The following thread will be composed (possibly) by all solos from Enzo that involve him either being with his friends, at home, or other spaces that don't quite require a location in the rest of the site.

I have been feeling like there needs to be more of his "normal" life on the site. In a span of two-three weeks, he met Alexander, DocProf, Agnes, Ophelia and Gina, which is a huge amount of mutants, even if it is justifiable. I believe that these meetings were important catalysts for him to understand the need to practice his powers, but I also think that this will result in more activity on his personal area: this thread.

I planned for every post to be one single thread with a title I will add to the archive, but now I realize threads have the potential to grow big, so if necessary I will divide these threads into parts. Whenever I feel like "chapter 1" has finished, I will stop posting on this thread, opening another one that matches the new chapter.

If you ever feel confused about time lines (how these threads fit others across the site) I recommend you visit the archives, which will be chronologically organized.

Thank you for reading Enzo!

Sincerity

Part 1

Voices exploded all over. It was a horrifying cacophony, a nightmare of noise, bound to spring life even onto a corpse. As if electrocuted, his body spasmed once, horizontality and verticality seemingly mixed notions that made no sense. He could've been falling.

The voices kept shouting in an unlikely duet, scratched by some sort of mutual interference.

An annoyed groan escaped his lips as a stream of conscience began striding through his brain. His right arm stretched towards the unmistakable source of all that rattle, the same one he had programmed to awaken him at a decent time that Saturday (decent being 10 am). The alarm's position remained somewhat elusive, however, demanding more of Enzo's brain to activate and actually forcing his right eye open.

He could somewhat see the red numbers mocking him just an inch from his stretched finger.

Forcing his body to move further on his king-sized bed, he grabbed the damned thing and silenced it for good. Then his body simply collapsed into unchallenged bliss. The next time he would wake up, none of this episode remained inside his head.

-- // --

Confusion once more, this time physically spreading through his whole body. It was the second jolt that day, although he only believed it to be the first. Perception - his ears - signaled a voice.

"Enzo!" shouted Andre with his perfect American accent. The 14-years-old teenager had been educated on American soil for far more time than his older brother, so it was easily understandable how he managed to grow with two impeccable accents, whereas Enzo always exhibited a bit of that Italian spice coloring his american.

A grumble from his lips; unbeknownst to the older brother, it was quite similar to the one he had exhaled earlier that day.

"Enzo, papa is coming, he just called! It's 14pm, I made some spaghetti bolognaise, and you oughta be out of bed by now."

There was annoyance in his voice, but also a hint of pride; he clearly liked the idea of being the responsible one for a change. Of course necessity had driven Enzo to teach his younger brother how to cook and handle other important chores in the first place, but the point was that he - Andre - was the one waking up his brother after an eventful night out, with food ready and a warning concerning their father. Not that Richard Cox was a very strict man; simply put, the two brothers knew he would blame himself for the sudden loss of discipline at home.

" Piccolo, go away!" sounded Enzo's pillow.

Andre stood there for just a few moments. Unlike Enzo, most of his brother's features resembled their Italian mother, Nunzia: strong brown hair, eyes same as Enzo's, rounder face,, short stature (although he was still on the run for growing taller than his brother), and a very expressive mouth with lips slightly slimmer than Enzo's. They were both handsome kids, although their parents didn't have any noticeable features.

The older brother lay in his bed, half-dazed. He knew it was time to abandon his slumber and that Andre had been very kind - specially taking into account the boy's age - to had thought about waking him from his slumber and making spare food. Yet, there was a tiny part of him - that little competitive side to most brothers and sisters - which seemed to forbid him to react just yet. So, only after Andre deemed to have fulfilled his duty - clearly deciding his brother some lost case - did he abandon the room, which in turn allowed Enzo to open his eyes for the first time.

"Why is it this time again?" the alarm confirmed Andre's words. And why shouldn't it? What was strange was the fact that it was so late despite his efforts to wake up early.

Either way, it was time to get on the move. Papa was coming and he was on his briefs, inside his bead, clearly not unprepared to welcome anyone. Besides, if memory served him, his room wasn't exactly...tidied up.

Part 2

"Hey there, fellas!"

