The world felt gray, cold. The wind whipped past him - Lucas who had successfully found a sleek, black pullover (this one, not as nice as his other one which had been woven in strands of silver and black silk) that fit tightly against his lean frame- as the boy made his way halfway across the island, long hands burrowed deep in the depths of his pockets. His eyes were dark and solemn, expressing the muddled emotions fighting in his eyes in the form of brilliant, crashing waves.

He didn't like the thunder - not one bit - that raged constantly overhead and he winced every time it struck, the blasted sound making him sick to the stomach. It took all of his energy, all of his self-reserved patience, not to bolt into the nearest shelter and remain firmly on his objective, on the path of his destination. However, despite his 'strong' will, Lucas couldn't help his hands from shivering in his pockets or shuddering with every boom. He couldn't help the massive headache that came on because of it - and yes, he was quite sure that the cause of his migraine was not because he had been walking in the rain for hours... - and it was as if someone was pounding a mallet against him, striking him again and again.

He almost felt woozy. God, how he hated thunder.

The teen let out a sigh, running a hand through his amber-infused blond hair. This was frustrating -- not only because the trek to the cave was taking so darn long, but also because he was angry and hurt. Where'd Cassy go? Was she deliberately ignoring him? A slight frown creased his features, eyebrows pushed down in confusion and thought, before he took a deep breath and lifted his eyes to the stormy sky, the rain pelting his face. Yes, the rain he could take. He liked the rain, loved it.

He blinked against the rain, the soft droplets sliding against his cheeks, before turning away with a half-smile to quicken his pace; he was almost there, towards the cave where he had come from. Truth was, he hadn't seen Cassy in days -- the same Cassy that sent his mind into turmoil, send his palms sweating and face burning, the one that made him so darned confused and bewildered that he didn't know what to think of her; only that he liked her, liked her enough to make him feel worried and awkward and empty enough to go run into the rain in a desperate, almost pleading, search for the pretty girl.

But as he stepped into the luminescent cave, almost sighing relief as the thunder became muted, he saw something else. Something so breathtakingly different that it made him inwardly gasp, dark silver-blue eyes wide with surprise. Her laugh, it was her laugh - he was sure now - that was so bewildering, so interesting that it made his heart pang with a long forgotten memory. Why did it hurt so much to see this stranger? To see her smile, to laugh? He felt a sudden pang, but was confused -- why was it that when he watched her now, so mirthful despite the environment that she had bene forced to be put in, he felt as if he'd lost something? Lost something so important, so long ago, that even now it hurt?

" ... hey, " he murmured after a moment and he quirked his lips into a sort of half-smile, still taken by her. "The name's Lucas, Lucas Brynn Ryder."

But even as he said it, he couldn't help but notice how the name - his name - felt so foreign on his lips.

It was suddenly warm and his fingers tingled, as if electricity had sparked them -- it wasn't like with Cassy though, it wasn't a sort of fluttery sensation, or a ball of fire, of passion, that ignited in his chest when he looked at her, this new girl. It was different because looking at Finley, right here with her flaming red hair and pleasing figure, it wasn't anything like the attraction or likeness that he felt for Cassy, not the same emotion that he would feel for a girl that he had fallen head over heels with. This feeling was softer and warmer, pressing against his face with a bubbling cordiality. The sensation, this time, was comforting and fulfilling; it was more innocent.

What was it about her that made him feel so at ease? With Cassy, he had already figured that even subconsciously, he was always trying to please her, to see her smile or laugh. Even if she attacked him, which he strongly doubted (despite the fact that she was a lion, a very deadly animal, he couldn't imagine her in that way, that ferocious state. she was much too sweet for that, a part of him mused), he would've probably forgiven her. With Cassy he constantly felt awkward and out of his natural surroundings because, despite her constantly embarrassing herself or putting herself in such situations in front of him, a part of him told him that he was going to mess up sooner or later. It only made sense, logically that is, anyway; one day, it would be his turn.

Something told him, however, that with this girl, he wouldn't ever get that chance. Even if one day it came with Cassy, the day he messed up with this fiery-haired girl would never come and even if it did, he knew that she wouldn't mind. But what was he thinking, really? Making assumptions based on feelings and intuitions when he had barely seen her for more than a few moments, let alone actually predict how she'd act. (He wasn't, by any means, foreseeing that this girl was perfect and would never get angry - ha! he'd irk her countless times in the future - but, rather, if he did something stupid in front of her, tripped or fell (not that he'd do that on purpose, but..), she would laugh at him; not in the way that she was making fun of him, wanting to actually hurt him, but in the way that she was almost laughing with him, teasing him as all best friends, good friends do.

