Benny

The old photographs say the sky used to be blue, the clouds white. Now, of course, things are different, and not, Benny thinks sourly as he scowls up at a magenta-green haze. He’ll never tell, of course, but the days when the sky clears to show the brightest blue, the sharpest, clearest blue he’s ever seen in his life - those are the days he yearns for. One day of clear skies in a month of toxic gases and he considers himself a lucky guy.

(He also wishes he had a working camera so he could take a snapshot of it, but he doesn’t, and he feels stupid for thinking it, so he never mentions it to anyone. He’s pretty sure Anne knows though. Like, seventy five percent sure.)

Felix

Some of his hobbies would invite laughter, so he doesn’t tell his friends. They don’t need to know he likes to sing himself to sleep, or that he likes to string together bits of shiny trash to make dangling decorations for his home. And they especially don’t need to know his unabashed love of windchimes. He’s making his own, but rusty pipe isn’t the same as bell-toned steel and trust me, he knows it.

(Of course they catch him at it later. And of course Eva cackles for five minutes straight. But it’s okay, really, because Jeff gives him a hug and Benny shrugs and tells him they’re all weird as crap anyway, so who cares? Besides, Benny shows up with some nice pipe bits after his next raid and Eva plops a tiny bell in his hat. His friends are awesome. Just saying.)