Julian sat in the hard, plastic chair, head down and eyes fixed to the clipboard in his lap.

He tried to ignore the buzzing of fluorescent lights, which were still audible over the cacophony of overlapping sounds erupting around him. Shouting, clattering, jeering, stomping. Bags dropped. Chair scraped. Phones ringing. Radios beeping.

The lights flickered. Four bulbs were out. Two more were flickering uncertainly.

There were cameras everywhere. He tried to pick a spot out of the way but he wondered if that just made him look more suspicious.

He’d finished filling out the form ten minutes ago. The woman at the front desk told him someone would be with him as soon as possible but he’d been here for seventeen–his eyes flickered to the yellowed analog clock on the wall–eighteen minutes.

There were sixteen chairs in the waiting room. He’d picked the one furthest to the right, with his back to the wall. It was close to the door but a large, fake potted plant–bolted to the ground–gave him a modicum of privacy. He was still completely visible from the front desk and he glanced up again. The woman was talking to another police officer. A voice in the back of his head suggested that she might have forgotten about him, but she looked busy so he didn’t get up to turn in the form.

She said to sit down, fill out the paperwork, and wait for someone to come talk to him.

So he waited.

The room just felt so hot. Scratchy, crawling over his skin like a thousand tiny spiders. If it wasn’t the noise or the lights, it was the movement. There was so much, everywhere. Everyone had somewhere else to be, fast.

Julian kept his feet planted flat on the ground, knees pressed tight and pressed into the far right side of his chair. He didn’t need to be–there was no one next to him. Or for several seats, even. Still, he kept his shoulders square. His eyes down. His fingers were laced together and the pen was clipped back to the board.

He had a plastic bag from the craft store hooked around his wrist, like he was afraid he might forget it if it wasn’t attached to him.

He hadn't taken out his phone either, as if by keeping it tucked safely in his pocket he was doing it a favor.

The door opened again. His eyes darted up quickly and he noticed a flash of color, bright red. The smell of something savory. Laughter at the front desk. Shoes squeaking on the tile. Someone sitting at the far end of his row of chairs.

Julian didn’t look up again.

Twenty one minutes. He reread the form again. Wondered if they would judge where he’d pressed the pen too hard and the ink bled. Where the line dug a little too deep into the thin paper. Where his hand had trembled because he was rushing, and nervous.

The ink had long-since dried but he was still afraid of smearing it.

And someone was watching him.

He felt eyes on him as soon as the stranger sat down, but instead of looking there, he looked at the desk.

The officer was still busy. It wasn’t her trying to secretly communicate that she’d be over in a minute.

He lowered his eyes again.

The heavy weight of someone’s gaze persisted. His heart fluttered as his body began its quiet rebellion. His skin pulled tighter and his throat closed. His mouth was dry, but it had been since he walked into the police station. He felt a tremor he couldn’t see and clenched his hands into fists to try and give himself something to focus on.

He’d waited this long. He could wait a minute longer. He just needed to–

“I know you from somewhere.”

His heart skipped a beat. Or two, or three. He drew in a sharp breath and held it. He didn’t look up. Maybe it wasn’t meant for him.

“You look really familiar.”

He caught movement in his peripheral–the newcomer in the distant seat–and Julian’s head snapped up.

Confusion replaced fear instantly.

“Oh,” he said awkwardly, turning just slightly to face the man. “Yeah, we’ve met. You’re Myles.”

The redhead’s face relaxed immediately and he exhaled a monumental breath. “Oh, okay, good.” He laughed, not quite nervously, but with a sort of silliness that made Julian’s shoulders relax.

“I’m so bad with faces, I’m sorry,” Myles continued. “You’re…?”

“Oh, one of Atticus’ friends. We’ve met a few times. I’m Julian,” he introduced, for at least the fourth time.