The greeting echoed through the house, calling out for the eager ears of the two sons. Richard Cox had come home early that day, a prize of sorts for having finished the concept for one of the next Mo MA expositions leaving behind technical executions that didn't demand for his attention. Later that night, they would most likely be joined by their mother, who was finishing a fashion series for her portfolio after a huge CQ campaign.

It had been two weeks since the four of them had been together.

Inside the kitchen, Enzo had just started the washing machine. A flushy sound - not too different from that of a toilet - echoed from inside the machine, joining its watery sounds with the downpour that could be heard through the window. Despite the weather, he was embraced by an intense enthusiasm ever since looking to is cell phone around 14:30 pm: Johanna had finally arrived from her voyage to Paris, and they planned a get together for that afternoon. This, combined with the fact that Enzo would be united with his family later that day left him thrilled.

"Hey Papa!" Andre's voice. Just then, Enzo noticed that there was something odd about it, as if it contained two different pitches. Obviously, adolescence was to blame.

"Hello son" sound of kisses in the face, something very European of them "Is your brother treating you well?" he asked jokingly; Richard had no doubt the two kids got along better than he and his own siblings.

"Same as always, credo."

By then, the older son had already finished tidying up. It was quite a large kitchen, the interior design part of a larger project two friendly acquaintances of their father's had prepared for the whole house with a price a knock nicer than expected. As befitted the current most popular Design thinking - less is more - every piece inside the kitchen - as well as most of the house - had been chosen as an absolutely essential item, a key piece to larger set. Every surface - from the doors to the tables, including couches, beds, lamps, curtains, etc - was meticulously picked because the sum of it's qualities (material, palette, function). The result was a very modern look which bet on nearly-black browns and warm whites, with hints of other saturation ranges and a few more colors. It gave the house the feeling it was large yet cozy, still allowing a lot of personalization such as Richard's favorite projects exhibited in his office, some of Nunzia's photographies on the walls, family portraits, souvenirs, consoles and even a bathroom turned into a photography lab.

Enzo walked the threshold separating the kitchen from the living room, where his father had just decided to occupy one of the couches, finishing a brief dialog with Andre. It was obvious the adolescent was not in the mood for talking; as much should be expected from someone going through the phases he was, so Richard decided to release him from his penalty, getting up to greet his other son.

"Enzo, figlio!" arms open wide for a hug. The son responded with a smart smirk, arms equally broadened "Richard, padre!" he answered cheekily, as he always would whenever his father greeted him that way, imitating his full mouthed Italian. " they exchanged two kisses on the cheeks.

"Oh, and there goes Andre, il fratello!" he added to mark his brother's swift escape. Before disappearing behind a corridor to the left, Andre showed his tongue to Enzo, emulating mockery. Richard chuckled.

"So, is he enslaving you?" his father asked, getting rid of his suit's jacket. He was on a white shirt, now, ridding himself of his handsome tie composed of different shades of grey contrasting amongst themselves between sharp diagonal lines.

"Nah, we exchanged duties today" Enzo answered distractedly.

"Oh? I did not know Andre cooked.." there was a brief flash of sadness on Richard's eyes, a glimpse of age crushing him just as his work seemed to. He loved what he did for a living, but he also felt a deep love for his family. Loosing something like his youngest son's first meal felt almost like a defeat. Enzo knew this. He rushed to his father's aid.

"It was just bolognese pasta, father, I taught him a few things because during the exams I had trouble juggling things and he wanted to lend me a hand. If it pleases you, though he smiled "I'm certain he could cook today's dinner for us!"

Richard chuckled once again, his face showing the same boyish enthusiasm that Enzo's did.

"I'm not sure your mother is up for food poisoning just yet, my dear son. Besides, we both know she loves that kitchen almost as much as she loves me - and I'm definitely not comparing that love with the one she holds for photography! Perhaps we can convince her to taste Andre's delicacies tomorrow"

"Ok"

He escorted his father to the laundry, where he distractedly abandoned his clothes. Richard had really no idea what to do with those clothes, which he loathed wearing. For what he knew, the house maid they hired for cleaning up two times a week was just a discount on his paycheck at the end of the month. In fact, every single time he and she had met inside the house, it was as if a huge draft of discomfort whooshed amidst them.

