[It's familiar, the pose; it soothes a part of him Ben didn't know needed it, one more buzz of anxiety, of background noise, ever present amongst a chorus. One more thing he misses about his family, about a time when they were family, whatever else they were.

He ducks his chin slightly to hide the tug of his replying smile, and turns back to what his hands are doing, imagining Max laying on her stomach with her pillow bunched up under her chin, Zack laying on his side pretending not to watch but actually watching both the story and the hallway, Jack holding his breath as if there's some kind of riveting narrative to go along with it. Eva feigning disinterest while her hands folded at her chest mimic the movement of Ben's in the air.

He continues for a few more silent minutes, then lets the dove break apart into flicks of his fingers, feather-shapes floating down, until they're at his sides and he steps back without dropping his eyes. Eyes that trace the stones of the wall, the play of the light on the empty stage, and find their way to the idol in the corner.

He licks his lips, then, and turns to slink to the pew next to Alex, folding himself up neatly, smoothly, and almost identically to his friend, his chin resting on his own knees.]

Max liked them best. Zack needed them most. I haven't had anyone to tell them to since... Miami, I think, is what it was called.