“Right. Right, I know you. Okay, hi! Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Julian insisted, and a smile worked its way back onto his face. He couldn’t undo the way his brows had knitted together but Myles was a familiar face in an unfamiliar place, and the absurdity of it all was enough to make him forget how anxious he was getting here.

“I think you’ve said that before,” Myles guessed, and when Julian only smiled politely, Myles laughed again. “I’m sorry. It’s not you, I promise.”

Myles tapped his head. “It’s all in here, somewhere. Not usually when I need it. So–hey,” Myles shifted twice in quick succession, the first to sit on his ankle, and then his knee. He leaned forward like he had a secret to share, but they were too far away so instead he asked, “Can I sit next to you?”

“Oh–yeah, okay.” Julian smiled again, a little more nervous than before, but Myles was one of the least intimidating adults he’d ever met. The only time he’d ever felt like he should be worried around Myles was when he was too close to stairs.

Or chairs, maybe. As soon as Myles got up, his shoe caught the leg of a chair. He stumbled, caught himself, and then hopped a few steps before collapsing into the chair one seat away from Julian. He propped himself up on his elbow, leaning on the arm rest, and immediately set about tying the shoelace he hadn’t realized was undone.

“Sorry,” Myles said quickly, but asked in the same low tone he’d attempted a moment ago, “What are you here for?” He eyed the form but didn’t bother trying to read it. And then, slightly more serious, “Are you in trouble?”

“Oh! No,” Julian answered quickly. He lifted the clipboard to reveal an expensive looking leather wallet in his lap. “I found this when I was walking home. I’m here to turn it in.”

Myles exhaled again, long and dramatic, and his body folded over like a weight had melted off of him. “Oh, good. I was worried someone was bothering you or something. I didn’t think you were the sort to get in trouble.”

“Oh, that’s good.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I try not to.”

“You don’t come to the police station often, do you?” Myles asked, trying for the third time to knot his shoe properly. He might have been able to do it if he was watching what he was doing, but he was making too much of an effort to hold Julian’s gaze.

It was harder for Julian than it was for Myles. “Um, no,” Julian answered. “Do you?”

“Oh, all the time.”

Julian didn’t have to ask; Myles offered the information quickly. “Well, my brother works here.”

“Oh. Here?” Julian asked, glancing around the room and then back at Myles, who had finally succeeded in tying one shoe only to discover the other one was loose enough that it needed his attention too.

“Yeah, here. He’s in back. I brought him lu–” Myles paused and patted himself down. He glanced at the floor, at the chair next to him–at the chair he left. A plastic bag of food was still sitting in the seat he let it in so he sprung up to grab it before returning to Julian. “Lunch.”

He sat the food in the chair between them. “I don’t like to leave it at the front desk because it doesn’t always actually get to him. So I’m just waiting for him. He won’t be long.”

“Oh, that’s nice. I think they’re busy today.”

“They are, yeah. But I don’t mind waiting. Have you been here long?”

“No,” Julian lied. “Just a few minutes.”

“Oh, okay. Good. Sometimes they take forever here, if it’s not an emergency.”

“Oh?”

Myles nodded. “I used to spend a ton of time here as a kid. I’d see people sit here for an hour. I mean, I’d sit here for an hour. Or more. Sometimes I can go hang out at Jeremy’s desk but it’s not as cute now that I’m not fourteen,” he laughed. “And he’s so Mr. Serious, you know? So I have to let him do his job. Sometimes he forgets to eat. And also I might have accidentally eaten the lunch he packed for a midnight snack. So I wanted to do something nice. I can wait a few minutes. Are you hungry? I brought extra.”

“Oh–no,” Julian said quickly, “But it does smell good. Thank you.”

“You’re so polite,” Myles mused, picking through his bag to pull out a few french fries. “I bet your parents are really proud of you. Not every kid would come turn in a lost wallet they found. Is there a lot of money in it?”

Julian’s smile tightened. “Some.”

“See? The kids I grew up around weren’t like that at all. Actually, they didn’t have to wait to find a wallet on the ground, sometimes they’d take it right out of your pocket.”