"And how have you been, son?" Richard asked. It was amazing, taking into consideration how often he and Nunzia were out, that they had such a strong bond with their children. It was a functional family with dysfunctional schedules. Arguing was not rare, yet it did not create any everlasting fissures. However, Enzo preferred to postpone any sharing.

"Colorful" the answer left his mouth before he could catch it. Later that day - recalling this small episode - he would blame a study that apparently proved teenagers were conditioned to mess up.

Richard's bright eyebrow lifted. His thoughts were racing. He blushed for a second, then smiled brightly and simply asked "Are you trying to come out with something, son?"

His father was smart. No surprises there.

"I must go meet Johanna, papa" the dodge was as obvious as they come; already he was hugging his father goodbye "We can speak more later today""

"I accept your terms, o figlio". He could've been Brad Pitt on Inglorious Basterds.

Part 3

Downpours usually are best avoided inside four walls. During those frequently cold occasions - freezing rain cascading upon every exposed piece of flesh, each drop piercing the skin - most coffee shops and bars would get the most from their well-thought investments on services such as heating, warm drinks and smooth ambiances. Often, their luminous, warm inside would contrast with the depressive greyscale on the outside, promising a pause from Nature's fury.

Of course, if you already had planned your destination, and it just so happened to be a ten minute walk from the nearest bus station, these tantalizing dream-like locations quickly became fleeting nightmares, barely visible through the blurry veil of water drops. Such was the case for Enzo Cox, whose soaked, running figure darted across that merciless forest of rain.

Ironical as it was, that was the second time he was running like a madman in the past two days, although the weather had radically changed. It was like an Amazonian summer storm, really, minus the suffocating heat. For someone who so passionately embraced warm temperatures, it felt like a nightmare made true.

"Johanna's gonna make fun of me!" the thought crossed his mind several times ever since he left home under a thick barrage of ominous clouds without an umbrella. Obviously, he knew he was to blame for such a reckless action, but like with other mistakes, it was one of those things you did consciously albeit not desiring any of the consequences.

Albeit soaked behind repair, his quick feet soon turned the last corner before the meeting place.It was a cozy little place relatively close to Central Park, one of those sort of anonymous coffee shops that belonged to a smaller chain. Enzo disliked many of the large food chains, specially Starbucks. He felt that what they delivered was not only frequently overpriced, but also beneath the quality they o-so spoke of. This place they were going to had decent coffee (nowhere near the quality of a good Italian coffee, and a really nice set of pastries. His mouth watered as the thought of eating there cometed through it, followed by a quick shiver when he realized he was about to enter a warm place.

Within seconds, he was decelerating his pace, finally catching up with the icy breaths cutting through his esophagus. Another chilly sensation jolted through his whole body as he peeped inside, trying to find Johanna's figure amidst the full coffee.

She hadn't arrived, it seemed.

Heart sunk with disappointment, his right hand pushed the door open. A barrage of heat freed itself onto the cold streets just as he entered the coffee. Faces turned to him, many of them familiar, most exhibiting concerned looks; after all, there he was, grey pants, pale blue t-shirt, a hooded jacket with a square-y pattern of greens and blacks, green converses, all glued to his body as if they were actually made of some jelly-like material. He looked frosted, to say the least.

A nice male waiter - Harry - came up to him at once, eyebrows glued together with a rather unkind expression; he did not like Enzo at all because of his outgoing nature, and it seemed he disapproved of his wet arrival. Yet, he would not diss him, for it was warm enough inside to help him dry up, and Enzo - along with his friends - was a regular client.

"Can I help you find a table?" he asked, his face stiff with the horror of ruining a wooden chair because of a wet costumer.

"Have you seen Johanna?" Enzo asked in turn "You know, the short black girl with black glasses who hangs with me and usually asks for a cappuccino and a strawberry muffin?"

The waiter's expression did not change, although he was clearly familiar with this description.

"I do not think she has come here yet. Now, is there anything I can help you with?"

Enzo frowned for just a bit at Harry's tone; it was a menacing look, coming from him, accentuated by his miserable soaked self.

"No thanks. I'm going to the bathroom for a little bit and then I'll find myself a seat."

