WHEN RUTH WOKE UP, THE SUN WAS BRIGHT AND SHINING THROUGH HER CURTAINS. She groaned softly as she turned away from the window, sighing when she couldn't escape, stumbling out of bed, dragged back into the depths of sleep as she closed the thicker curtains and shades, blocking out all the light, and she had to wonder who kept sneaking into her room to open them every day because it certainly wasn't her.

Falling back onto her bed, she sighed, settling into a feeling of wanting to sleep, but too awake to do so, her eyes hurting and body sluggish, yet her mind just barely active enough to warrant movement.

She groaned, turning to lie on her stomach, opening her heavy eyes to find the food that she had brought up from earlier that morning, everything coming back to her in the split second it took for her to fully acknowledge her existence. It was a slight change, but enough to tire her out instantly, dropping her face back into her pillow, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep and stay there forever; somehow, she had managed to sleep without any dreams, and those nights were few and far between.

Moving onto her side, Ruth tried to relieve the heaviness in her eyes; she didn't have anything to do that day—it was summer, so she didn't have anything to do any day—but considering the events of the night before, she suspected that she was going to be called to the lab to be tested on or questioned, and since she wouldn't have much of a say, she might as well have some energy when they came for her.

As she laid there, she couldn't help but let her mind wander, her heart aching as she allowed herself to think, her eyes still closed as she imagined the room she was in now, but different, herself different as well. Everything so much different.

"What's going on, Ruth Dakin Bailey?"

The pain in her chest bloomed as Ruth imagined him lying there. She had slept over at his house so many times that it wasn't a stretch to imagine how he would be there now, her bed at the mansion bigger than the one at either of their homes.

She wasn't quite sure what his clothes were, they were more of a blur than anything else, but it was enough. She figured he was wearing the special jacket that he always loved, the jacket that he wore so much yet not at all, always too afraid that he would wear it on the wrong day and wind up with it destroyed. She could see his bright eyes and the way his nose would curve up if he smiled wide enough and how his lips would cover part of his teeth depending on how he smiled.

"I'm tired," she whispered to the empty room, because talking in her head was nothing compared to speaking out loud, no matter how much more painful it was when it was over.

She flipped onto her stomach, screwing her eyes shut as she buried her face in her pillow, imagining that she was still on her side, watching as he stood up and made his way around her room, examining everything that he would never get to see.

"Sweet digs you got here, Ruthie," he commented, because he always knew how to make her feel better, even if it was just changing the subject, and she had never wanted him with her more than she did in that very moment, "It's nicer than what we had before. What're you gonna do now?"

She imagined herself sitting up—imagined that she had the energy to do so—watching him make his way towards the curtains, peeking past them to look outside. "I don't know, I don't wanna do anything. I can't do anything."

He turned around, giving her a lopsided smile. "Yeah, 'cept burn stuff."

It was as if she had been punched in the gut, and Ruth debated opening her eyes and starting the entire scene over again, just barely stopping herself in order to imagine looking him in the eye, feeling tears begin to form. "Not funny, Lionel."

His smile didn't waver, simply changed, and this was where Ruth knew her mind was starting to run, and she wished she could see him again to remember him better, even just to see him again, but she knew better than to think it would happen; all she could do was dream.

"Yeah, yeah, bad joke, sorry," he said, waving his hand dismissively, moving to lie down, his legs dangling over the edge of the bed, hands now behind his head, "But it's true, you know. Just a fact, not a judgement or anything. You gotta get out more, you're getting less funny."

She sighed, far too tired to continue on talking to him. She couldn't even remember if that was a joke he would conceivably make, but she couldn't linger on the thought too much; after all, there was no way for her to contact him and check.

So she simply closed her eyes and laid there, feeling her body relax and become lighter, her mind quieting, giving her some form of reprieve. Before she knew it, she was drifting back towards sleep, still aware of the white noise of the world enough that she was unsure of whether or not she was truly asleep until she was startled awake by the distant sounds of thumping.

She sat up, her body shaking as she struggled to adjust to being fully awake, and she tried to remember how to breathe, hoping that would do something to ease the trembling in her nerves, but with no such luck, leaving her sitting on her sheets, reaching for her food with hands to weak to hold them.