“Oh?”

Myles nodded, leaning back in the chair. He scanned the room in a way that felt familiar to Julian. Myles was jittery, tired of waiting but also unable to sit still. His hair was tied up in a sloppy ponytail. He was wearing an assorted collection of colorful bracelets, mostly rubbery. Some were worn thin, like he’d pinched and rolled them too much.

He wore colorful barrettes shamelessly, and none of his necklaces matched each other or anything else. He dressed like he wanted to wear every color at once and he wasn’t ashamed of it. Myles’ shirt was striped, black and forest green, and his sleeves were too long and stretched out but rolled up to his wrists.

Julian was dressed much warmer; he wore a thick white turtleneck and a pale blue button up over top, half buttoned, but neatly tucked into the brown pants that matched the jacket Talia had gotten him last winter. The gloves in his pocket were probably a little excessive but he'd been cold even before the leaves started turning. He'd been sick three times already and it wasn't even winter yet.

He didn’t know what his body was doing, but he didn’t want to give it any more reason to overreact.

As if Myles had read his mind, he absently rubbed his arms to warm up. The lobby wasn’t that cold–not with everyone running around–but they were close to the door.

“Yeah,” Myles answered. “Me and Jeremy used to live in this apartment complex. Well–no, I mean, first we lived with my dad, but after my mom died, we moved out of the house. Well, Jeremy left, and I didn’t see him for a few months, but me and dad moved to this gross little apartment complex. I don’t know why, we could have afforded the–well, no, he wanted to leave the house, you know? Because that’s where mom–anyway.” Myles spoke quickly, though not so fast that Julian couldn’t keep up. Myles was just easily distracted by other trains of thought. “After Jeremy graduated from the academy, he came and got me, and we moved to another apartment. Arguably a worse one, but don’t tell him I said that. I liked being with him so it didn’t matter. You know, we’d probably still live there if it weren’t for Atticus’ dad? The teacher.”

Julian hadn’t known, but he nodded politely, so Myles continued.

“He helped pick it out, too. He and my brother are friends. I think.” Myles leaned back in his seat and contemplated briefly before shrugging. “Well, they go back a ways, in any case. I’m glad things worked out the way they did. Sorry, I got off track. What was I saying?”

“Oh, um. You were bringing your brother lunch.”

“Oh, right. Yes, that’s what I was saying. Did I already offer you some?”

“Yes, thank you. But I’m okay. I don’t think I’ll be here for much longer.” He hoped.

Myles nodded. “If no one comes out before my brother, he’ll help.”

“Oh–thank you, but I don’t want to bother him. Especially if you’re here to visit him. And you brought lunch.”

“What?” Myles tilted his head. “He won’t mind. I don’t think it’s supposed to take this long. Don’t worry.”

Julian was appreciative, of course, and he was already so overwhelmed that he would have been happy just to hand over the paperwork and wallet and run off. The chatter should have been overwhelming too but there was something oddly grounding in it.

Myles didn’t seem like he had a care in the world here. He didn’t look up when there was shouting, didn’t jump when something scraped. He just leaned close to Julian like they were sharing a secret.

It wasn’t in Julian’s nature to argue, so he didn’t. He just smiled again and offered soft thanks before falling quiet.

Myles didn’t let silence grow between them. He eyed the bag hooked to Julian’s arm and immediately recognized the logo. “Are you crafting something?”

Julian looked like someone had caught him in a trap and sat up quickly. His eyes darted to the bag and then to Myles, and then the words caught up and he relaxed again. “Oh, yes, sorry. I mean, not really. It’s sort of–well, no. It’s just something to do with my hands.”

“Oh, that counts. I used to tear paper up into little shapes. I tried to make them stars but I just couldn’t get it. And then I’d tape the paper back together.”

“Oh, that sounds fun.”