Harry made a quick jerk that probably intended to look like a humble bow - that of a waiter being nice to a client - before swiftly fading into the counter. Enzo started walking, distributing friendly smiles whenever it was fitting. Inside, he damned the fact that Harry was doing service that day. Still, there was nothing he could do.

He went to the bathroom at once, immediately helping himself with the dryer. The thought of making too much noise with it occurred to him, but he shrugged it off: what could he do? Still, after sending a message to Johanna saying he was there, he decided to rush things a bit so as not to become too much of an annoyance. The place was very warm anyway, he'd dry up enough to get comfortable.

While he was taking care of his socks, the cellphone vibrated. Johanna had arrived; finally he would be able to tell her what had happened the night his power activated. Finally, someone close to him before he had mutated would know the truth.

Part 4

"Johanna, donna!" the cheer echoed through the coffee shop, drawing a bit too much attention. Johanna, however, did not seem upset by it; rather, a bright smile illuminated her face, revealing true happiness for seeing her long-time fried.

At once, her feet pushed the floor, moving the chair backwards. The next moment, she was up, arms extended for a hug.

"Hey there, pizza man, where's my margueritta?" she asked, referring to a moment when Enzo was mistaken for a waiter of a pizza shop they had gone to.

"Preparata, bella!" was his answered before they fell upon each others arms. It was such a heartfelt situation one could almost guess them to be lovers, expecting their lips to unite in a prolonged kiss.

"What have you been up to in my absence, sweety?" she asked, as they let broke the hug. "You usually aren't so urgent in trying to contact me"

He gestured towards the table, so they could sit once again. The surrounding ambiance noise caught his attention to just how much of an inconvenient place he had picked for his reunion with Johanna; despite the music, it wasn't nearly as much of a loud place to make him feel comfortable with the idea of sharing his mutation. Whispering would sort of make it uncomfortable too. But since the weather was raging just outside the wall, he could not bring himself to ask for a change of location. As they began moving, he answered her:

"Well, there are some things that happened, but overall I'm still myself"

Of course she would frown at this; the answer was as vague as it could be, which was highly uncharacteristic of her friend, comparable to expect muffins in the oven to squeal in crispy agony. Yet, her lips did not speak a single word about it; instead, Johanna's face remained stern, her black eyes calm behind her glasses. She was one of the wisest, most mature persons the Italy-raised boy had ever met. Thus, the fear of revealing himself was matched by an eager excitement he had been building ever since the day he had met Ophelia.

They sat. Under her calm yet scrutinizing glaze, Enzo's cheeks reddened as he struggled with the knowledge that he had been easily read. His mouth opened, yet no sound came out of it. Johanna decided to break the ice:

"You know, a lot of people fusses about Paris all the time, but I know now it's probably because of the commercial idea the city passes on to us" She sounded like they had been talking about her voyage the whole time, temporarily dumbfounding her friend. Casually, she proceeded "You know, the whole "welcome the city of love" business. It was overflowing with tourists, I'll give them that."

It was an opportunity to take a little detour and prepare himself, of course. Seizing it, Enzo played along: "You didn't like it? My mom is always so excited whenever she has a shoot there"

A dismissive shrug "It was okay, I guess. Maybe I set my expectations too high. They had these random brides and husbands taking pictures at the weirdest places too!" she added with a smile "Seriously, there was this couple who seemed to be trying to take a pic in the middle of the road!"

Enzo smiled, imagining it. Having been raised in Venice, he was sort of used to these to-marry couples occasionally sprouting out of nowhere for photos. The idea sounded odd to him, more like they were sporting the image of love than actually enjoying it.

Another of the service waiters - one whose name Enzo didn't really know because he seemed to do shifts they usually didn't attend to - came to them. There was a friendly look about his perfectly shaved face that pleased Enzo far more than Harry's cold aura. When the man asked them what they would be having, the teenage boy felt like elaborating his order. The other had such a nice voice!

"I'll just be having one of your cappuccino's and a brownie" asked Johanna, suddenly smirking as if she had met a funny sight. There was a slightly awkward pause before Enzo asked:

"I would like...hum... some of your hot chocolate and those tiny toasts with those jam collections you guys have.

The waiter smiled and nodded, taking that time to get their order. Immediately Johanna's head bent forward as she gave Enzo a sneaky look.

