lashed doe eyes betrayed earnestness behind the jitters.

"I-I don't.. Know what you need to hea-hear right now, but, but I don't think you're bad, or monstrous, or- or anything," He stammered, his hands (trembling, but strong nonetheless) making their way to Yari's shoulders. "You- ah, you hurt- you're hurting, and I feel that, I um."

Something twisted in his stomach when he recalled doing something similar mere days earlier, his own tears dampening Uriel's shirt as he clung to them for dear life in a dark hour of his own. This kind of vulnerability, the soliloquies spoken by white knuckles over clothes that muffled sobs, the trust, the shame. His heart felt squeezed, and a hot teardrop ran unhindered down to his faintly shaking jaw.

"I understand, is- is all. It's hard and it sucks and I can't *Say things that help* But.. But I'm here with you, I, I care."
_ _

On that last word, Owen's voice faltered, slipping beneath the weight of a truth so dense it sucked the wind from his lungs. The sweet melody drifting in the background mercifully masked the sound of his hitching breath as he squeezed his friend's shoulders in an attempt to drive his point home and tie it to her frail frame that might just melt away in his hands.
Joanna
She only watched him with the stone cold expression, the sheer lack of strong emotions being clear behind her face, but this wasn't a mask. The flood gates were open, they were just dry. She watched him crack, she knew he was, she'd seen it before, she'd *Felt* It herself. Those few moments before the world decided that it hated you, those moments where you can't take it anymore and the fractures, they... They Just. Keep. Growing.

Her face slowly faded back in through the darkness, as if it was seeping into her skin, the eyes and teeth returning to their normal state, not luminescent and hidden behind proper flesh. She recognized the feeling, and she began to feel, for the first time in a long time, the need to put another's happiness over her own. In this case, she had nothing to be happy about her sense of self was shattered nearly completely, and the only person she felt truly safe coming to was cracking as well.

It took her a few seconds of watching him progressively crack more and more, watching miniscule pieces fall from him, until she could say something back, something not so direct, but still carrying that brutal honesty that came with her words. 

"It's okay, Owen. I've put too much on you. Let me mend your cracks.
...
Hm, one second."

The music was still playing in her head, but it was distracting her, it was blocking her thoughts, it was becoming far too loud inside her mind to be able to think properly. All she needed, was some *Silence*.

She raised her arm towards the radio and her forearm quickly closed the gap before gently turning the volume down before it returned to her. It was an eerie display, but the pacifity and harmlessness of the action preceded all forms of shock, despite the look of her arm and hand. "I couldn't think clearly... There we go."
.

She looked up at Owen with her eyes, now filled with the sheer blankness in her mind, but they had a glare to them, they didn't quite look dead like usual, there was *Life* In her eyes. She opened her arms and stepped towards Owen again, giving him a tight hug, using her uncanny ability to wrap her arms around him a few more times, rhe left one going around twice and the right three times with both meeting at his back, of course. "It's your turn to catch a break... You don't need my problems bogging you down, my friend. What you need, Owen, is to break that glass. Let it out, all of it. I can take it. *Also this is an optimal time, I'm really feeling that supportive kick so take advantage of it*." She whispered at the end, the emotional, tender air breaking a bit, but still having the feeling of Yari's presence, her odd (maybe unnerving, even) but comforting presence, as if no worries were to be had around her, at least once she opens her mouth.

While yes, she had indeed felt a deep emptiness inside, this did not break her humanity, her will to see smiles, this did not break her wish to be happy, and make others be so in the process. She'd survived before, she can definitely pull through this time, *She knew it*, and it felt good to know that. And it felt good to let other know that as well.

"Owen. I know you have survived much worse, otherwise you wouldn't be here now. I know you can pull through, buddy. I'll be here waiting for whenever you do. I haven't known you for long, but you're the longest I've known anyone here, and I think that merits me helping you, even in my own worst times. Seeing the people I care about suffer creates a level even under my lowest states."
.

It was so different, she had felt confident in her words, and even she was surprising herself. Yari's voice profile was very deep and powerful for someone her size, and even then she usually spoke in high tones, but now? She was using low, soft vocals to soothe Owen, it had a new air, a comforting one, scary at first, but like a soft wave over your ankles, cooling you down amidst the blaring heat. All of this surprised even her, but she was ding this for Owen. This is the first time she had to comfort someone like this, but she still somehow knew what to say and what to do, and *How* To say and do those things.
Lynn
Owen could only really stand and watch as Yari *Re-grew her face* (???) and then casually stretched to turn the volume of the Bluetooth speaker down; if his face weren't red and streaked with now-steadily welling tears, he would have looked mightily confused. He felt a need to turn it back up, but apparently it had the opposite effect on his friend. Fair enough.

The words *"You don't need to-"* Formed in his mouth, but there was no wind behind them. 

Silently, he cursed the way his throat ceased to let him speak when he got ..Like this. If only he could explain himself in a way that satisfied, that *Really* Convinced people that it looks worse than it is, that he was already feeling better. Because he was, wasn't he? *Crying is good. It's healthy, it's evening me out. Breathe and wait..*

Owen knew that well, at the very least. 