Myles tilted his head and laughed. “Yes, you get it! It passed the time. And it was free. And I needed something to do with my hands. Sometimes I still do. I’m sorry, did you say what you were making?”

“Um, not exactly. But,” Julian paused and peeled back the bag so Myles could see the large pack of multicolor pipe cleaners.

Myles looked, nodded, and then watched Julian expectantly. Despite his efforts at attentiveness, he was oblivious to Julian’s pink cheeks. With minimal jittering, Myles waited patiently.

The answer didn’t come quickly. Julian floundered for words. “Well,” he said finally, “I used to–sometimes the–well, they keep these in…Sorry, hold on.” He reached for his phone.

The phone looked normal enough, and the case, too. Neither stood out, aside from being in excellent condition.

But Myles recognized the unique shape of the home button, and the custom logo that flashed across the screen when Julian unlocked his phone. The background was a simple pattern–pale purple with gold stars, and the silhouette of a familiar cat face.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, and fumbled to pull out his phone, too. He searched three pockets–left, right, and then left again, where he found his phone. His case was badly scraped and covered in stickers. He unlocked his on the second try and tilted the screen so Julian could see the animated white cat run across the screen while his home page loaded.

Julian’s background was calm and peaceful; Myles’ showed a large white cat napping under a rainbow. The cat’s tail twitched, and the rainbow alternated colors.

In both cases, it was very obvious that Soleiyu was involved.

There was a brief moment where worry flashed across Julian’s features. He’d known Myles was a Senshi, so it wasn’t surprising that he would also know Soleiyu, but it took a few seconds for the relief to kick in.

“Sorry,” Myles said quickly. “You were–oh! No, I’m holding on, sorry. I remember.”

“I took pictures,” Julian explained quickly. His smile was softer now and his shoulders not so square. The animated Soleiyu on Myles’ phone stretched and rolled over. When Myles poked the screen, little butterflies fluttered. The animated Soleiyu pawed at them.

“Of your crafts?”

“Kind of.” Julian drew in a breath. “Yes,” he corrected. “Sorry. I don’t really–I’m not a big crafter or anything. Um, sometimes I think better when my hands are moving. And final exams are coming up, and I’m studying a lot.”

“Okay, I follow.” Myles leaned in eagerly.

Julian was less open with his phone than Myles. He didn’t have many pictures to go through so it only took him a few seconds to find one. Shyly, he tilted his screen, and as if to brace for disappointment, he preemptively explained, “I just do it for me. They’re not very good. I’m a little rusty.”

The picture obviously wasn’t meant to be focused on the pipe cleaner flowers; they were a little blurry and out of focus. In the center of the picture was a nearly empty bag of pipe cleaners, like the picture was meant to take stock of what was left rather than on what was made.

“I used to play with them more when I was–well, a few years ago. And then just every now and then. I don’t know why I got really into it again lately.”

He knew. He’d been picking at his nails, feeling antsy and on edge, as if something were about to go wrong. He couldn’t figure out what, and trying to guess only made it worse.

Myles was looking at the screen, but Julian’s attention shifted to his thumb, and the red tracks from where he’d peeled back hangnails. He adjusted his phone slightly so it could rest in his palm, and curled his thumb to tuck it out of sight.

“Oh,” Myles said, with a type of energy too impulsive to fake. “I’ve seen tutorials for these online. Did you follow the videos?”

Julian didn’t look up. “Videos?”

“Tutorials? I always wanted to learn. I mean, I’d like to try. But I’m not so good with my hands. I like to watch other people work.”

“Oh. I didn’t watch any tutorials. I think you can just play with them. If you mess around enough, um, you figure out how to make shapes you like. Would you like some? I got a big bag.”

“No, no,” Myles insisted quickly, but he hadn’t peeled his eyes from the screen. “I’d just ruin them. You didn’t use a tutorial?”