She sighed, falling onto her back, which only served to make things worse, and she could only shiver and pull the covers around her shoulders, listening as the thumping grew louder, making its way down the hall towards her door.

"Jean! Jean! Hey, has anyone seen Jean?"

Ruth furrowed her brow, wondering why someone was making such a fuss searching for someone; most of the rooms they were knocking on were empty, what with it being summer vacation, so it wasn't as if they were going to be getting much help, though they weren't going to be getting any as it was, what with all the ruckus.

But then there was a loud thud and groan, and Ruth didn't quite know what happened, but it didn't sound nice. She winced as they seemed to throw themselves against the wall, continuing to knock, their voice growing more desperate.

"Hey, come on, please! Has anyone seen Jean? Or Hank or Storm or someone? Hello?"

Ruth only recognized one of those names, but it was enough to have her sitting up, her curiosity peaked at who this could be; she didn't know anyone else at the mansion, but considering how her day had been going so far, it seemed like she would have to get used to having more people around; she didn't mind Alex, he seemed nice, and it was a shame that she wasn't going to be eating the muffin he had given her.

She was startled out of her thoughts by the sound of knocking on her door, the person continuing to call for help. Despite herself, Ruth couldn't just leave them out there; the least she could do was tell them that, no, she didn't know where anyone was.

Climbing out of her bed, she made her way towards the door, and as she drew closer, she heard the sounds of what seemed like sliding against the wood, the pounding on the door seeming more like slaps, and she had to wonder who this person was; she wasn't quite sure she wanted to know.

Reaching for the handle, she pulled the door open, stepping to the side just in time to watch a boy fall into her room, sprawling out onto the ground, his hands thrown out in front of him, unsuccessfully breaking his fall.

Ruth blinked down at him, watching as he groaned, his hands scrambling for purchase on the ground, and she would have gone to help him if she wasn't trying to remember that she was, in fact, a sentient human being capable of conscious thought and intentional action, too startled to remember anything of the sort.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of silence, the boy spoke up, his cheek pressed against the floor, muffling his words. "Uh...hello?"

Ruth's arm twitched sharply, falling back against her side as she moved forward, bending down and grabbing at the boy's left arm. "Sorry, hi, um...are you okay?"

The boy groaned, raising his other hand towards his face, stumbling as he tried to find his balance, unwittingly forcing Ruth to steady him herself, watching as he covered his eyes, his eyebrows furrowed to the point that she wondered if he was in pain.

"No, I'm not. Hey, do you have a bandana or towel or something, I need to cover my eyes," he said, his free hand blindly grasping at the air, accidentally swiping at Ruth's face, his short nails scratching at her cheek.

"Hey!" she cried, stumbling back and holding her face, feeling a spike of anger rise in her chest, directly followed by a pang of pure fear, eyes searching for a quick escape should things go south.

Fortunately, it seemed that the fear displaced the anger, and she was able to head towards her closet, rummaging around for what the boy asked for; it was only when she procured an ugly blue scarf that had been gifted to her by Hank when she was first brought to the mansion without so much as another pair of clothes that she wondered why she was following the orders of a boy who had fallen into her room and scratched her face.

"Sorry, did I scratch you?" the boy asked, his apology far too delayed for it to be accepted, and Ruth only huffed, pushing the scarf into his hands, "Thank you. Seriously, I appreciate this."

She softened at that, if only for a moment, watching as he screwed his eyes shut, pulling away his hand to spread the scarf, only relaxing when the fabric was covering his eyes, his hands moving to tie it behind it head, Ruth wincing as she saw his hair and skin move on account of how tight it was.

When he deemed the scarf secure, he lowered his arms, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Thanks. I'm facing at you, right?"

Ruth couldn't help but laugh as the boy faced the exact opposite direction, turned towards the wall rather than where she stood by her bed. The sound caught his attention, and the boy's lips twitched as he moved to face her, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck.

The two fell into an uncomfortable silence, and Ruth wondered if she was supposed to say something; she couldn't imagine why, the boy had barged into her room, he should be the one explaining himself.

It seemed he realized that around the same time she did, as he cleared his throat, his hand never leaving the back of his neck as he faced his shoes, his cheeks turning pink. "Sorry about, uh, just coming in here. My glasses weren't where they usually were and I couldn't find anyone to help me. I panicked."