Were they going to be best friends eventually? At this, Lucas smiled to himself; he hoped so, although he hadn't a clue why. But then he frowned, sighing, and stared back at her, still quite unhappy with their situation. It wasn't fair, really; whoever wanted to play this cruel joke on him, on everyone else, was horrible. His fists clenched involuntarily in his pockets; what kind of person, thing, did this to innocent, defenseless teens?

The booming thunder sounded mute to his ears, the start of a smile, maybe even a real smile or was this fake too?, flickering across his usually emotionless face. He blinked suddenly, silver-blue orbs still burning with that impenetrable confusion that threatened to swallow him and he stared back at her, smoldering metallic pools directed only at the odd girl in front of him. His eyebrows were pressed down in thought, a thoughtful look flickering briefly across his face and pursed his lips for a second, calloused hands digging deeper into his pockets. He spoke after a moment, head tilted to the side as he pondered about some unseen objective, and then finally submitted to it - what ever 'it' was - with a softer, nevertheless frustrated sigh. "What the hell are we doing here?" he bit out, jaw tight and shoulders tense with a mix of bewilderment and irritation.

Then he looked at her, eyes wide as he realized that she had just muttered the same exact phrase - with, of course, a few differences and as silver-blue met startling cobalt, he couldn't help but laugh. It was a different sound than most, but like most reflected his personality; it was softer than one might expect and was much like a low, warm chuckle, despite the shyness of it all. Unlike expected, his laugh was silvery and gentle, albeit quiet; it was radiating, a breathless sound, as it reverberated off the stony walls of the cave and the edges of his irises, a darker indigo in shade, glowed in the darkness, bringing out the eerie silvery-luminescent hue of his eyes.

"That's a pretty name," he murmured after a while and ran his hand through his blond, though silver and amber-streaked, hair. Then he half-smiled at her again, slightly crooked, and it wasn't a smile, nor a frown; just like the rest of Lucas, it just was.

he smiled and it wasn't the sort of fake smiles that he gave everyone else, nor was it the sort of breathless, fumbling smile that Cassy drew from him -- it stretched across dark cheeks, cheek to cheek, and his lips were upturned in a sort of toothy grin, the light of his eyes almost laughing but not quite; more easier, happier. It was then he realized, realized what she was to him because when the wind crackled, the thunder snapping behind them, it didn't hurt to hear it anymore. His wasn't pounding, his fingers weren't trembling and his muscles weren't tensed, they were relaxed.

Lucas turned to the fiery-red girl in front of her and gave her another one of those cheeky half-smiles, a strange easiness flowing through him. He laughed again, his voice surprisingly warm and surreal -- his laugh was certainly unique and if anything, would be the first thing that people fell in love with if they could, if he allowed them to, like him that way. It was quiet and rumbling as it filled the room, much like his softer murmurs, but it was rough while sweet and like chocolate melts in your mouth, the sound of it would surely send a person spiraling backwards, wanting to hear it once more. His laugh was pretty but, like the rest of him, in horrible disproportion to the rest of him, to his darker solemn nature.

But even as the lightening flashed behind him and although it didn't hurt to see it, or hear it, he almost flinched away, hands shaking. There were memories of the past, or perhaps they were simply figments of imagination that his mind had wandered upon, that continued to haunt him even after he had gone from the real world - maybe years after he died (people, he had learned, were rumored to be dead once they got here, the flawless utopia of perfection). They were like chains on his show that tied around his neck, pressed against his skin so viciously that it was as if they were choking him and every time he thought about them, he felt like he was losing something. Always, he'd grasp for some medium but would find himself falling, thousands of knives stabbing sides all the same.

"Maybe," he shrugged at her retaliating comment, forcing out a half-smile -- and this one wasn't open, easy to understand; it was masked over with millions of hidden emotions that clashed against each other, an ultimate battle of itself, but each one still impossible to read. The pain of those memories, coupled with the strange scrambled feeling that came with each boom of thunder, each flash of lightening, still troubled him even after he had been trying to shake it off. She - Finnley, did she say? - was bright and vibrant, like the sun; she was radiating her own kind of light, one that he wanted -- no, needed. She was wrong, though, names were special and unique; they define who you were.

