Morgan
*Knock, knock.* 

It had been a while since Uriel had been in front of Owen's door. This time, though, something was different— they were wearing the same shirt Owen had thrown at the face a week prior (now laundered, of course). 

Yes, it was.. Obnoxiously early, and no one was likely to be around, but *Still*, the brazen display of how much Owen meant to Uriel made their heart thump in their chest. 

They wouldn't admit it, but during the past couple of days, Uriel had been clinging onto his shirts when they had slept, the fabric tangling itself in their sheets. They would press it against their chest, and it would provide some sort of comfort in between the bouts of self inflicted nightmares and worry. 

Another two knocks. 

Their hair was tied up into a low pony tail, and it lightly swished as they bounced their head side to side. Ever since the whole... Debacle went down, Uriel hadn't the energy to tie their hair into their usual braid. No, even looking at themselves for too long made them nauseous. 

Ah, but that was over now. 

A smile blossomed on their face. Hopefully, Owen would like their surprise...
Margaret
The first set of knocks almost didn't register in Owen's head, still drowsy and stuffed up from his fever; he sat straight up in the pitch-dark of the early morning, holding his breath, listening for the small noise to perhaps happen again.

And it came again, this time outside of a dream that left him clutching at his pillow and reaching for a familiar knitted shape to close his strong but trembling fingers around; clear as day, real as the heartbeat quickening in his chest.

Fumbling to plug in a string of soft orange string lights and pull a cast-off tank top over his still-a-little-too-warm body, Owen practically leapt over his carpet to pull open the door.

"*Urielohthankgoodness*," He half-whispered, his voice rocky and sick but so, so happy to be forming their name again.

*Is that my-* Oh. Goodness indeed. More of the boy's fever pooled in his cheeks at the sight of them in his shirt, with their hair pulled back; just one little change, and he was staring. Owen freely thought that plenty of people were beautiful, Uriel included, but couldn't help but marvel a little longer at their particular way. Something about this way of theirs, elegant and dreamy, crossed with his wildly different elements was... Neat. No one wanted to wear his clothes as often as they did. It was neat, is all.

He hesitated for a moment more.

The shorter of the two's eyes met theirs glittering and red, and in one fluid movement he had swung himself up onto his tiptoes and moved to wrap his arms around their dearly missed frame and press them together at the salt-raw cheek.
Morgan
The door opened, and... 

It was Owen. Of course it was. Relief washed over his face at the sight of them, and something in Uriel broke at his expression. Something about the way he whispered their name in between rushed breaths made them feel warm inside— it took away the air in their lungs, forcing them to meet his gaze. 
 
Familiar rough skin grazed their cheek as Owen wrapped them into a hug, the greeting between the two almost akin to a secret handshake. 

They don't think about it— for the best, really, thinking usually gets them into trouble— when they cup his peach-fuzz laden jaw and delicate, pink lips lightly kiss the apple of his cheek. 

They hadn't done such a thing since they were home in France. It wasn't a custom common in Sweden, and Uriel hardly knew anyone well enough for such a thing. Now, though, something deep inside of them longed to reach out and touch the boy in front of them, to hold onto him and never let him go. 

Their hands lightly traced their bottom lip in wonder. Uriel could still the pressure of his skin against their mouth when they focused. 

A soft whine escapes from their mouth. They wanted to hold him, too— to make sure they wouldn't be alone again, the agonizing time in a familiar prison tearing any sense of modesty or shame from them. 

Two thin, pale arms wrap around the forearm closest to Uriel, hugging his arm and pressing it close to them as if it was a teddy bear. 

"May I come in?" The half-whisper, breathy plea would be barely audible, save for the tilt of their head down into the crook of his neck and into his ear, the thick accent rolling off their tongue in waves.
Margaret
It had been a long time since a kiss had been planted on Owen's cheek, he realized in the moment he froze. It was one of those things one doesn't appreciate enough until they're shipped off to parahuman juvie; it was the littlest, the sweetest of things, a tiny *You're precious to me* That lingered warmly on his cinnamon-sprinkled cheek.

He leaned into their hand on his cheek, and weakly grabbed at the fabric over their chest that they pulled his arm toward. He followed their lead. A moment came back to him, floating beneath a glittering sky all their own, where they had held him in a similar way; electric yet painfully soft, strange as they both were and needed like air. 

They melted into each other so easily, even after being so afraid- it was a relief, raw and exhausted, Owen's heavy head pressing into Uriel's.

"Yes." *Please.*

Owen smiled into Uriel's chest as he lowered off his tiptoes and wrapped his arms around their torso to lift them through the threshold- a low, crunchy giggle rumbled in his chest as he twirled them into his room. Just to rattle them a little. Served them right, after the last few days.
Morgan
"Owen, don't drop me—!" Uriel lets out a squeak of surprise as Owen picks them up and twirls, a giddy, excited smile growing on their face. 

It was alright. They were safe, here in his arms, where strong hands held their back and peach-fuzz grazed itself against their cheek. 

They laughed, and curled in closer to him as the door closed behind the doting pair.