Julian swallowed. “Um. No. Should I? I wasn’t trying to–I mean, someone did teach me, a long time ago. How to make a daisy. The other stuff is just–I mean, it’s trial and error. Or guessing. Or if you look at a shape, um. I’m sorry. I think I’m rambling a little. It’s probably not very interesting.”

“No, no,” Myles repeated. “I think it’s neat. I can’t look at something and make it. I mean–I make candles. I really like your flowers. What’s the–this round one, the green one?”

“Oh, a wreath. I was practicing something different. I mean, I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about–well, the holidays are coming up, and–”

“It’s good. I like it. Do you have more pictures?” Myles asked, with such enthusiasm that Julian pressed a knuckle to the screen to swipe to the next image. It was similar to the first, only it was a different bag, with a different assortment.

Myles nodded approvingly. “You made a lot of these. You said you only just started up again recently…?”

“Um, yeah. I mean, a few weeks ago.”

“You must be studying really hard.”

Julian laughed, soft and uncertain. He nodded. “Yeah, I have been.”

“What do you do with them when you’re done?”

“Um, well. I don’t know what I’m going to do with them. I need to figure it out, though. My drawer is getting really full. I’ve just been putting them there for now. I didn’t really think that far ahead.”

“Have you thought about selling them?”

Julian’s brows knitted, and he laughed again–less honest this time, but still polite. “No, I don’t think they’re very good. Um, I didn’t–I mean, I wasn’t really…It was just to keep my hands busy, so…”

“But you aren’t going to throw them away, right?”

“Um. Well…” Julian hadn’t had a plan. He chewed on the inside of his cheek and shrugged, but he shook his head, too. “No?”

“Good! You could give them as gifts,” Myles suggested, hugging the bag of food to his chest like he was trying to absorb all the warmth.

“I–it’s too many. I don’t know enough people to take them all. I think they’d only keep them out of politeness. I’d feel bad making them do that.”

“Do you think they’re bad?” Myles asked, tilting his head. “I think they look good. It’s the sort of thing you’d see at a craft fair. And I go to a lot of those.”

“Um. I don’t know,” Julian said, so quietly that Myles almost leaned closer to hear if he said more. He didn’t.

“Well, think about it some. I bet–”

Myles stopped speaking so suddenly that Julian raised his eyes to make sure he was okay. He nearly lowered his phone but Myles suddenly returned to conversation, as animated as ever. “I bet there’s a way to fragrance them.”

Julian didn’t know anything about that, but he nodded anyway.

Myles pondered it for a moment longer and then said, “Can I give you my business card? I mean, Atticus has my number. Well, he knows where I live, too. If you ever want to part with some of your flowers, can I buy them to test on?”

“Oh–you don’t have to pay for–I mean, you can just have some and–”

“No, don’t sell yourself short! I can’t just accept something you put so much time and effort into,” Myles protested.

It didn’t feel like an argument, but Julian still lowered his head, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he smoothed out a wrinkle in his jacket.

“It’s no pressure,” Myles continued, “It’s just in case you decide you want to make space to make more but don’t want to throw out the other ones. But they look really nice, I don’t think it would be fair to ask you for them if I wasn’t paying. Especially if they wound up at my booth.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Julian insisted, little more than a mumble. It was noisy again. He didn’t raise his voice to compete with the ruckus from across the room, where a man had raised his voice at the reception. Julian’s head was low, chin tucked close to his chest and hair falling to almost hide his wince. He covered one ear but it didn’t do much.

Once more, Myles searched his pockets. He pulled out a business card–in surprisingly good condition, considering he’d pulled it from a pocket he’d been sitting on. “Oh, that’s good news! Well–it’s also no pressure. You can change your mind. Jeremy says I get way too ahead of myself. You can tell me if I’m being too much.”

Myles tilted his head back and looked at the ceiling like it had an answer to a question he’d never had to ask.

“Well, no. I know I’m too much. But, here.” He offered the card. “If you’re interested, we can talk. I’d let you know what I was thinking before I did anything, so you could tell me if you didn’t want that. And if you don’t want to plan anything, that’s okay, too! I won’t have hurt feelings if you don’t want to.”