Ruth frowned, glad that the boy couldn't see her because she was sure that she didn't look all that sympathetic; he made all that noise because he couldn't find his glasses?

"Have we met?" the boy asked when it was clear Ruth wasn't going to say anything.

"No," she replied, now her turn to rub the back of her neck, "I moved in a bit ago and, um, I just stay in my room, I don't really want to meet anyone."

"Oh," the boy hummed, and Ruth's brows furrowed, trying to understand what he meant by that, "That makes sense, some people transition a lot easier than others. I mean, a lot happened when I first showed up, but I was fine. But I've heard stuff..."

Ruth sighed, crossing her arms, her patience with this boy growing rather thin. "Yeah, it's been hard. You can hold onto that scarf until you find your glasses."

"Can you help me find them?" he asked, just when she was about to reach for the door to signal him to leave, "I can't open my eyes and I can't find anyone else to help me and I really need them."

"Is your eyesight really that bad?" she asked, because she was too tired and too upset to be nice, and feeling guilty seemed like a problem for Future Ruth who had the energy to care.

The boy laughed at that, and Ruth was unsure if he was laughing at her or the situation, but she didn't like it either way. Before she could say anything, he explained, "I shoot concussive beams out of my eyes. Without my glasses, this entire place could come crashing down."

He seemed strangely pleased about the fact, like he had authority over her, and Ruth couldn't stop herself before proclaiming, "My hair turns into a candle, you're not that special."

That seemed to catch him off guard, and Ruth allowed herself the split second of pride before deflating, her words sounding less clever and more embarrassing with every passing moment and she tried to save herself, adding, "And I guess I've got wings now, so there's that too."

"Wings?" he repeated, his curiosity piqued, and Ruth didn't know what to say to that; after all, she didn't know anything more about it than he did just now.

"Here, I'll help you find your glasses, let's go," she said, making her way out of her room, only remembering that he couldn't see when she heard him crashing into the wall by her closet, just barely missing the way out the door.

It was mean to laugh, she knew that, but she hadn't laughed in so long, and seeing a teenage boy wearing an ugly blue scarf around his head, crashing so confidently into a wall, was the funniest thing she had ever seen, and it felt so nice to laugh at him.

"Ha ha," he deadpanned, rubbing his head as he reached out in front of him, running his hand along the wall as he made his way towards the door, "Real funny, candlestick, once I find my glasses..."

"Oh, I'm so scared, he's gonna see," Ruth taunted, and for a brief moment it was as if she was back home, back with Lionel walking down the halls to their next class, back where nothing was perfect, but she still had what was hers.

But the moment passed as quickly as it came, and Ruth was left with a hollow feeling in her chest and a foreign tug at the corners of her lips, her smile disappearing and leaving in its place a dimming light that no one there had a chance to see, her heart twisting with a guilt so strong that it led her back towards her room, stopped only by the body standing in her way.

"Are we going?" the boy asked, hearing her step towards him, reaching his hand out, "Just tell me which way and I'll follow the walls, you don't need to hold my hand."

"I wasn't planning on it," she mumbled, the edge to her words nonexistent, nothing more than a shell, just like their speaker.

If the boy noticed the change, he made no indication of it, instead just following her as she made a sound for him to follow, his hand reaching out and latching onto the wall, his body leaned towards it, feet tripping over each other as he made his way along.

Drained of the short burst of energy she had found, Ruth began to trail behind him, hoping that he would just continue on his own and she could simply make sure that he was going in the right direction so she could have an faster time heading back to her room, but it seemed that the universe wasn't done punishing her; she wasn't surprised.

"You okay?" the boy asked, turning around to face in her general direction, and she sighed heavily, trying to jog over towards him, though she didn't move any faster than she would have regardless.

"What's wrong?" he pressed as they walked together, Ruth trying to move faster and him moving much slower, the two leaned opposite each other against the walls.

Ruth didn't even know where to begin.

"Everything," she whispered, leaning fully against the wall, trying to pick her feet up as her body began to make its way to the ground, too tired to try and hold her own weight.