Take Finley for example; it meant 'fair warrior' in gaelic and was thought to be a boy's name. (he held back a laugh at this thought, eying the beautiful red-head in front of him with smiling eyes.) But she didn't even remotely resemble a guy and although she didn't send his spine tingling with anticipation as girls like Cassy did, Lucas was quite sure that there would be many guys tripping over their feet to cast a single glance at her -- a second and a third too, even talk to her. The prefix though - which, he mused, would be a possible nickname for her as well - was Finn, meaning ruddy or red-haired. He chuckled lowly under his breath, with her fiery red hair - a striking comparison to his own blinding mess of yellow, gold and silver - that name definitely suited her.

As for Lucas, his name was strange and odd and didn't make sense, nor fit him, at all. The moment he had learned of the meaning, he was sure, he had quirked an eyebrow to whoever and asked him why his parents would name him as such. Lucas wasn't quite sure what kind of parents he had that had the grounds to call him such a name that meant "man from Lucania" because he was fairly sure, he wasn't from anywhere near there, what with his dark skin and shockingly metallic-blue eyes, but he must admit, it rolled off the lips rather nicely. 'Brynn' was welsh for hill and although he did like grass, and enjoyed the smell of fresh air (and had been told he carried the same sweet scent), it was still an odd thing to name your son. His surname, 'Ryder', was no different -- meaning 'one who rides'. So maybe, he supposed, his parents had been different kind of people - different from who he was now, anyway - and they hadn't researched the meanings. Blue eyes flickered over to the girl again, lips upturned into the beginning of a wry smile; maybe, for him, she was right. Names didn't mean much, but even so; that didn't change the fact that her name had meaning and was pretty.

He looked at her and did that weird thing again; he smiled. It was barely a smile, yet for him it was better than anything he had done in the past -- pale lips upturned slightly in a crooked, awkward gesture that would've made anyone besides him look strange, his cheeks stretched into a crinkling, not quite toothy, smile of barely contained amusement, albiet pressed with relief too.'She's different, ' he mused, fingers threading with warmth and he looked at her then, moving forward to sit down beside her.

He arms burned as the rough sand rubbed against them, leaving an awfully painful presence in it's wake, but instead he turned to her and looked at her through careful eyes, strangely thoughtful. "I don't know," he replied honestly, shoulders shaking with shy, nervous laughter and his eyes darted briefly to the side, as if she would berate him for being so silly -- then he dismissed this thought, shrugging faintly. "I don't think I know what happiness feels like," he breathed out. Only pain and confusion. Lucas gathered the white sand in the palm of his and watched, entranced, as the small grains slipped prettily through the spaces between calloused fingertips. The teen swallowed again, clearing the lump in his throat and turned to her, her presence alone calming him; he hadn't tried this 'honest' thing before and to be truthful, it scared him -- but something told him that he could be painfully brutal in whatever he said and she wouldn't care, as long as he wasn't lying. ".. but, I know what you mean about being confused." As he choked that out, his eyes crinkled, his expression twisting.

He looked up at her, smile suddenly soft.".. but nothing will ever make sense, here. I've learned that, " he paused, waiting for her to run away like Cassy had; waiting for her to be scared by his coldness and ignore him, avoid him. For some reason, he wondered if that would break his heart too and then he blinked, he didn't have the answer to that question. So instead he turned to her as he fingered at the site and pressed his lips together, trying to find the right words. "It's like... you know, here, 'Time is like a handful of sand -- the tighter you grasp it, the faster it runs through your fingers'." He paused again, leaning back to stare at the ceiling of the cave. He laughed quietly to himself, realizing how weird that would sound coming from a teenage boy. "Everything here is like that too. Stuff you learn, friends you make.." He swallowed thickly, his mind flashing back to Cassy and how she had suddenly left him. His head turned to her, watching her out of the corner of his eye and he shifted when he fixed his dark metallic blue gaze upon her, moonlit pools swimming with suppressed pain -- as if they were saying, You can go too now, if you like. I won't mind. I'm used to being by myself.

He was about to say it too, lips parted in the beginning's of speech, but then his gaze trailed hers and he blinked slowly at what he saw, his breath hitched. Without thinking if this was right or proper, he acted as if she were Cassy and quickly ripped off a part of his shirt, holding the insulated black cloth loosely between his teeth. He leaned forward, gathering her leg gently - cautiously, as if she would break if he did otherwise - as he assess the situation, thumb pressing lightly against edges of the wound. And then, in a flash, the make-shift bandage was wrapped around her leg and nothing was bleeding anymore, a happy - almost with a self-assured confidence - expression bleaching the afore mentioned agony. Not even a second after, his face went blank and the horror (fear?) shattered everything else, splintering all across his face.

