Although he'd always been athletic, that had become even truer for Conor in the days since Evan's death. Sometimes working out was the only way to get what happened out of his head (or more realistically put it on the back burner); sometimes running until he felt like he was going to pass out was the only way to find some peace. And though he frequented the gym, Conor's favorite way to quiet his mind was to run. He'd played midfielder in soccer, which meant he was always running during games, so Conor had always been a runner, working to improve his speed and endurance. And that just kind of stuck even after his soccer days were over, though he had to be a bit careful now. While his knee injury had mostly healed, his knee would never been the same, not even after the surgery he'd needed following the accident. By this point he knew his limits.

Or at least that was usually true. However, Conor had forgotten that running on sand was quite a bit more difficult than running on a flat, firm surface. Holy shit, Conor thought as he ran, his knee screaming at him. He was going to pay for this tomorrow. All Conor wanted was to make it back to his car to save himself from further embarrassment, which was why he hadn't switched to walking, even as he began running with a limp; Conor still carried some of his old pride it seemed. But just as he realized he needed to swallow that and accept that he'd reached his limit, his knee gave out, and before he could do anything about it, Conor was on his hands and knees in the sand. "Shit!" he exclaimed, fingers digging into the sand; he paid no mind to the woman with two young children glaring at him nearby. Managing to get to his feet, Conor ran several more paces with a heavy limp, but he didn't get far before he went down again. This time though, Conor just laid down on his back in the sand, arms and legs spread and eyes closed, accepting defeat.

As he lie there in the sand, the sun shining down on him, a shadow came across his face. Without opening his eyes - not sure if he wanted to see who it was - Conor muttered, "I'm fine, really. Don't worry about me."

Ocean had come here to do some work, but he was unfocused. His students had just given him their proposals for their last project for the year, and Ocean needed to go through them and tweak anything that needed adjusting, though he didn't feel that would be much of a problem; he hated stifling creative expression and only did so if necessary. But he couldn't even do that, his mind on a million other things. That's because you're not a good teacher, that voice in his head whispered, and Ocean sighed, his head in his hands. That voice was right, and he knew it; Ocean had no idea what he was doing even teaching art when his own was terrible. But this was his job, and he took it seriously. Maybe he just needed a break.

So that's what Ocean did. Sipping on his matcha latte, Ocean reached into his satchel and removed his tarot cards. He'd been reading since he was a teenager, someone on the commune having taught him, and sometimes even just the act of doing a reading for himself helped clear his mind. Hoping for the same this time, Ocean shuffled his deck, split with his right hand, and pulled the top card with his left. Please don't be - of course it is, he thought, sighing when he saw the card. The III of Swords - again. This was becoming a regular thing, and it was starting to become concerning, even if Ocean felt like the card as an appropriate choice. Maybe that was why kept drawing it. As he looked at the card and thought about how it related to his life, a shadow was cast over it, and Ocean looked up to see someone standing there. "Oh, uh...hi," he said, caught off-guard. He looked back at his deck, wondering if that's why this person were here, and he asked, "Um...do you uh...do you want a reading?"

Valentino Malory St. Clair, do not break this window right now, Vale thought. That wasn't something a person would typically need to talk themselves out of, but Vale wasn't really the typical kind of person. Even though it was his fault, he was this close to losing his temper and smashing his car window. Hell, his fists were even clenched, as if he was about to punch the glass, which would hurt like hell but also feel so fucking good at the same time. Don't do it, he thought. "Don't do it don't do it don't do it," he muttered, this time out loud. That was his whole point to coming here to the Castillo's, wasn't it? Vale was trying to find healthier ways to channel his anger, and kickboxing seemed to be helping, though that wasn't the case today. Maybe it was because he'd had a truly terrible morning. Things at the ranch were...well, not easy, and Vale felt very out of place (but it also felt right to be there in a way he couldn't explain - Vale was a man of many dichotomies), and he missed Seattle; sleepy little Cardinal Hill was so different from what he was used to. So his nerves were already frayed, and now this happened. It would be so easy to break the window, he thought, though obviously it wouldn't be because car windows were stronger than a window one might have in their home usually. But his keys were right there on the seat, just a pane of glass and a locked car door between them.

So yeah, Vale wanted to break the window, wanted to badly, and he maybe would have if he wasn't in tune with his emotions just enough to realize he wouldn't necessarily be breaking the glass to get to his keys. While kickboxing was helping, Vale found that he had all this anger still, this unbridled fury even at times. It was always there, simmering just below the surface, and sometimes it came out in bursts of rage. The therapist his parents had insisted he go to back in Seattle had told him that it was because he kept it bottled up most of the time. The pressure kept building until it eventually burst out of him. So that was why he'd gotten into kickboxing before leaving Seattle and was continuing it now. Closing his eyes, Vale took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down, counting down from ten. By the time he got to zero, Vale felt a little more leveled out, and he opened his eyes, though he couldn't resist smacking his hand against the window just once. He needed a phone, so Vale turned around to realize he had an audience, though hopefully it hadn't been for this whole time. "I locked my keys in my car," he told the person watching him. "So...yeah, that sucks."