"Hey, it can't be that bad," the boy said, and Ruth couldn't expect anything else out of a teenage boy—Lionel would have said the exact same thing—"Everything works out, it'll be fine. Is it your parents, I know not everyone's too accepting when their kids' mutations manifest, some of the kids told me stories, but they all come around in the end."

Ruth scoffed, shaking her head. "God, I wish it was that easy. I can't even talk to my parents."

"Why not?" he asked, and Ruth didn't respond, not at all interested in baring her heart and soul out to a complete stranger wearing her scarf around his eyes.

The boy looked ready to try again, but after a few moments of walking with his mouth open, he seemed to think better of it and closed his mouth, the two falling into an uncomfortable silence as they continued along the hall. It was completely empty, hardly anyone staying for the summer, so there were no issues when it came to his fingers brushing over the doors and handles of various rooms.

As he went along, he began to drift from the wall, his palm lifting first, then the majority of his fingers, leaving only the tips to brush against the wallpaper and wood, dancing just above them at times, now more towards the middle of the hall, closer to Ruth whose knees were starting to move inwards.

"When I discovered my mutation, I tore up my school's bathroom and knocked out a kid in my class. I mean, he deserved it, but still, it messed everyone up. That's why my brother took me here," he explained, cutting through the silence, and Ruth couldn't be bothered to fully listen, only nodding along with what he said, though she had startled at the mention of school, but tamped down the memories as soon as they surfaced.

Wrestling with her mind, Ruth desperately fought to find some way to interrupt them. She often spoke to herself while in the comfort of her room, blurting out nonsense that, should anyone here, would have her sent immediately to the Professor for testing, which didn't help considering she wasn't alone.

"Where are we supposed to look for your glasses?" she asked instead, remembering why she was walking in the first place; it was a start, but she needed a better distraction than that.

"I couldn't find them in my room, but I can't think of anyone who would take them, so we better just start there," he said, pausing as he grabbed a door handle, "Can you tell me what room I'm at now?"

Ruth looked over to where he was standing underneath the bronze numbers that, as Hank explained it to her, had been added onto the doors when the mansion was reopened as a school two decades prior, and they decided to renumber then when they rebuilt the past fall.

"214," she read out, finding that it took much out of her to try and speak, but it was enough to break her thoughts for a moment, and the boy hummed, continuing down the hall without another word.

He walked with more purpose, brows furrowed in concentration as he paused as he ran his fingers over another door, mumbling to himself as he wracked his brain to try and remember the layout of the doors, and Ruth allowed herself to watch blankly, as if he were a program on television.

"226," she called out, and the boy startled, stopping in his tracks, but before she could apologize, he motioned in front of him with his finger.

"Okay, we're nearly there, can you stop me when we get to 235, that one's mine," he asked, starting to move faster, more confident now that he had a working pair of eyes, fingertips just barely touching the wall and doors now.

Ruth hurried after him, not any more energized, but distracted enough to not lose any more of what she had, just clinging on and moving forward, which was all she had been doing since she arrived. Though now, she had something to head towards, which, at the moment, was the room of a boy with an ugly blue scarf around his eyes, searching for a pair of glasses.

"You're right across from it now," she said, as he was standing on the opposite side of the hall.

Reaching out, she turned the knob and pushed it open, nearly tripping over the lamp and other items strewn about, as if knocked over, and considering the way the boy had been walking along the hall, they most likely were.

"Great, so I'm thinking they're probably—ow!"

Ruth whirled around from where she stood to find the boy bent over, furiously rubbing at his forehead from where he had, once again, crashed, this time on the doorframe, a mere two inches away from where he was meant to go, his shoulder being the only thing to catch had he been able to stumble in that way.

She couldn't help snicker as she watched him, stifling them with her hand, soft enough to be mistaken for breaths if not for their rhythm, and they weren't strong by any means, and she couldn't feel it in her chest, but it was entertaining enough to garner a smile reaction despite herself.

"Laugh it up," the boy grumbled, finally making it into the room, turned sideways to avoid knocking into anything else, his hand reaching out to find the wall, hissing when his fingers hit against the wall as he miscalculated just how far away he was.

"If you insist," she hummed, and there was just enough bite as last time, but there was a bit more life; not much more, but something.

