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Janus changes if you get too descriptive with physical explanations. His features contort and stretch, his face elongating and shortening as he listens closely to your words, taking them in and becoming one with them. Sometimes his eyes are different colors. Sometimes, his voice comes out too high or low pitched. Sometimes, his arms are different lengths. If you linger too long in the same room with him, you might notice his hair slowly changing in tint, in length. You might look into his eyes and see your own. Sometimes, he’ll adopt your mannerisms without even meaning to. You blame it on a trick of the light, or claim that your eyes are just playing tricks on you. That doesn’t stop you from staring a little too closely at the grimace he gives you, so like your own.
If you see him on the street, he may smile back at you with your own smile, teeth straightened or crooked just enough to ring alarm bells in the back of your mind. He moves too smoothly for his shape, slinking around in oversized skins. He’s just slightly off in that way that shouldn’t matter much but still puts you at unease. Why doesn’t he look like anyone? Why does he look like everyone? If you catch him staring into the distance, his features may slide around slightly, an unintentional side effect of reminiscing. Sometimes, he forgets what his own voice sounds like.
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Virgil is fast, too fast. He buzzes around you with effortless grace, head twitching to the side so fast it looks like he might snap his neck. If you watch him slink around town, you’ll sense that there’s something wrong with the way he moves, almost like he’s holding himself back. His entire body is tensed and poised all at the same time. Often, he exchanges money and other small items quicker than you can even hope to see. Objects appear and disappear around him quicker than you could hope to ask for them.
When something’s alarmed him, he’s off like a rocket, teeth bared and posture defensive. You don’t even know why a kid like him would need to be defensive in the first place. He’s soundless when he moves, a ghost of a person. Often, he’ll appear behind you before you’ve even fully turned your head to prompt him. You chalk it up to him being in the right place at the right time.
Sometimes, you can hear his joints pop, loud and alarming. You didn’t even see him crack his knuckles in the first place.
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Logan’s gaze can cut through you in a moment. Those piercing eyes are cold and emotionless, robotic even. His head is always level, chin jutted out slightly as he walks, and his eyes radiate cold professionalism. His mouth is set in a straight line, and he sizes up everybody he meets, no matter who they are. Crowds part before him without knowing why exactly they want to do so, throwing themselves from his path. He’s unwavering and unapologetic in his movement, and his smile is razor thin.
Often, he’ll mutter things under his breath, speaking too quickly to be perceived. This often occurs when someone is speaking about a controversial topic. He’ll fix them with his cold gaze and they’ll stutter, their words forgotten for the moment. You watch as he seems to zone in on his victim, like a spider with a fly caught in their web. Often, you’re left petrified, trying to remember why you’re even speaking in the first place. He dismantles arguments with a single word, unravels stories with a cursory glance and a scoff. People wither in on themselves around him. He’s almost impossible to impress, yet you find yourself striving for his approval anyway. You still don’t know why you try.
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Patton looks at you like you’re breakable. Sometimes, he knows things you know you’ve never told him. These “lucky guesses” happen too infrequently to really make much sense, but too often to be just the simple flukes he declares them as. Often, he flinches as people yell or scream, features contorting as he curls in on himself. He hovers like a mother hen and retreats the second you start feeling overwhelmed. He knows everyone and no one all at once.
You see him talking to people in the hallway sometimes, muttering things like, “it gets better,” or, “I promise.” He utters “I love you” like it’s a promise all on its own, and he can’t help but embrace people that don’t deserve it. You don’t know what he sees in them.
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Remus walks like he’s made from rubber. You could shake his hand and feel his bones crunch into nothing and then he’ll slap you on the back two minutes later with a perfectly solid palm. He grins when you jump back in horror, canines pointed. His grin is too wide, his eyes too maniacal. Sometimes, his entire body ragdolls. You don’t think it’s supposed to be able to do that, but he gets up moments later with a little “whoopsie!” and a chuckle. He loves the attention and the staring, he positively thrives on it.
If he’s standing still for too long, you can see his knees bend backwards, curving in on themselves. It’s only for a moment, but you know that should be impossible. Your friend swears they once saw him break every single one of his fingers on a dare, but they were fine the next day. He’s covered in bruises and scratches but you’ve never seen him break a bone for more than a day. When people ask where his cast went, he’ll claim he got bored of it. Once, a rumor went around that he’d jumped off a building. He’d never once done anything to dissuade this fact. It was almost as though he wanted you to ask just how he existed the way he did.
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Roman is surreally present at all times. He used to help out the cheerleaders, lifting and throwing and the such, but since he transitioned to football, he hasn’t been able to find the time in his schedule. Besides, other students swore they saw him catch a girl one handed once. But those are nothing more than inflated rumors, right? There’s no way anyone can be that strong.
You were walking down the hallway once, hurrying along to class. He was speaking softly on the phone, cradling the small square like he was afraid of breaking it. You don’t like to make eye contact with the Prince siblings, but you can’t help but watch the expression on his face morph from hope to excitement. There’s a muttered, “I love you.” Quicker than you can watch, he pumps his fist before slamming it against the locker next to him. You’d swear on your life that you saw the metal dent instantly. Immediately, his expression becomes guilty, and he straightens, walking briskly in the opposite direction. The next day, when you come back to look. The locker is untouched. Were the marks even there in the first place, or were you imagining things? You’re not sure anymore.
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You can’t explain what you’ve seen, but that won’t stop you from trying. Unfortunately for you, the universe houses far more secrets than you’re privy to, and the mystery of those six boys is one of them.