"I see what you were doing there!" she said, her mouth opening in a cheeky smile It made her very beautiful "You were totally checking that guy, Enzo ragazzo!"

"What?" the defensive question popped as he tried not to laugh "Don't you project your attractions on me, miss!"

Johanna's face backed as she raised her left highbrow. Immediately, she did her "guetto Johanna" imitation, with a lot of neck turning and finger raising involved "Dontcha try to escape from this, oh Cox boy, you know that ain't mah type of man"

Her tone was a bit higher than necessary, triggering a nervous giggle "Ok, ok, busted donna Johanna, let's just try not to tell the whole bar"

"Well they only really needed to watch you ask for some of his hot chocolate"

They shared a laugh. As it faded, it seemed as if another uncomfortable moment was about to cloud their encounter. Johanna let Enzo have a bit more of his time, making sure he wasn't ready. Smiling, she simply said "Baby, are you trying to tell me you're gay? Because I have footage of you singing Britney Spears and it doesn't get any worse than that"

The teenage laughed "Hey that's not fair, we were playing Singstar after all!"

A sudden movement from the right warned them that the waiter had arrived with their order. Enzo enjoyed his pretty face once more, adding a bright "Thanks ragazzo" A smile greeted this action.

"I swear you put all your accent into those words" his friend said once the other boy left. Enzo simply smiled knowingly. A strange sense of dare had taken hold of his actions. He felt both unbound and unrestricted, as if he could suddenly rise and kiss the waiter full on the lips. Or perhaps finally confess why he had arranged for such a rushed meeting.


Johanna felt this too.

"Donna, I... I have sort of discovered what happened that night when my hair got red"

His tone was calm, but it seemed like she was suddenly got worried "What, the night when you were drugged or something?" she voiced.

Enzo nodded" "Yes. Well, my hair, it wasn't painted, you know?" the feeling like he was drifting around the subject was starting to annoy him. ""

"You what? Enzo, you just spoke like you were trying to describe a tenis match at twice the speed" Johanna sipped her capuccinno, frowning.

"I have discovered that I am a mutant. " Enzo answered simply, with a serious look. An urge made him try a bit of his hot chocolate, nearly burning his tongue in the process.

Johanna paused, looking at him with a serious look. She pointed at him sharply, giving him the "kid me not" face. "You are not messing with me, are you?"

A brief head shaking was the answer.

Johanna relaxed "Honey, what was all that drama for? Seriously, I thought you had discovered some really serious business or something about that night! Like, rape drug or some other nastyness"

Part 5

Wet again.

During their entire conversation, the weather had remained unrelenting, indifferent as Johanna heard a bit about Enzo's recent adventures, laughing at the thought of her friend punching some jock punk square on the face. There had also been a kind of admiration as she was described the amazing beings her friend had met. This awe shifted as she traveled side by side with him through memories, feeling admiration towards Alexander, a sort of girlish disgust as to Agnes power (which Enzo immediately began sweeping aside), and even interest in Gina's character. Not once did their friendship waver; in fact, soon they had become lost in remembrance, trivia and how cute Enzo would look with the handsome waiter who had been taking care of their order.

Now, as the bus home drove him amidst a most depressing New York City - as if the downpour had washed aside all that was living and colorful, leaving only a grey palette in its wake - Enzo thought about how his friend had called him a fashion victim just as they parted. She was right, of course; if anyone could be blamed by the lack of an umbrella, that person was himself. He acknowledged this with a naughty boyish grin, nose itching as humidity accumulated on it's base.

Truth be told, that smirk had not been entirely directed towards Johanna's remark; part of it was a nod to the way that day had turned out, with a special mention to the text message he had received from the cute bar waiter, Michael; Enzo had used his momentum and, as they payed their bill, showered the other boy with a bright smile and slipped him his phone number. It wasn't something he had really done before, and he had half-expected to be ignored and probably require a nice amount of time in therapy so he could regain the courage to return to that place. However, shortly after they left, his phone had vibrated, simply reading "I wouldn't normally do this, but I've seen you around and you look like a cool guy "

From then on, many smiles crossed the teenager's face as he exchanged text messages with both Johanna and Michael, which eased the freezing voyage home.

