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Juniper did not have a father before he met Wyatt.
In fact, Juniper did not have any parents before he met Wyatt.
So, he didn’t quite know how to act.
He met him first, then her. Young and a bit timid and just having broken out from the almost dystopian atmosphere granted to him by the Playhouse, he knew he was treading on unfamiliar ground when they adopted him. He was only 16, after all. He knew nothing. He knew less than an average 16 year old. But why would he? He was hardly average.
He looked about himself and tried to get some gist of how to act, how to behave, how to just seem normal. But he hardly understood any of it, and trying to exhausted him.
He was quiet for a long while. He’d sit and stay cooped up in the room offered to him, lying on the bed and staring blankly at the wall. Summer was admittedly worried for him, but believed intruding would disturb him. Summer knew he wasn’t normal. Or human. She hardly held it against him–she still embraced him either way. He hardly ate–he felt no need to at this time. Why would he? He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything.
He was admittedly afraid.
Juniper felt stupid. But who wouldn’t? He doesn’t know who wouldn’t. He doesn’t know who would. He doesn’t know what he knows anymore, and he doesn't know what home is, where home is, if this was home or not. He was a timid, anxious child with no knowledge of what the world was truly like. It was only after a year had passed, when he learned to feel safe in her arms.
Wyatt was still not very close to him yet. Though he was the first face he saw then, his face was still an unfamiliar one. He hardly even went near him before he turned 18, usually lingering too far away from him for him to notice him, or lingering near Summer to avoid being near him. When 2 years had passed, Juniper had to speak to him. It would be a waste for him to stray so far after all, wouldn’t it?
He did not sit next to him. He lingered behind him and remained unsure of how to approach him and at the end of it all he timidly tapped the back of his head and waved. He was maturing. And he was maturing quickly. But he was afraid. He was still afraid.
When he was 19, he learned to finally feel comfortable in his presence.
It was very simple in the way he had done it. He found he had become drowsy and he was the only person nearby and he found it fit to rest on his shoulder. It was a simple act, but he felt well doing it. And so it was done. He could act somewhat normal, couldn’t he?
He couldn’t. But he could try. And now, it wasn’t the only thing he was worried about.
His sister was not an adult. She was still in adolescence, and she was alone and too aversive of Wyatt to even think of living with him, and she didn’t quite know what to feel about Summer. But her need for independence kept her from going back to the Playhouse again. Her and Juniper weren’t the closest. But Juniper cared about her. And he’d be damned if Sola ever got hurt.
In the end of it all, she remained alone. But she visited Juniper intermittently. Though she only did it when Wyatt was away.
It was a nice few months. It was a nice year for him. And he couldn’t quite read his parents, or really anyone all that well, but he could tell that maybe it was a nice year for them, too.
He fell into a nice rhythm until he turned 22. He was a slight bit coarse, mature, more reasonable and droll and yet lovely and strange and scared and maybe a slight bit annoying. He didn’t really know what he was.
He was an adult. He was quite independent. His sister was an adult now. And that was all he knew.
He sometimes walked outside and kicked the doors of broken down buildings to see if they would break, or he would peel the bark off of trees and bite the blisters on his hands that he’d get from doing it. He was maneuvering. Though he still didn’t quite know what he was doing.
But he could try his best. And trying was all he knew.
So try he did.