Alvira Ellsworth listened to the metronome her feet made against the hallway floor as she made her way to her lesson. It was a steady beat, a rhythm she could follow. A rhythm made everything easier to understand.

Alvira had been taking piano lessons for a few years now. She was originally self taught, but her parents had decided she would benefit from professional guidance. She knew she didn't need the lessons, but if it made her parents happy, she could tolerate it.

She clutched her books close to her chest, thankful that the school was all but empty. Most sports teams with after-school practice were no longer in session since the school year was all but over. The only ones who had practice until the last day were rock climbing and fencing. She passed them every day on her way to her lessons when she had to walk past the gym.

Today, she wasn't planning to stop and watch them through the windows on the doors like she did sometimes. (Not in, like, a creepy way, just... observationally.) Key word being wasn't. Her plan didn't go as... planned.

Just as she walked briskly past the door, a boy stumbled out and ran right into her. He was at least a foot taller than her, if not two feet, which was a bit intimidating if she was being honest. The force of the impact knocked her over, and her papers went flying.

The boy was tall enough that he hadn't been knocked over, but Alvira couldn't help but think, You're not going to help me up or anything? Not going to lie, that's a bit rude. "Excuse me," he mumbled as he kept walking. His eyes showed that he wanted to help, but the direction he was walking told a different story. However, her opinion of him changed instantly when she inspected him a bit closer. He was already halfway down the hallway, walking fast, while unzipping his fencing uniform. Through the tank top he was wearing underneath, she could see the obvious wing tattoos that covered his entire upper back in swirls of feathers. The tattoo was almost blinking in and out, as though he was trying to hide it but didn't know how to properly. That boy is an Aviad. And he's clearly not very good at it.

Alvira gathered her sheet music in a disorganized pile and pulled out her phone. She sped down the hallway, having to run to keep up with the boy's fast pace, while shooting her piano teacher a quick email about how she wasn't feeling well and wouldn't be able to make today's lesson. That boy doesn't know what he's doing. He's going to get himself caught, and that could get all of us caught. Although she'd never seen this boy in her Aviad life (which she considered separate from her regular life, almost like an alter ego), she'd seen him around school sometimes. He was always sitting with the popular kids at lunch, always talking with someone, an emotionless mask on his face.

He was rubbing his back now, pressing his shoulder blades together. It was obvious he was in pain.

Maybe he was part of a different flock that they didn't know about. Maybe this was none of her business. But then, maybe this boy hadn't been as lucky as her to know what he was. Against her instincts not to get involved, she knew that it would probably be safer in the long-term if she made sure he was okay.

He reached the exit and threw the double doors open, making a beeline for the woods.

"Hey!" she called when it was clear she wouldn't catch up to him, at least not in this form. He didn't stop. She watched his lanky form disappear into the thick trees.

She sighed to herself as she left her sheet music on a bench outside the school. "This is not my job. Why can't Luke do this? He's a better talker than me." But she knew that this boy needed help now. She was his only option. She still continued to mutter frustratedly to herself until she found him.

He was sitting with his back against a tree and his head between his knees, his hands clasped on the back of his neck. She could see him shuddering, taking in shallow breaths.

"What's your name?" she asked quietly.

He didn't move, didn't try to look at her. "Atlas. And I'm fine. Please go away."

"I'm Alvira," she said anyway. He didn't respond.

Alvira looked around for a minute to make sure no one else was crazy enough to be in the middle of the woods right now. She didn't see anyone, so she said, "Is there something wrong with your wings?"

He looked up at her, surprise written all over him. "What did you say?"

"Your wings," she repeated. "You do... know what they are, don't you?"

Atlas' confusion was plain. Alright then. He has no idea what he is. "I guess that's a no, then."

"How do you know about my wings?" he asked. "When did you see me?"

"I don't have to see your wings to know you have them," she tried to explain. Oh god. My talking skills have not improved past the level of a five year old. What did Sawyer do? What would literally anyone else in the flock do? She found herself wishing she was anyone else other than herself. She wished she had Sabine's confidence or Madison's compassion, and especially Lucy's seemingly bottomless supply of courage.

She thought back to when she'd first discovered she was an Aviad. She'd been terrified. She didn't know what the pain was, why it was happening, or anything, really. Looking back, sneaking out the window and crying in the woods had not been a very mature move on her part, but it was lucky she did. Sawyer had found her, and explained everything. He'd made her feel more comfortable, and she hadn't been afraid anymore. Clearly, his strategy had worked on her. She decided to try what he'd done.

She started to pull her shirt off.

"Woah!" Atlas shouted suddenly, holding his hands in front of his eyes. He turned beet red, flustered. "What are you doing?"

Alvira was wearing a sports bra underneath her t-shirt, and she was thankful for it, too. The straps were positioned just so that her shoulder blades, where her wings were rooted, were free. She never hid her tattoo because she'd never needed to. It was small enough only to cover the top of her back, which meant it was easy to hide underneath a simple shirt when she didn't want it seen. "Relax," she tried telling him. "I'm not stripping for you, idiot. I want to show you something."