This was going to be a problem. That was what Leo kept thinking as he at a table close to where JP was working. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the man, felt impossible to try, and the longer he looked at his ex, the more desire he felt for the man. Fuck…why had he thought this was a good idea? Seeing JP looking so damn hot in his formal clothes, perfectly fitted to his beautiful body, well…it was literally making Leo feel hot under the collar. All he wanted to do was walk over to JP, kiss him fiercely, and see how much better those formal clothes looked on the floor. It didn’t matter that they were at a public event; they could find somewhere private to go and let off this tension. 

But Leo needed to control himself. This was a fucking wedding, he couldn’t go making a fool of himself and start thinking with his dick. But that was the thing: when it came to JP, he never thought with just his dick - he thought with his heart too. And that was what made this whole thing truly dangerous. Still, Leo couldn’t resist anymore, so he downed half of his beer before striding over to JP. “Hey, looking good,” he told the man, touching his back lightly. And Leo couldn’t help himself: he leaned in and whispered, “And by good, I mean super fucking hot.”

Davis was so indecisive when it came to sweets. Choosing a pastry shouldn't this hard, right? Like a normal person wouldn't have this much of an issue choosing between a giant cookie, a cinnamon roll, or a muffin, right? Maybe a scone? Or perhaps an eclair or a cannoli? Ahh, there are too many options! Davis thought, while another voice in his head whispered, No, a normal person wouldn't have this much trouble choosing, but you're not normal. It was a voice Davis heard much more often than he'd like, but it was still there, and he pushed it away like he always did. If only he could squash it completely and be free of it. He missed that feeling sometimes.

But right now Davis was laser focused on the options in the display case. This shouldn't be such a challenge, but he was deadlocked between the cannoli and the giant cookie. At least he'd narrowed it down some. There was no way he could choose between them without another opinion. "Excuse me," he said to the person standing next to him, "do you think you could help me?" When the person turned in his direction, he pointed at the display case and explained, "I'm stuck on what to get. I'm thinking either the cannoli or the cookie the size of my hand, but I'm just not sure because now that cupcake is looking really good. The last time I got a cupcake here, it was incredible, but that wasn't that long ago, so I think I should get something else. But on the other hand, I already know I like the cupcakes, so should I stick with that? I can't decide!" He smiled at the other as he continued, speaking rapidly, "I know this shouldn't be so hard, but I don't normally eat like this. Usually I have a really strict diet, but once every two weeks, I let myself have a cheat day, or more like a cheat afternoon. If I let it be a whole day, then I run the risk of undoing all my progress, you know? So I've got to make this count, and I know if I make the wrong choice, I'll just pick again in two weeks. But I don't want to wait that long." At this, Davis finally paused, taking a breath and smiling brightly.

Standing at one of his hives, Winter replaced the last frame, having just finished harvesting some of the honey and beeswax. His family had a sprawling backyard, so he had been able to plant different flowers and such all around so as to get different types of honey, and this particular one was near a patch of wildflowers. Some thought the differences in flavor were subtle and hard to detect, but Winter had gotten quite skilled at it. That made sense though because he had been eating honey for as long as he could remember, long before he had even started beekeeping, and his dad had taught him a lot. He was like whatever the honey version of a sommelier was, and Winter had learned so much from him. Thinking about his dad caused a twinge of sadness inside Winter. It wasn't like his dad - or his mom for that matter - were dead, but they hadn't been home in awhile, and he missed them. But Winter had his bees at least. He rarely even wore a beekeeper's suit anymore unless they seemed especially feisty, and today was the same, Winter just outside in a sweater and jeans as he went about with his beekeeping duties. Everything felt so peaceful out here, and nothing seemed as bad as when he was with his bees. Luckily the accident hadn't erased Winter's ability to care for them in the slighest.

Alas, there were ways the accident had had a strong effect on Winter, and chief among them were his memory. So when he heard a car pulling up his driveway, Winter groaned because he realized he'd forgotten something. Of course he had, he always did. At least he was done with his beekeeping for the day, so he whispered a goodbye to the bees, and then Winter rushed inside to greet Annette at the door. It had been his idea to hang out too, he remembered that now, and Winter was mad at himself for forgetting.

Ocean was mesmerized. Though he'd been living in Cardinal Hill for a little while now, he hadn't gotten out much. Most of the time he only went to places like work or the grocery store or occasionally to get coffee, choosing to spend the rest of his time at home (or at his brother's home he supposed it was). Every time he went out, Ocean felt like everyone was watching him, assessing him, silently judging his clothes or the way he walked or his body or something. There were so many things he would change about himself if he could, almost everything, and Ocean knew that if he was thinking these things, other would be too. So he'd been spending quite a bit of time closed up in his brother's basement, which he was using as his studio, not that Ocean was ever happy with any of the pieces he created.

But some days were better. He wasn't sure what was different about today, but Ocean had woken up feeling a little less self-conscious, and he wasn't going to waste that feeling. Since coming to Cardinal Hill, he had been wanting to go the art gallery, but he had been avoiding it. While part of Ocean thought he might get inspired there, another part of him thought he'd just get discouraged seeing all of the superior artists. However, buoyed by his good mood today, Ocean had decided to just do it. Unfortunately, it was having the effect he had thought it might: all of these artists were so talented, and Ocean would never be as good. Even so, it was still nice seeing what these artists had created. As he stood staring at a large painting hanging on the walls, someone came to stand beside him, looking at the same piece. "It's so good, isn't it?" Ocean said, surprised by the fact that he was talking a stranger. He was lost in the art though, making him just very slightly more outgoing than usual.