Crossing her arms, she looked out towards the room. Whereas hers was undecorated, his was anything but, covered with posters from magazines and records, and pictures of himself and others that she didn't recognize. She didn't stare at the pictures for too long, averting her gaze, but it wasn't hard to tell that he wasn't lonely.

Despite expectations, his room was rather neat. While there were many things, they all seemed to have a place. His posters and pictures were all aligned on his walls, and his closet was partly opened, revealing an organized array of clothes—shocking for a teenage boy. His bed was unmade, unsurprising considering his predicament, and whatever was on his side table had been shoved onto the floor, and the same could be said for his desk which, from the looks of the items still resting on top and the ones strewn just around, was most likely the messiest thing that could be found on a regular day.

"Nice record player," she murmured, looking towards the corner where a small table sat, a small collection residing underneath in the cut out.

"Thanks," he said, turning to face that exact direction, and he seemed so comfortable in the room that she didn't know what to do with herself; it was as if she had stepped into his home, something that could never be said of her own.

The boy groaned softly as he moved down onto his hands and knees, crawling slowly as he pawed at the ground, gnawing at his bottom lip as his brow furrowed to the point where it couldn't even be seen behind the scarf.

"Where would it be?" she asked, figuring that she should at least pretend to help, moving closer towards the side table, picking up the picture frames and lamp that had been knocked over.

"They're always on the edge of the table, so maybe I knocked them over in my sleep. So they're either by the window, across the room, or under the bed?" he offered, sitting up on his knees, seeming to survey the layout behind the scarf, and Ruth paused to stare at him; he knew it so well it was as if it was truly his room, and it was off-putting in ways she couldn't very well explain.

Standing up, she peered past him, finding nothing along the wall that he had pointed towards, but allowed him to crawl over there regardless; it wasn't her room or her glasses, so she was willing to let him use his energy to search for something that wasn't there; she didn't have enough energy to do all the work for him.

"It's not by the window," she said, picking up a few other fallen items, placing them haphazardly on the desk, "Are you sure it'd be under your bed?"

"I mean, it's the only place I could think, but it's not like I can look around to see," he pointed out, and Ruth, miffed by his tone, seized the opportunity to act without consequence, crossing her eyes and mocking him silently, sticking her middle finger up at him, the boy facing her blankly.

"I'll look under your bed, maybe you threw it around and it's just somewhere around," she suggested, wanting nothing more than to watch him hit his head against the wall or, at the very least, waste his energy.

She wasn't always so cruel, but she was far too tired to be kind.

Groaning softly, already tired from bending down and standing back up, she tilted her head, peering underneath the bed into the shadowy depths that, when she was younger, terrified her to no end, having heard from her classmates about the monsters that lurked in the shadows.

It was then that she remembered what had occurred the night prior that led to this very situation, and she felt her blood turn to ice and her heart drop to her twisting stomach, her breath catching.

She felt herself start to heat up, her heart racing, and the panic began to settle as she felt her skin begin to crawl, a warm sensation starting along the back of her neck, continuing along to the tips of her fingers and toes, her hair doing the same.

"Ow!"

Ruth was hardly able to stifle a scream as she was startled out of her reverie by the boy who had hit his head against the wall after crawling towards his closet, continuing to search for his glasses, the hand that had been pawing at the ground now rubbing at the top of his head.

Ruth blinked furiously, trying to remember what Hank had said about taking deep breaths as she peered back down underneath the bed, squinting to search for the glasses despite not knowing what they looked like.

Fortunately, he didn't seem to be hiding anything underneath his bed, so it was easy to spot the strange item in the very center of the bed, too far to reach, especially if one couldn't see it in the first place; no wonder he had missed it.

"I think it's here, but it's really far," she said, looking around for something to use, but she didn't have to move, the boy standing up for her.

"Here," he began, reaching out towards his closet, yelping when his fingers crashed against the wall, but foraging on, opening the door and running his hand clumsily along the tops of the hangars until he found an empty one.

Ruth yelped as he tossed it over towards her, the hangar soaring over her head and colliding with the wall, clattering onto the ground by the desk while Ruth tried not to let her heart rate pick up too much, lest she burn the room to the ground.