Atlas was clearly surprised by her tattoo, since it was probably similar to his own. Alvira took a deep breath, and unfolded her wings. They extended quickly since they were relatively small, but it still felt good to exercise the muscles that had been out of use all day. The Eurasian Jay feathers shone in shades of gray, brown, and blue, reaching towards the tops of the trees. It felt like a good stretch after a few hours of reading: refreshing.

Atlas' eyes widened in wonder. "Oh my gosh. I'm not the only one." He stood unsteadily, never taking his eyes off her wings. "Yours are so beautiful."

"Thanks," she muttered, looking away. She was used to being on the providing end of compliments, and she didn't quite know how to react.

Atlas' hand hovered in the air next to her wings. "Can I touch them?"

She curled her right wing so the tip was right in front of him. He lightly brushed the tips, shivers going down her feathers at his contact.

"This is so cool," Atlas whispered. "I had no idea I wasn't alone. Thank you."

Alvira smiled to herself. You know what, maybe I'm not the best talker, but I think I did okay.

✵✵✵

Atlas Rosenbridge didn't know what he was feeling. For a majority of his life he'd thought he was alone, that he was the only one who had gone through this pain.

He'd hid his wings from everyone: his father, his friends, even from himself. He lay awake at night sometimes telling himself that it wasn't real, that he would wake up in the morning and his mysterious tattoo would be gone.

But this girl... she wasn't bothered at all by her unnatural appendages. She smiled at their freedom, and she unfolded them so naturally, as though she did this every day. He couldn't remember the last time he'd let his wings out of tattoo form.

He was brought out of his thoughts by another flash of pain from his shoulders. He fell to his knees, both arms crossed over his chest as his hands gripped his shoulders madly. Alvira knelt in front of him, her wings splayed out behind her in the sun that fell through the forest leaves like rain.

"Atlas, what's wrong? Where does it hurt?"

He didn't respond. He couldn't. If he opened his mouth, he was sure that the only things that would come out were screams.

"Okay, um..." She bit her lip, thinking. "When was the last time you let your wings out?"

"What?" he gasped between sharp intakes of breath. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Your wings are like any other muscle in your body. They need to be exercised to stay healthy. The pain is a reminder to open them up every once in a while."

Atlas ran a hand over his tattoo. Is that true? These things are hurting me to make me use them? I didn't even want them in the first place. But he thought about Alvira. She smiled when she opened hers like having wings was the greatest thing that had ever happened to her. She was clearly better at this than he was. Maybe he should trust her advice.

His tank top was loose enough that his shoulder blades were uncovered. He was unused to unfurling his wings, but from the few times he'd accidentally done it, he knew what it felt like.

He squeezed his eyes shut and relaxed the muscles he was using to keep his wings away. He felt them peel off his back like a blanket, the feathers soft and tickling his skin. He'd never gotten a good look at them, but in the sunny forest, he could make out the striped patterns of different shades of gray and black. The moment they were at their full length, the pain faded away to nothing more than an unpleasant memory.

Alvira looked impressed. Just like their differing heights, his wings were much larger than hers, his wingspan probably around eight feet while hers was maybe a mere six. He didn't know why, but he was almost embarrassed by his wings. He'd never let anyone see them before, and he had always viewed them as something wrong with him. Why do I care what she thinks of me? I just met her. Maybe it was because her wings were so much more attractive than his.

"So what are they? Why are we like this? Are there more of us?" Atlas couldn't contain all his questions. He wanted to understand why he wasn't like other people, or maybe... why he was like other people, and they'd never approached him.

Alvira pulled her wings back in and pulled her shirt on again. "You probably have a lot of questions, huh? I did too. And I don't think I can answer all of them. At least not right now, right here." She ran a hand through her light brown hair, her other hand on her hip. "You know what would be easier? I have a friend who can explain all of this to you. I have multiple friends, actually, who can explain all of this to you. We're all having dinner together at his place tonight. If you're free, you can come? I mean, only if you want answers. I'm not asking you out or anything." Her head bobbed awkwardly as she spoke. She was obviously uncomfortable inviting people to social events.

"Yeah, sure, I'll come." Atlas felt a bit guilty accepting her offer. He guessed that she and her friends had expected it to be a friendly get-together and not a lecture, which is what it would become if he went, but his curiosity was stronger than his guilt.

"Okay, cool." Alvira pulled a pen out of the pocket of her jeans and grabbed his arm. "Do you mind?" He nodded for her to continue. She began sketching out numbers and letters on his skin. "If my memory serves me right, this is the address. Come maybe around six or seven, we'll be there."

"Thanks." Atlas looked at the address, which he was pretty sure he could find. "So, who are your friends?" 

A/N: Behold Chapter 3! Almost all the character introductions are over, there's one more chapter to go before we can get to the action. Hopefully I'm not boring you yet. 

For all my metric system friends, (I wish I was one of you, the US system sucks) Atlas' wingspan is about 2.5 meters, and Alvira's is about 1.8. 

Please point out any errors, I'm sure they're in there somewhere. Don't forget to vote and spam the comments, and thanks for reading!