From the corner of his eye, Julian glanced at Myles’s hand, and the card pinched between two fingers.

Like Myles, the card was colorful. Bold. Friendly.

“Um, you’re not too much. Thank you for the card. I’ll think about it,” he promised, pressing the paper flat against his phone and pocketing them together.

“You might, um. Change your mind. If you actually see them. The pictures didn’t do them justice. You can’t see all the mistakes.”

Myles tilted his head. “Is that all you look for when you make them?”

There was no pressure to answer. Myles didn’t keep his eyes glued to Julian; he distracted himself by poking the digital Soleiyu again, watching as more colorful butterflies covered his screen.

“Um.” The silence stretched. Julian laced his fingers together again and rested them atop the clipboard as he drew in a steadying breath. He tried to relax, couldn’t, and then settled for doing his best. “I wasn’t really thinking about the mistakes while I’m making them. No one else, um. Was going to see them. So I wasn’t thinking much about it...”

Myles nodded, slouching in the chair as he made himself comfortable for the umpteenth time. The food was still warm, and the aroma was as enticing as it had been when he first arrived. He helped himself to two fries before closing the bag again. “I make lots of mistakes with my candles and soaps. Lots.” He shrugged. “Sometimes I keep those for myself, or I give them to my friends. Not because I can’t sell them–I could. People like the imperfect ones as much as they like the good looking ones.”

Julian wasn’t quite sure where Myles was going with his story–and maybe Myles wasn’t either–but he tilted his head slightly to watch him better.

“I like the ones that come out with a little bit of character. The ones with funny bubbles, or uneven swirls, or weird shapes? The molds that don’t quite work? Sometimes those are the ones that sell first. Because they’re special. They’re unique. I just want them to go to a good home, too. I don’t even have to discount them most of the time. What was I saying?”

There was little more that Julian could offer more than a helpless expression.

“Oh, right. I was saying that I think art isn’t supposed to be perfect. I think it’s supposed to be human.”

“They’re just pipe cleaners, I don’t know if it counts as art.” Eyes on his hands, he wasn’t really looking at them. He didn’t even realize that he’d started to tug at his hangnails again until he felt a sharp stab in his finger, and another angry stripe from skin he’d peeled off. He forced his hands back together and held them still. “I don’t even think they’re the sort of thing anyone would buy. Or even want to receive as a gift.”

“Really? I’d love if someone made me things like that,” he hummed. “Maybe because I can’t do it myself. Or maybe because someone put in time and effort. Oh, I know you said you just do it to keep your hands busy. But that doesn’t mean it can’t be pretty, too.”

Julian shrugged and fussed with imaginary lint on his sleeve. “Um. Maybe. But–pipe cleaners really aren’t that expensive. Or special.”

“What?” Myles asked. “Well, no. Pipe cleaners aren’t. But neither is wax, but I still make pretty things with it. It’s not about the material, it’s what you do with it. You know?”

“Um, it makes sense.”

Myles smiled but then asked, “You really don’t show anyone the things you make?”

“No, not really. I only do it in my room, at my desk.”

“Are you afraid someone is going to say something bad about them?”

Julian was taken a bit off guard and glanced up briefly, but Myles was as bright eyed and smiley as always. “Maybe a bit,” he finally admitted. “It feels a little, um. Wasteful.”

“Really? But pipe cleaners aren’t that expensive. And it gives you something to do with your hands, so you study better. Right?”

“Um. Yes,” Julian said slowly, like he was trying to predict where Myles was going with it.

Nowhere. Myles just smiled. “Do you have fun doing it?”

“Maybe. I’m not sure.” And yet, he’d chosen to get another pack, because twisting wires was undoubtedly something better to do with his hands than to keep picking at them. “I think so.”