"Finally"

There was no word to express the relief of arriving to his stop. Slowly getting up, the boy swam across the full bus until he reached the door. He let his body balance with the bus' shakes, as if surfing, distractedly feeling his cell phone for a message. When the doors opened, a cold, rainy barrage broke onto the bowels of his transport, as if trying to steal him from the idea of leaving.

Of course he still had to cross the threshold to that blasted downpour. "Dio, here we go"

His feet raced as fast as they could under the water stalactites. At times like these, Enzo would easily pretend he wasn't in love with New York and it's people, instead cursing it and teasing himself with thoughts of his warm Venetian homeland. It was a guise, really, comparable to a child stating it does not love a parent because it hadn't been offered some sort of gift.

Luckily, that bus stop was nowhere as far from his destination as the coffee one had been. Soon, he was searching his pockets for his keys (how come he always forgot which one had them?), lying as close as possible to the entrance door. Once he found them, his shaking hand searched for the keyhole, unlocking it.

The stormy weather was shut behind him. Ahead and five stores above, a warm bath waited.

--//--

Nothing can be compared to a warm, cleansing shower after facing a tormentous cold storm, specially if you are used to being well groomed. Enzo spent a nice amount of time there, under the stream of water, just feeling it massage his exposed head as threads of thought weaved inside. Eventually, he inspected himself for color spots, discovering he had none to show. It was a weird feeling; he felt almost as if he couldn't remember that itchy-ish sensation covering random areas of his skin. But the teen boy knew that that was the key to starting to manipulate his gift.

"Enzo, there's already enough rain outside"

Richard Cox' words woke him up from that dreamy state. He was right, the boy had been abusing the water for quite some time now. He lift his head almost as if trying to memorize how that tingling warmth felt, slowly numbing his skin, and allowed his hand to turn the stream off. A deep breath - almost like a sigh - entered his nose. Swiftly, he moved around the steamy bathroom, preparing himself for that night's dinner and the words he would speak then.

Since Nunzia - his mother - wasn't expected until 7:30 pm, the boy decided to go to his room and use those last 30 minutes to stretch himself. On his way, he read a message from Michael asking if he wanted to go out sometime that week. He smiled comfortably; albeit unsure what would happen between the two, Enzo was, as with many other subjects, very cocky and sure of himself, hence his answer turned out to be a clear acceptance:

"Well, the weather turned out terrible today, but we could go to the movies "

With that, he entered his messy room (about which his father had already left some remarks), put his phone on top of his bed and started sorting out some abandoned clothes and drawing items. As he did so, Andre knocked on his door.

"Enzo, do you wanna play Black Ops? I'm a bit bored"

He smiled, but shook his head "Sorry, gotta stretch now. But, after mom comes we can see about that, unless she needs our assistance in the kitchen."

They both smiled; Nunzia was completely in love with the act of cooking, and she barely could stand having people around as she took upon that holy task. This basically meant they would have all the time between setting the table and cooking to play all the video games they desired.

"Ok" Andre answered simply, closing the door behind him. At once, the mutant boy spread a short green mattress on the floor. He undressed the set of clothes chosen for that night's family dinner, abandoning it on his bed, and instead put on a simple dark green sleeveless shirt and some grey shorts.

After attending to another message from Michael ("My friday's clear "), Enzo began warming up.

Part 6

It took a bit more than thirty minutes for him to finish stretching. A thin layer of sweat covered his pale soft skin, small particles of water slowly running at gravity's desire. Each of his muscles had been warmed up, tendons forced until they tensed in pain. During all that time, there had been no coherent mental activity. Occasionally, threads of thought would capriciously drift, soon dissolving onto the back of his head as if they had only been part of some dream.

Enzo's entire dermal surface demanded cleansing, a plunge onto refreshing waters. There was a body-driven heat about his room, which mixed with the teen's own personal scent. He rose up slowly, rotating his hips a little bit while allowing his vacant mind to fill itself with a new stream of conscious activity.

