( pop your white collars up! )

          Not everyone was as welcoming to the idea of letting conduits roam free.           Even after everything that had happened. She should’ve guessed as much,           considering how rude some people could be. Dropping down to sit on the           curb, she wiped her lip already feeling the skin heal over from the punch           she’d received. Looking at the people walk by, Midori called out to one man           about to enter the same cafe she’d just left.

               ❝Hey, I wouldn’t go in there just yet. A fight                    broke out and well, things are pretty messy.❞ 

          It’d take them a while to clean the paint from the coffee makers anyways. 

He had seen the commotion from down the block, and while he didn't exactly have a craving for coffee just then, he was always a little nosy. It would, someday, come back to bite him right in the ass. Wren shoves gloved hands into his pockets, shoes clicking on concrete as he slowly made his way to the cafe. There was definitely chatter, but before he could pull the door open and enter, there's a voice. Wren stops. 

        It’s  weird, and he knows it is, everyone has to  to            tell   him,  but  eye  contact  is  something  of   an            impossibility  for   him.  Perhaps it was  a  fear,  a            deep  set  reaction  drilled  into him  from  before,             like flinching at sudden  movements, but he only            manages  to  briefly  drag   his  eyes  up  towards            Wren’s. The sunglasses help a little, though, and            he’s able to keep his quivering smile from fading,            instead  just  focusing  more on the  dark  lenses            than anything. 

        Dyson’s  hesitant to respond. Part of him  gladly            wants to go along, but another part shoves back,            and  he pauses. Carefully, though, a jittery  hand            lifts,  his  own  arm  slotting into  place  with  the            other  Conduit’s,  despite  very  nearly  recoiling.            Now   it’s  incredibly   obvious  how  badly   he’s            shaking.  ❝Y-yeah…?  I, ah…  haven’t  really…            gone  to  one of these  before. I’ll…  take  your            word for it.❞

          He tightens his grip  just  barely  around Dyson's arm.           Wren bites at his lower lip, both rows of teeth working           to pull dead skin off.  It was a bad habit, and now that           there's someone  around  that  he  wants  to impress,           he has to constantly remind himself to stop.        Fists           ball up, fingernails dig into old scars.     stop.     Teeth           rip a gash into the flesh of his lower lip. stop.     While           all injuries heal, it begins to get annoying. 

          Talk, dammit.           he goes to face Dyson again and a grin takes over. a           hop, skip, and a jump happens in his chest. Day time           activist,    night time performer,    he could gush about           rallies and music for days. He's afraid he might do so           in front of Dyson. 

                    ❛Now that Conduits are free, Augustine taken                     down,   whatever,  the  rallies  are  a  lot   more                     positive now.     There's always that one group                     who'll     have    that     girl's    face     plastered                     everywhere,   I think her name is Abigail,    but                     they  never  really  last  long.    These,  though,                     full of... good vibes.❜

          well, shit. he gushed.    the word vomit doesn't stop,           but it slows down. he begins to stammer.

        But  he  doesn’t know what to say to  that.  After            years  of  useless ego stroking, he’s  not  entirely            sure  what’s  genuine or not. The  other  Conduit            seemed  sincere enough, though, but the  words            still struggle to form,  dying on his tongue as he            ducks  his  head down a  bit,  something  almost            bashful painting dark features. 

        Dyson  scours  his  brain for  something  to  say,            though.   The  silence  he  responded  with   was            probably  dragging  on too   long,  and  he  tries,            lifting    his    head,     dragging    his    eyes    up,            attempting  to  make  eye  contact  (and  failing),            his  shoulders pulling  tighter. Words fumble  in            his mouth, and it takes a little doing, but after a            moment he’s able to shove them all out. 

          He doesn't pressure Dyson  into  reciprocating eye contact.           While he would appreciate it,  he knows that first, there are           baby steps.  The walk of a thousand miles begins with one           step, or something like that. Wren just smiles soft. Which...           only grows.   He was bringing along another Conduit, and           that's exactly what he wanted to do.     Now that he has this           sort of unspoken goal—-    to bring more happiness to the           other. See that smile.

          Wren offers his arm, a dumb little motion.           His elbow           crooked open for Dyson  to   sneak   his arm through, and           they can skip giddily through Seattle...          in some weird           dream. But, he gingerly offers it anyway. ❛Come, it's not           too far from here. It'll be a ton of fun, I promise.❜

               ❝Th-thanks…❞

        A  soft  laugh is given  back, and he  shakes  out            his hand, quickly jamming it back into his pocket            before  the visible shake to it has any  more  time            to worsen.

               ❝No…  I think. Ah. I think  it was more of  an…                        overestimation.❞

        It  was  almost enough to wipe the smile  off  his            face, the feeling of that  being so noticeable. His            hands  shook  all  the time, all  the  time,  finding            any  excuse they could  to do so, be it nerves  or            even  just  the  thought of  doing  something  to            make  him  nervous. He quickly lifted  one  once            more,  rubbing  at  the   back  of  his  neck  a  bit,            leaving   it  there  momentarily  to  just.   Breathe.

          The ball of anxiousness was smiling!  It felt pretty           incredible,   that  Wren  could  do  that  in  such  a           small amount of time.     Dyson's still shaking, he           can't   help  but  notice,   but   he's  laughing.  The           blond exhales, running  a quick hand through his           hair. The tufts that are pushed up... stay up, and           Wren sort of... puffs up at the words.

