A castle for us

His arms

London air was always chilly in November. Puddles reflecting the street lamps' orange glow. At this point in your life you were a misfit; no parents or family. From what you can remember you just sort of came into existence, your earliest memory is of floating in a dark abyss, no sense of direction or purpose. No idea who, what or why. But here you were, crying into the arms of your best friend, Corey, in clothes soaked from the strong rain and hail. He'd bumped into you shortly after you'd washed ashore and it was safe to assume you'd suffered from a sort of amnesia. He took you in and helped you get yourself sorted, asking about where you'd come from and what your name was.

"Names are very personal to people. It's something your friends and family call you. In other words it's what makes you human"

The two of you had spent hours figuring out your name. No matter how far into the depths of your brain you dug you just couldn't remember for the life of you. So he helped you pick out a new one. Something unique to you.
(Y/N)
"It really suits you!"
He was extremely sweet and often very caring. It was only 6 months before you two were drawn together like magnets. You later found out that not many people were like him. After a few weeks of living with him you knew you were freak. A psycho. A weirdo.
That's what the people at your last job called you before you got fired. And at the one before that. And the one before that.
On a particularly early morning you managed to open your eyes enough to watch the news and actually retain the information that the poorly dressed news reporter was trying to read out. A massive surge in mutant numbers in New York. Heavy footsteps sounded from the dimly lit kitchen. A sound you would only associate with worn down slippers and baggy pyjama pants dragging across tile. Dear god he was awake early.
"Any success with the job hunting?" He managed to croak out of a groggy yawn. Again, Corey was an absolute sweetheart. On more than one occasion he had offered to let you work with him and his uncles at a bookstore, but you always felt that you'd be wasting your gift there. You'd both found out you were a mutant when you ordered Chinese food without telling him. You knew his order to the syllable and when the food came he was in awe. He'd never even told you he wanted Chinese food, or what he wanted. You had read his mind. Day after day you tested your abilities to their max and unlocked pathways you never even thought were possible. Three months into knowing you were a mutant you'd successfully mastered the art of telepathy and pyrokenisis. You could read minds, influence someone's actions and plant false memories into their heads, manipulating them to your advantage. But it wasn't something you wanted to do. It always felt wrong controlling someone against their free will so you almost never did it. Pyrokenisis, however, was an absolute party to use. Lighting bonfires when people were having trouble using matches in the wind or lighting candles seamlessly. Sometimes you'd set random things in your flat on fire just to get a reaction from Corey. He never minded it, he was a giant comic book nerd. At one point he almost treated you like a god because of your new-found abilities.
You'd been so lost in thought that the touch of Corey's hand on your shoulder cause your muscles to tighten and boiling heat to come out of your eyes. That was definitely new. Crying molten lava.
"Oh, Jesus! Sorry (Y/N) I didn't mean to scare you. You just didn't reply to me-" he always sounded like he was treading on egg shells, anxious and jumpy, when he startled you.
"Sorry- yeah- no luck on the job hunting I'm afraid." You'd managed to wipe away your golden tears and drop them into your mug of tea, pushing it to the side to remind yourself not to sip at it. As much as you loved London and your quaint little flat you always wanted more, and with news of mutant populations growing in America, you wanted even more.
Of course the plush fabric of the carpet and dark oak tables brought you comfort in your times of need and the tight walls confining your little space of happy made you feel safe but, like you kept reminding yourself, you needed more than this. You needed security and the thought that you weren't a freak lingering in your mind like a fly in the middle of a room.
"Corey, come to New York with me." You'd blurted out into the deafening silence of the dark room. Your exclamation was met with more silence. He was thinking, but you knew better than to invade his thoughts. He was a private person with even more private thoughts. The only light in your little flat emanated from the large TV screen. It lit the curves and pits in his face oddly. His thin eyebrows raised in surprise.
"Why New York? (Y/N), I can't just get up and leave- I have a life here. A job, family." His words felt like a sharpened ice pick crashing against the ice wall of quiet you'd surrounded yourself in. You then felt a wave of emotion you'd rarely experienced. Things like guilt and shame. Of course he's never move to a completely different continent with you. Especially without any plan. You'd just have to make your own way, meet people, find people like you. In about a month's time you'd be with your own kind. Happy and safe. Maybe even start a family. All was going to be ok.