The phone; there was probably a message lying in wait. Effortless, a dryad in the woods that were his room, bare feet guided body towards the telecommunication apparatus. Michael had replied, proposing their meet to be at 4pm on Chelsea Cinemas. Without as much as a glance towards writing panel, Enzo agreed to this. He was uncertain of how he felt about his success with this boy. "I guess I'll face that later"

Leaving the texting menu, the teenager realized it had been almost twenty minutes over the time mother had been expected to arrive. His eyebrows nearly collapsing onto each other, he swiftly opened the room's window, albeit carefully keeping the blinds down, otherwise there was a moderate risk of flooding his room.

"Dad!" his voice called out from the corridor; his mother's delay bedazzled him "Dad, are you downstairs?"

Music started banging from Andre's room, as if disapproving of the sudden shouting. Enzo tried not to get pissed by that attitude, a wise although completely failed call, undermined by that weird feeling of brotherly rivalry. Still, the teenage boy managed to walk away without as much as a word of disapproval or a loud sarcastic remark, and started descending the stairs, letting out one last unanswered shout for his father.

He entered the large hall annexed to the living room, unable to find Richard Cox. His frown deepened. At once, he rushed towards the kitchen, wondering if father had left.

Richard Cox lay there, snacking.

"Oh, there you are padre" his words translated his relief.

Mr Cox looked back at him, holding a slice of bread with a generous amount of strawberry jam on top. "Mom's late, isn't she? Did she say anything yet?"

Richard looked at his son as if considering his words. When he spoke, there was something artificial, forged, about his tone; rather, it seemed to be an attempt at a calm and soothing voice, the kind we would hear policemen use on an individual menacing to kill himself. It wasn't reassuring at all.

"Your mother hasn't said anything yet, the plane probably suffered some delays because of the weather. She'll call soon enough, I'd wager. Maybe you could play video games with your brother?"

Delayed flight.

A sense of ridicule mixed with panic. Delays, missed flights, strikes, they had seen it all; traveling as much as they did, it would be a wonder if none of this had ever occurred, pretty much comparable to flying pigs or princes in the guise of toads. Nonetheless - as far as Psychology was concerned - you can't really argue with a phobia and expect it to listen to reason.

Doubtlessly, that feeling of helpless irrationality grasping at Enzo's heart, choking any remnant of decent thought, had to be held responsible for the despise he felt towards himself. He nodded at his father, whose half-opened mouth seemed prepared to attempt at shielding him from the incoming fear raid, but the mutant teenager fled.

His eyes barely registered his spacial surroundings, almost as if he was locked inside an airplane himself, surrounded by stormy clouds and turbulence, like an helpless human doll figure or some sort of faceless casualty in the war between technology and nature. Fear for his mother's life kicked in; how his feet managed to hit each step up to his room is a question none can answer.

The bedroom door bang shut behind him. It failed to dampen his irrational thoughts, or reprieve the corpse-like whiteness of his skin. Why hadn't mother called yet? Storm sounds creeped through the window, milling any sanity that remained. Enzo shunned them with the same violence he had clustered himself in his room.

And then, there was a pause: the message alarm. The calm before the storm.

"Enzo?" it was Richard, coming from the lower floor.

There was an itch on his right hand. There was a phone to pick up. There was someone coming upstairs.

"Blasted timing!" Enzo cursed, eyes locked on the lime green spreading from the back of said hand and crossing the threshold of his wrist. Proceeding to exhibit a good share of both English and Italian cuss words, the boy ran towards the door. There was an audible "click" seconds before his father knocked.

"Are you alright son? I... is everything ok? Why did you lock the door?"

"Just a sec, Johanna, father's knocking" the boy mimicked a phone conversation, perhaps a bit louder than necessary; Andre's music seeped through the walls. "I'm ok, father, Johanna called and said it was private, I'm... distracted."

A moment of disturbed silence stretched indefinitely. Then...

"Ok, son. I'm going to wait ten more minutes, if we don't get a call from your mother I'll put your brother on the dinner task"

"Mother." his heart skipped a beat. Still, he had to play along "Ok, dad! Hey, sorry for keeping you..."

His father began descending the stairs. Enzo quickly dispatched "Johanna". Looking around, it seemed the room had shrunk to half it's original size. And his hand was still lime green, as if mocking him and his fear that more of his power would manifest before he had the time to reveal himself carefully to his family.

"What am I supposed to do with you?"