Myles had a few more fries, and tilted from his chair–not like he was impatient or trying to get away, but because it had been several minutes with no sign of his brother, and no officer to help Julian finish up his paperwork, and he was curious about the hold up.

“Well, don’t change what you’re doing if it works for you,” Myles insisted. “I don’t want to make you overthink what you’re working on. Especially since it sounds like it’s just something that you do to relax.”

Julian flashed another smile, something between grateful and relieved and apologetic. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be so weird about it.”

“It’s not weird,” Myles reassured. “And anyway, I sprung it on you. I get chatty when I’m nervous, and I get nervous when they make me wait for too long. Doesn’t matter how many times I come here, I always start to worry, you know, that something bad happened. Or that I’m in trouble. I know I could leave.” He looked at the door. “...But then Jeremy wouldn’t get lunch. And I really want to see him.”

Julian nodded, lifting his head with a touch less caution. “Um, it might be…I mean, I don’t mean to pry, but...Is everything okay?”

“Oh! Yes,” Myles smiled quickly. “Yes, it’s all good. Sometimes, you know. You just miss someone. And I do feel bad about eating his lunch. And he does so much for me. So I wanted to–oh! There he is!”

Eagerly, Myles bounced up. He would have waved if he wasn’t cradling the bag in his lunch.

Jeremy walked from the back, circles under his eyes and an uninspired scowl on his face. It softened as soon as he saw Myles, and shifted into an exasperated grin. “Myles, are you bothering people again?”

“No!” Myles looked at Julian for backup.

Julian sat up straight, back pressed to the plastic of the chair, and shook his head. His eyes were back on the form.

“Uh-huh,” Jeremy said slowly, unconvinced.

“He’s one of Atticus’ friends.”

“Huh,” Jeremy looked him over. Julian’s gaze remained lowered. “Which one?”

“Julian. He found a wallet. Are you busy? He’s been waiting forever.”

Julian shook his head, as if to promise Jeremy it hadn’t been that long. Only–

Well, thirty-two minutes wasn’t so bad. He didn’t mind.

“Yeah, things have been crazy all day,” Jeremy answered. “I’ll take care of it, did you fill out the form?”

“Um, yes, sir. I think. I can fix it.” Julian held out the clipboard. The wallet was balanced between his knees. He pressed the palms of his hands flat against his thighs.

Jeremy scanned the paper in under a minute. “No, this looks good. You got it all right. Sorry about the wait, it usually doesn’t take this long.”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

Jeremy could think of a hundred other things a kid his age might rather be doing than sitting in a police station, waiting. “Well, it’s a nice day. Someone ought to be out enjoying it. Did you log everything that was in the wallet?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take anything out?”

“No, sir.”

When Jeremy held his hand out for the wallet, Julian passed it over quickly. Jeremy flipped through it, briefly comparing what was logged to what was in the wallet. It matched up.

No identification, no cards. Some receipts, some pictures, a few rewards cards–no names. And more cash than Julian was comfortable handling. He was glad to be rid of the wallet.

Julian held his breath, tense and worried as if he’d forgotten something and now Jeremy might think he was lying.

Or worse, Jeremy might think he’d taken something. Or stolen the wallet. Or–

“Looks good, thanks. I’ll get this bagged and get you a receipt. Two minutes. Myles, give me some fries.”

Myles did, and Jeremy took the cup of them and ate them as he went to the front desk.

Julian didn’t relax while he was gone. He watched Jeremy talk to the woman at the reception desk while bagging the wallet and clipping the form to it. He felt jittery again, maybe because he was worried about saying the wrong thing in front of Jeremy. Maybe because he’d just been here for too long.

Maybe because of whatever else was setting him off.

Myles didn’t sit down again; he ate a few fries while waiting for Jeremy. It wasn’t an awkward silence, but without Myles’ chatter, Julian’s attention returned to the discomfort of the station.