                    ❛Come on, dude. Totally an awesome and                     underestimated power. Like, if I pushed your                     buttons right now, I'd be screwed! My friggin'                     sunglasses are a weapon, that's awesome.❜

          The masonry Conduit pushes off of the brick wall,           looking back at it  ( just in case anything came off           with him... ) and then, immediately, back at Dyson.            His    face    contorts,      a    silly    expression    of            disapproval.  Wren shakes  his head,  holds up a           finger to  pause wherever  the taller  left off.  At the           self-consciousness  that  nags  at  him,   he  puts           down his hand. 

                    ❛No, hold up— if Fate is some twisted witch                     and we never  bump   into   each  other again,                     take away one thing from me.    Cay made us                     disappear.   Augustine -- despite her ways of                     doing so -- made us brand new.        That kid,                     Rowe, he inspired me to grow, and I know-- I                     know it might  take  a  while  for some people,                     but you're gonna be  a  big  ball of confidence                     one day.

   ” thɑt’s not something you see everydɑy. “           mɑddy’s not ɑs fɑr ɑwɑy ɑs she thought she wɑs — ɑnd    she wɑsn’t speɑking ɑs quietly ɑs she thought she wɑs. she    frowns slightly ɑnd her muscles tense up ɑ little. mɑddy isn’t    one to hɑve ɑ high level of empɑthy or ɑnything of thɑt sort;    but she definitely knew something wɑs up with this guy. she    could ɑt leɑst ɑttempt to be nice — even if the ɑttempt would    be futile ɑnd mɑddy would end up fɑiling miserɑbly. so she    mɑkes her wɑy over to him slowly. her eyebrows rɑise slightly    ɑnd she mɑkes ɑn effort to put on ɑ vɑguely concerned expression.

          But, of course, it's no one he really recognizes.  She dons           a  much  more..   pinker  head,  and  he  makes   a  slight           mental note to potentially stay in Seattle. The people here           were just as weird, especially since Cay was dismantled.           It'd make for one hell of a ride. At his thoughts, at her faux           concern, Wren just smiles.  He waves an injured hand. It           was comical, in a sense. ❛Hi!❜

          He looks down at his other hand, immediately going back           to what he was doing before. Dark blue eyes occasionally           look up to the girl, and Wren only speaks again when he's           able to pull another splinter out. 

               ❝It’s…  it’s more that  just that. But.  Th-that’s                         what  they had me down as. Anything,  uh…                         reflective. Watch.❞

                    ❛That's pretty sick!❜

          He finds himself  looking  back  and forth, between the           puddle and Dyson. Wren laughs, shakes his head. 

                    ❛They really underestimated you.❜

               ❝S-seven…  I  think.  I  think  I  was  there  for                        seven  years. Maybe  a little less. It was…  it                        was  pretty  short, how long it took  them  to                        get   me.   It’s…   weird,   right?   Like…   like                        relearning how to function.❞ 

        He’s given a name,  then. Lips fumble, and fuck,            he  almost forgets his own, before he clears  his            throat,  lowering  his head slightly as  he  works            for a response. 

               ❝Uh,  I… I ‘m… Dyson. My  power  isn’t,  ah…                        very exciting. Just… mirrors.❞

          But the blond just looks back up at Dyson. He refuses           to look scared, or  let  himself  get  lost  in thought. It's           become a habit, after five years of isolation, all he did           was think. Wren rolls  his  lips  into  a line and gasps           out a little laugh...

          “Yeah, I think so. It’s been there ever since             I was activated.”

                    ❛Really? Well, it looks good on you, you're                      lucky it won't fade away.❜

          Wren hesitates a little while, before opening up.

                    ❛When were you activated?❜

        He  tries  to  make  light of  it,  tries  to  smile  in            response, but it’s been a while since he’s had to            wear  one,  he’s  not sure how  convincing  it  is            anymore.  Saying “no” almost felt like the  wind            was  getting  knocked out of him, but  maybe  it            was  only easier this time  since he didn’t  know            the  guy.  Or maybe it  was harder and  he  really            couldn’t tell what he was saying. 

                    ❛Yeah, yeah, I was. A little more than... five                     years, I think. I'm still kind of amazed that I'm                     out now.❜ A laugh.

          He shoves his hands deep into his pockets, looping           his thumbs deep into his belt loops. Humming for a           few moments, Wren looks back at the stranger...

                    ❛Hey, call me Wren. 'm a master of masonry,                     if you will. And you?❜

               ❝I… uhm… I don’t… I don’t know.❞

        Dyson     hates    how    much    he     stammers,            stumbling  over  three   simple  words  like  he’s            never  spoken  a  day  in  his  life.  The  Conduit            shifts,   eyes  focuses  solely  at  his  feet,   only            occasionally flickering up to focus on the other. 

               ❝I don’t. Ah. Usually  go to those. ‘M not a… a                        crowd… kind of person. But. I, uh, I would if                        I could. S-sorry.❞

                    ❛That's fine.❜ Wren holds his tongue.

                    ❛Being locked up definitely does some things                     to ya', I don't blame you.❜