"Shoot, sorry," he called, starting forward, only for his hip to catch on the edge of the bed which lurched forward from the impact, hitting Ruth's shoulder and the side table, the items on top shaking.

"Don't move," she commanded, scrambling to her feet and picking up the hangar, sliding back down before falling flat on her stomach, adjusting her grip on the hangar, trying to get to the strange looking glasses.

It wasn't an easy feat, her arm starting to ache, her shoulder screaming from where the bed frame was digging into her skin, and she couldn't help the grunts and whimpers and whines that filled the room as she struggled to reach the glasses.

After what felt like hours of work, she was finally able to get the glasses out, skidding from underneath the foot of the bed, and she instantly relaxed, all the tension dissipating, leaving her worn out and in desperate need of a nap.

"Got it," she called out breathlessly, "It's in front of the bed."

"Oh thank God," he exclaimed, rushing from where he had been leaning against the bed with his face pressed against the covers, lowering onto his hands and knees, careful not to crush his glasses as she searched for them, letting out a cry of victory as he picked them up, feeling for the familiar visor-like shape.

Because she was still on the ground trying to breathe, Ruth didn't see him removing the scarf from his face, eyes screwed tightly shut as he adjusted the visor in his hands, the crease between his brows disappearing only when the glasses were secure and over his eyes.

"Oh God, this place went to shit," the boy grumbled, placing his hands on his hips, "Whatever, I'll fix it later."

Walking around his bed, he found Ruth lying on the ground, all her energy spent, and she didn't even have the care to shift onto her back in order to look up at him, just staring at the space in front of her, catching sight of part of his still open closet.

"Hey," he greeted, hovering over her, "You okay?"

Ruth bit her lip and shook her head, her arm twitching slightly, unable to even pull her legs closer to her. "No, not really."

The boy sighed, moving to sit down next to her, her head a few inches away from her leg, hands folded in his lap. "Thank you for helping me."

"You're welcome," she hummed, her voice so soft it could hardly be heard, but he was close enough that he heard it fine enough, "Try not to lose them again, I might not be here next time."

He laughed at that, more of a breath than anything, and he glanced down at her, the corners of his lips raised, and Ruth shifted slightly, sighing immediately after, though being on her back was much more comfortable than pressing all her weight against her arm and side.

He tilted his head as he looked at her, taking in her pale skin and dark hair, as well as the oversized shirt that didn't seem to belong to her. "What's your name?"

Ruth could hardly open her mouth to speak, too fatigued, and all she could do was glance up towards his visor before allowing her eyelids to slip closed, hoping that her expression seemed apologetic; she didn't want to be rude, she just couldn't do it.

If the boy took offense, he didn't make any indication of it, figuring that he would just introduce himself and hope that she wouldn't completely ignore him. "I'm—"

"Scott!"

The teenagers startled at the loud cry that filled the room, followed by stilted running and the sound of something hitting the ground after every other step, and Ruth felt her heart rate pick up at the sound of more footsteps following, all charging into the room, and she sat up quickly, her head starting to spin.

Then all at once voices started to fill the room, and questions were being thrown around, and they weren't directed towards her, mainly towards the boy, but then her name was being asked by Alex who moved towards her, and she couldn't keep her eyes off his burns so she looked to the side, only to find a group of teenagers all staring at her, and one was blue with a tail, and she shouldn't have cared, she shouldn't have, but his jacket was so familiar and he had fangs instead of teeth, and then suddenly one boy who had been behind him was right in front of her, talking a mile a minute, and all she wanted was to get away.

Before she knew it, there was a pain in her shoulders and smoke in her eyes and screams filling her ears, just as they had before.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

( 07.24.19 )

Can I just say I like the way I incorporated Lionel so much better, everyone was always so confused when he first appeared, I figured that I'd make it clear that he wasn't physically there but Ruth just thinking about him, and I just really like how I wrote him a lot more, I'm gonna hammer out more details later, but it's nice to have a better foundation for his character.

I also didn't expect it, but I also should have because it makes perfect sense that this would happen, especially considering the alterations I made, but Ruth now has undiagnosed depression, as if she couldn't be more of me projecting onto my characters. But in all honesty, it makes perfect sense that she would develop depression, ya'll will see later on.

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!