The lights seemed brighter. He hadn’t realized how sore his eyes were when he was talking with Myles, or how loud the hum of the LEDs had gotten. The walls felt closer. He pressed his palms harder against his thighs and dug his heels into the ground.

“Thanks for keeping me company,” Myles said suddenly, drawing Julian’s attention back to him. The lights dimmed. The humming softened. The walls stopped closing in.

“Oh–no, thank you,” Julian said quickly. “Um, really. I mean it. This place is, um. Well, I’m not used to it. I’m sorry if I was weird. Thank you for talking with me.”

Myles laughed, in a kind way. “I liked talking with you. Will you take more pictures of your flowers? Even if you don’t want to do anything with them. I think they’re pretty.”

When Julian seemed to hesitate, Myles insisted, “Really. It’s like, hm. Like watching someone solve a math problem? I don’t really understand how you made some of those shapes. I’m not good at math either, though. But it looks good. I bet you’re good at solving problems. Are you good at math?”

“Um,” Julian’s face was warm again. He shook his head. “No, I’m not really good at math. I’m okay at it. But I still need lots of help. And I forget things a lot. But, thank you.”

“Is it test anxiety? I dropped out of high school, I had to get my GED. I couldn’t do the tests. It was just too much pressure.”

“Um, well. Maybe a little,” Julian said quietly. He didn’t expand. Myles didn’t press.

Jeremy was back with the receipt. Half his fries were gone already. “Here you go, keep it for your records. If no one claims it in 90 days, someone should reach out.”

“Um, okay.” Julian accepted the paper but didn’t stand yet. He glanced at Myles and then to Jeremy, and sucked in a breath. “Why?”

“Finders keepers,” Jeremy shrugged. “If no one claims it, it’s yours.”

“Oh–no, but I–I don’t want it,” Julian said quickly. “I didn’t–I just brought it in because I thought–well, it was lost. I thought…I mean, I thought that's what you were supposed to do when you found a lost wallet. Um. Take it to the police. Um. I thought someone would be upset when they found out they were missing their wallet, so…”

Jeremy shook a few more fries into his mouth. “Yeah, you’d think. We’ll have someone see if they can get anything off of the reward cards. Maybe someone will call in about it. Don’t worry about it, nobody’s going to force you to come in and claim it.”

Julian didn’t yet relax, but he was diligently sliding the receipt into the bag fixed to his arm. “Um, okay. Thank you. Is that, um–I mean, am I allowed to…” He glanced towards the door.

“Yeah, go ahead. We’ll call if we need anything. If you don’t pick up, we leave a message,” Jeremy said, tired but distracted by the bag of food Myles was still holding.

Julian didn’t mind. He was glad to have the attention off of him. Despite the desire to leap to his feet, he just slowly stood. His legs tingled and his back was numb. He brushed out his clothes and checked behind him to make sure he hadn’t dropped anything.

“Um, thank you again,” he said, to both brothers. “Have a good day. Um, I’ll–I’ll text, Myles. Is it okay if I think about it a little more?”

“Yeah, of course,” Myles said. He was holding open the bag and Jeremy was already digging through it. “Like I said, it’s no pressure. Promise.”

Julian flashed one more smile before he took a cautious step backwards. “Um, okay. Thank you,” he said, again, and waved slightly. “It was nice to see you again.”

“I’ll remember your name next time,” Myles promised, like had the last time, too.

But Julian didn’t mind that he forgot. Being forgettable wasn’t so bad. And Myles wasn’t mean about it.

He was nice every time they met.

Julian smiled, less strained than before, and backed up towards the door. It took him three steps before he turned to face it, and he watched the ground as he took steady, paced steps.

Jeremy had been right–it was gorgeous outside.

A pretty blue sky with powdery white clouds, and a cool breeze.

No electric hum, no loud voices, no tight walls.

He drew in one great breath–the first to actually fill his lungs since he’d found the wallet.

He held it. He released it.

It was a nice day, but it already felt so long.

He was ready to be home.