He fumbled for words, trying to get apologies out, before he finally looked at her and that strange expression crossed him again. A wary look filtering the fearful blue flames of his eyes, he sighed and rubbed his arm nervously. "Sorry 'bout that," he mumbled, looking as if he wanted to hang his head. Why'd he have to that? Why'd he have to be such a dolt?

Perhaps, that's why everyone ran away. Like Cassy had.

the wind around them was cold and the atmosphere made him shiver, but is eyes were soft and quiet, melting sapphire swirling gently in the mettalic-blue pools as if speaking, in themselves and in simple gestures, secret words that only few would be able to understand.

The dark-skinned boy lifted his head, heart lifting at her forgiving words, at her words of confusion and apology; he held back a quiet laugh of his own, hating the way that it sounded foreign on his lips, but familiar all the same. Blurs of images crackled through forgotten memories, like an old, crinkling film cast in a shady afterglow that he couldn't quite place and yet, all the same, he could recognize every pigment and gesture, as if he had seen the movie a thousand times and had memorized each line for such an occasion. Lucas often had these flitting, reminicing memories, where his former emotions would come back in bursts of color, like a flaring flame to his soul, and he would wonder, again and again, whether or not it was real; whether the him now, silent and solemn and confused, or the previous reoccurring one, bright and vivid and charming, were the real one.

So instead of pondering on his confusing thoughts, Lucas instead shook his head and focused his attention on the pretty girl in front of him, heart already lifting at the sight. Her rambling made him smile, cold eyes sudden warm with a hidden affection that was so different from the spark he felt when he was with Cassy. Being with Cassy was akin to dancing through fire in the middle of a thunderstorm, but being with Finley - even if it wasn't in the same sense of being with them, the romantic sense - was more like lounging in a lit field of flowers, the sunshine warm on their backs.

silver-blue gaze trained on her hovering hand above his arm, the teen wasn't sure what to make of the gesture, but he felt his fingers twitch faintly, as if something inside him - one of his heartstrings - were being pulled again and all of a sudden there was this gravity between them that intensified the warmth, the comforting emotion, that swelled inside of the blond boy's chest. Lucas looked at Finley for a moment, eyes slightly smouldering and lips barely moving except to let out long, even breaths that were matched with her own. His lips twitched upwards into a slightly bemused smirk, cheeks suddenly warm but from what, he wasn't to sure. However, what he was sure of was when he reached over and places his fingers atop her own, her hand felt warm in his and that was all he need to be sure that this was right, more right than anything else he had ever felt before.

but then, as quick as anything, he tore his hand away. a feeling of betrayal swept through him and following suit were the painful memories of days before, where he had gotten those scars. colors flickered before his silver lids, melted cobalt swirling with shaded metal, as he remembered her hate of touch - lashing out at him so violently, as to intentionally cause the agonizing scars that hindered him so - and he, silver-blue pools blazing with some hidden emotion, wondered if Finley would do this too, attack him for holding her hand.

Finley. He liked her too, maybe a bit too much, and would that - really - be the end of him? Before he could blurt out an apology however, the ginger-haired girl brazenly pointed out his wounds and Lucas couldn't help it, he smiled, finding amusement in her rash tone and sudden ignorance; on any other girl, he was sure, Lucas would've found such traits offensive and he'd criticize them, but on her - for some reason - it made her all the more beautiful and he found himself (in his head) complimenting them.

But no matter how much he liked her, how comfortable he felt with her, with this particular issue, Lucas couldn't hide the pain in his metallic-blue orbs and the suffering in his forced smile, tension in his shoulders increasing. He had nearly flinched at her words and so, he wouldn't - and could not - meet her in the eye. His skin prickled uncomfortably as he stared down at the floor, pressing his own palms together in frustration at himself for being unable to be more mature about this and anger at Cassy for making him feel this way -- he wanted to, he should have after all the injuries she caused, but Lucas couldn't find himself hating her, neither hate a person he had once trusted -- even for a few moments. It made him unsure and jittery and it was because of this, he was sure, that he was embarrassing himself in front of another pretty girl who had absolutely nothing to do with the relationship between the two.

Lucas shifted. He murmured softly under his breath, eyes swirling with hidden emotions, "I got into a scuffle with a lion, you could call it. I hugged her."
He looked away.