He had seen people who didn't, heard them from behind the bathroom stall doors in the split-second between him walking in and the other noticing; boys who had been afraid of being vulnerable, refusing to show weakness even when obscured by the layers of metal and chipped paint. He recalled the time when he thought they would appreciate being asked what was wrong, and the snapping it took to convince him that sometimes it was best to leave it alone, do do his business and leave the sore spot untouched.

The boy's mothers had made sure he knew for certain that it was okay to cry, and he internally kicked himself for the times he had forgotten that. A sea away from them, he had sworn that he wouldn't let the salt and frost scrape them away from him, and it summoned another wave of sobs to think that their touch was fading from his back. The arms winding around his shuddering frame crushed tighter, and he let them, silently, gratefully.
_ _

Yari spoke, so much better than he could, and he let the hot streams of salt drip down his jaw and the back of his throat. Not a word passed his lips, reined in by the twisted knots in his stomach, the last bit of composure remaining for her own sake. 

It would feel wrong to dump any of this on her, regardless of what she said she could handle; he had to admit, he viewed her as a strange little sister in a way, and with that attachment came the instinct to protect. One of the only times his heart and his power resonated in the same key, and he held it, *Her* As close as he could.

After a few minutes, locked in this pocket of quiet storms and *Accursedly* Loud thoughts and strange shadowy arms, the pressure pushing at Owen's eyes and chest and mind slowed in its unforgiving pulses of static. Deep brown pools of cocoa and embers pulled themselves open, bloodshot but clear, and.. He figured that he should probably say something.

"Th-thank you, Yari." 

He cleared his throat, his voice still streaked in mucus and uncertainty. His voice, tired but surprisingly even, still formed its odd little curlicues- she would notice that the *R* In her name rolled ever so slightly.

"It means more than you realize. Or, maybe you do realize? I, ah, have a hard time keeping it down, *Hah*."

A forced laugh from his chest, to punctuate a statement that was probably concerning. *Was it? Don't think so. Maybe?*

"You, um, you've got to put yourself first during your worst times though, yeah? I'll, I'll be alright, ah. I'm.. Getting help soon. Proper help. I care a lot, and I don't want you worrying too much about me, okay?"
_ _

A deep breath, his ribs pushing against his lightless ties. A warm and callused hand gently clapped her back, hoping to reassure her that he indeed would be alright. He spread his weight evenly across his feet, stable and solid, more than happy to hold his friend as tightly as she ever needed.

"I'm.. Honoured that you see me so fondly. You're incredibly sweet, *Chwaer bach*, and always welcome here."

*Little sister.* That sounded right.

Though the volume was a lot lower, a few low, melancholy chords spilled from the speaker. A thought like molasses recalled its name, *Over and Over*, Black Sabbath, 1981. It drifted through him slowly and sluggishly, the first slow and cool breeze after the storm, mixing with the colours of the now nearly-set sun.

A thought drifted to his jacket, still draped over the back of his chair- *Should probably finish that, when I can move again...*
Joanna
She listened with a deep nothingness inside her, she didn't quite understand why he didn't just let it out, even though she *Knew* He had a lot on him (despite not knowing what it was) but she respected his decision and let go of Owen. "I still need to recover... You have any snacks I can steal? I'm hungry and very, very tired..." She zoned off on the spot before just falling flat on her face, after a few seconds, she raised a hand and a ringer and spoke into the carpet, but it was audible enough for Owen. "Correction: I need something *Now*." Then her arm went limp again, Yari's ragged, stained body laying on the floor, very much conscious but clearly exhausted. 

She had nothing on her mind, and now that her body had realized that it was no longer Rage Time, the exhaustion had caught up and the adrenaline drained from her body, hence the sudden collapse.
Lynn
Yari's disappointment at not getting his whole summary didn't go over Owen's head, but he didn't say another word about it when she moved on by, er, *Collapsing on the floor.*

"Oh, dear-"

*Seems Uriel's grandma vocabulary is rubbing off on me*, the copper-headed boy mused to himself as he crouched down to hear his.. Vertically challenged friend's request for sustenance.

"Yeah, I've got snacks- you, ah, you wait right here," He assured her, stepping around her haphazardly-strewn limbs to get to his stash of.. *Boxes upon boxes of goldfish crackers.* Eh. Did the trick in a pinch. They filled the holes in his stomach his power ate, and felt good between his teeth.

And so, the two of them sat in his room while the sky grew darker and cooler through the open window. Owen dutifully conditioned his jacket and Yari made herself most comfortable on his carpet, and that felt nice.

Something still nibbled in his stomach, the unsent draft to Pernilla sitting in its box in his phone, that he wanted to reread just one more time before sending it, in case he missed anything important. His issues weren't Yari's to sit through or worry about or suffer an inky feather about. There were things he could confide in her about later, perhaps, when he had a better grip, but not now. 

Now, he simply let the idle, easy chatter and familiar tunes mellow him out, and for at least one evening, everything was just swell.

————-