Owen slowly, painstakingly, began to pry himself away from her. Each inch of separation felt like pulling apart super-glued planks.
The warmth of her body, the soft scent of lavender and old paper that had been his anchor, slowly receded, replaced by the chilling reality of his situation. He was a complete mess. He stunk, a truly offensive odor clinging to him like a second skin, and he was undoubtedly bloody ugly right now, probably covered in grime and dried sweat. Oh, and he'd just had a full-blown mental episode, screaming and thrashing.
Everything was just... he felt like dying. The shame was too much, a burning tide that threatened to drown him all over again.
His head still hovered close to hers as he slowly disentangled himself. "Y-you have... really nice eyes," he managed to croak, the compliment a clumsy, desperate attempt to deflect from his overwhelming mortification. It was the first thing that genuinely popped into his mind, the memory of those calm, beautiful brown eyes cutting through his terror.
The girl, however, simply offered a small, gentle smile. Her eyes, still holding that unsettling serenity, moved over him, evaluating his current status. She took in his disheveled hair, the lingering tension in his jaw, the subtle tremors that still ran through his body. Yes, he might not know her, but she knew him. She knew of the chaos that had consumed him, the fragile state he'd been in. And as she looked at him, truly looked, a quiet, almost secret thought blossomed in her chest: she liked him. On a love level, even.
That, however, was a secret for another day. Much, much another day.
"Um, hi," she returned, her voice soft, a subtle echo of his own awkward greeting. She pulled back slightly, creating a small space between them now that he was no longer clinging. "How are you feeling?" she asked, her tone gentle, devoid of any hint of alarm or disgust. She deliberately didn't talk about the flame that had erupted from his hand, nor the strange, pulsating necklace that had formed from it. The necklace was now safely tucked away in the pocket of her oversized hoodie.
She had taken it, though, which was a way of payment for her. Not that she liked it or anything, she thought to herself, a flicker of something close to guilt, something she immediately suppressed. She was lying to herself to lower the guilt. It wasn't about payment. It was… a keepsake. A tangible piece of the extraordinary event she had witnessed, a reminder of the boy she had pulled back from the brink.
Her gaze then drifted pointedly behind him. "Um, can ya go bath?" she said, a small, almost imperceptible tilt of her head. "The bathroom is right behind ya."
Owen felt like evaporating in that moment. The sudden, blunt instruction, while utterly necessary, landed like a brick. The compliment he'd given, the brief moment of connection he'd felt with her eyes, evaporated instantly, replaced by a fresh wave of mortification. Of course. Of course he needed a bath he reeked.
He didn't even think twice. Heck, it was his house now, apparently he joked in his head. He scrambled off the sofa, his movements still a bit stiff and uncoordinated. He walked awkwardly towards the bathroom door he now realized was just behind where his head had been. He didn't look back, just pushed it open and stepped inside, gently closing the door behind him. The click of the latch sounded impossibly loud in the sudden silence.
He turned. There was a shower directly in front of him, a pristine white basin and a gleaming faucet. He didn't think twice. He didn't bother with hesitation or politeness. He took off his clothes – the grimy, sweat-soaked remnants of his flight – and stepped into the shower, turning the handle until a stream of lukewarm water cascaded over him. He was already drowning in shame, so why be polite? He let the water wash over him, trying to scrub away not just the grime, but the lingering fear and the overwhelming embarrassment that clung to him.
Faith, on the other hand, was deep in thought. She remained on the sofa, her gaze fixed on the pocket where the necklace rested. She carefully reached in and pulled it out, letting the unique object rest in her palm. She liked it. She really did. The reason being, it looked like a mix between a cross and a sword, a fusion of protection and conflict. But the most fascinating aspect was that it kept changing colors.
The color change was definitely related to Owen. It seemed to be an emotional barometer, a living, breathing crystal of his inner state. Just moments ago, when he was dying in shame, the cross-sword had shifted into a vibrant pinkish hue with a mix of red. It wasn't angry red, not violent, but something softer, more vulnerable, tinged with a blush of deep embarrassment.
"Cute" she thought, a genuine, private smile touching her lips this time( no one saw it so its private). It was a strange, powerful and strangely beautiful object born of his chaos and she had it.During the time she was moving with him towards her house which was a workout itself heck the punk was scrawny but hella heavy welp he dropped the necklace the moment he raised him up and it was completely dark in colors but it shifted to white as if whatever darkness was receding but everpresent at the corners of the cross sword. She looked towards the closed bathroom door, the sound of the shower now a steady murmur. What an absolutely fascinating boy.
He was her classmate and her crush why she was attracted to him only God knows...maybe.
Owen's in the shower, hopefully washing away more than just grime. What will happen when he comes out? Will he and Faith finally have a proper conversation, and what will he ask about the necklace or his powers?