The soft chirping coming from between Lowell’s hands is actual music to his ears. The feathers against his palms, the tiny body fidgeting against his skin reminds him of home. Birds would often flock around the house, along with other animals drawn in by the air of the place only to be scared away when they discovered what was living there. Mother knew how to catch the birds, complex enchantments that would send them hurling toward the house. It was something he was never able to do, the animals keeping far from him and behaving erratically once he was able to get even closer. It makes him feel proud to hold the bird with the broken wing he spotted in the parking lot, happy to be in contact with something that reminds him of himself.
“Hey-- stop!” he whisper-shouts at the bird, pecking away at his index finger, “you would be dead out there without me. Frying in the sun or eaten. I’m saving you.” He flashes an angry face at the bird in his hands, walking through the doors of the ikea like nothing is out of the ordinary. “Ow! You-- you’re not even listening to me!”