There had always been something about the brisk air of Seattle at night that kept him..comfortable. It was never exactly like home, but it was just as beautiful, skyline dotted with neon blues and pinks, set against a backdrop of nearby woods and the sea. Shades remain in loosely clasped fist, sights before him unfiltered by darkened tint. When had this place become a second home? Perhaps when he first arrived, when he first saw OTHERS almost like himself. He would never truly be one of them: But he was welcomed by the Conduits all the same. By Delsin.
It was a thankfulness of such a profound nature, it could never be expressed enough. Words meant little in his eyes, and his actions paled in comparison to even that. Where would he be if not for those select few, those who knew persecution and struggles as he did? Another man, hiding in the alleyways, concealing the glow of fingertips in fear, and little more than that. But now, he stands tall, no longer cowering in the darkness. He was free. Legs dangle over the concrete of rooftop, thumb streaking over lens of shades idly as he simply takes it all in. Crunch of loose gravel catches his attention, but he does little more than smile.
