Skav was drunk.

Drunk on spirits, drunk on life, drunk on adrenaline. Skav was drunk and feeling quite inspired, which was how they often got at half passed one in the morning. Midnight bar hopping had quickly gotten out of hand after the first few stops. The Qrow was barely held together after rolling over curb after curb and trampling every single trash can that dared to sit on street corners. Skav, however, was much too drunk to care about the current state of their car. Another push of the mask was another drink down, and this action repeated itself multiple times over until Skav's next glass was hideously empty.

"Miss, could I-- could I get another glass?"

The bar around Skav was a study in life. 'Quinn's Pub' often attracted the night crowd due to it's seven PM opening time and it's general sleaziness. Tucked deep away into the recesses San Marzano, most only know of the bar's existence because of the neon sign that is protruding out into the skyline. It's small and red but ever so inviting. Down the rickety metal stairs lies a thick wooden door, and beyond that a wide, dim room filled with metal tables and booths and life. A bruised jukebox sang out only the oldest of songs, ranging from Elvis to Eartha Kitt to Billie Holiday. If the old pub was meant to have a theme, Skav assumed it to be jazz, but said jazz music was often swallowed whole by the louder-than-life arcade machines that were constantly booked with drunks searching for a blurry fun time or virgin business men in search of a little danger along with their game.

The drinks were cheap and constantly refilled, which Skav appreciated the most out of the environment. The rest of their experience was shrouded in a fuzzy haze and pressed into the corner of a sticky vinyl booth.

Once their drink was refilled, Skav drank again, pushing up their mask to press their lips to the glass easily. Even as their mind swam in a sea of disorientation, they were aware of two things with each fussy sip they took. One, people loved watching a Razor drink. Perhaps there was something to gain in watching masks shift and shake unreasonably while the head underneath tried and failed to take sips of their drink, or maybe they were waiting for a slip up. Waiting for a trace of skin that most would never have the pleasure of seeing. Two, the waitress that had just served Skav was taking a wad of cash from a certain group of similarly masked gentlemen.

Whoops.

Skav swirled their unfinished drink around mildly, blinking passed a new wave of drowsiness that hadn't been so strong before. The group at the table beyond was watching them, obviously waiting for Skav to finish off their whiskey, and obviously waiting for Skav to fall victim to whatever drug they had managed to slip into it.

They were not aware, however, that Skav was not a victim any longer.

A wobbling fist pressed against the glass, pushing it out of reach, while another twisted down to press hard pinches into their thigh. Skav pressed further into the corner of the booth, breathing heavy as they tried to force sobriety. Years of taking alien-substances made them rather resistant to most drugs (depending on the amount they take in, of course), and while Skav should be half way across the seat asleep by now their body remained awake and reluctant. The only possible issue right now was their inability to feel their finger tips and toes... And possibly the entire left side of their body. Glancing down at the watch on their wrist, Skav documented the current time (1:43 A.M.), and then sought through their foggy brain to remember the pub's closing time (4 A.M.? 5 A.M.?).

Intoxication left them clumsy and easily read. They couldn't leave the pub without being followed, Hell, the probably couldn't even leave the booth without the watchful crowd raising to greet them half way. A part of their mind willed them to take a risk, another told them to stay put and wait for their mind to come back to them. A third voice said rescue was coming. Skav decided the former and latter voices were all too drunk to rely on and instead slumped down in their seat, waiting for some kind of sense to find them.

Hopefully it would come before the dark eyes beyond grew tired of waiting.

---

---

---

---

This is not Blue’s type of place; and if he weren’t in search of a cheap drink, he wouldn’t even be here. The smooth jazz, the vinyl-seated booths, the hardwood floors… suffice to say they were a far cry from what he’s used to. Barely an hour ago, he was still on the opposite side of town, in a club pounding with basslines so loud he could feel the vibration deep in his bones. He doesn’t remember much, of course. After he’d taken one of those cute little tablets with the smiley faces printed on them, the world had narrowed down to neon flashes of light and the press of bodies around him.

But by now, the high has mostly worn off, though there’s still a warm, pleasant buzz skittering just beneath the surface of his skin. Apart from that, however, he’s surprisingly sober. Blue vaguely recalls the echo of laughter, his laughter, as he dragged someone along, face buried into the side of their neck in his endeavour to score a free drink. Whoever he’d accosted, they were terribly stingy with their money, and he hadn’t ingested nearly enough alcohol to accomplish his goal of getting blackout drunk. The fact that he wasn’t currently tripping over his own feet is evidence enough, but he does plan to change that before the sun crawls from beyond the horizon.

The bartender doesn’t even spare him a second glance when Blue steps inside, eyes trained on the TV as she wipes down a perfectly clean whiskey glass. People grew accustomed to the strangest things, and the inhabitants of San Marzano were no different. These days, animal masks were everywhere, when just a little over a year ago, you wouldn’t be able to catch anyone wearing them outside of Halloween. The trend spread through the city like an epidemic, infecting its youth with nebulous efficiency, and really, it was only a matter of time before the local rabble-rousers caught on. Subconsciously, Blue tugs lightly on the hem of his mask, due to some strange, compulsive urge, making sure it’s secure.

He soon ventures further into the bar, boots thumping heavily against the wooden floor. It’s only then that he catches sight of a familiar face. Wait, scratch that, it was a mask; a mask of pitch black feathers and eyes of crimson glass. Blue has to take a moment to weigh the pros and cons of approaching them. On one hand, he really isn’t inebriated enough to deal with Skav’s ramblings on such a nice Sunday night, but on the other hand... He notices the group of masked men sitting at a nearby table, casting furtive glances at the crow-masked Razor when they think no one’s looking. It’s a poor attempt at subtlety, to say the least, when even someone like Blue can discern their foul intentions with a glance.

With a practiced nonchalance - back hunched, hands stuck in his pockets - he strolls closer to where Skav is seated, sliding into the booth opposite them. Briefly, his gaze flickers to the glass on the table, quarter-filled with a swirling, amber liquid. They didn’t look like they were planning on polishing off the rest of it, and judging from the way they swayed slightly in their seat, it was an easy enough matter to draw up a conclusion.

“Don’t you know not to take drinks from strangers?” His tone is wry, but when he leans over the table to clamp a steadying hand on their shoulder, the gesture betrays his concern. More than anything, getting out of here was first priority, though he doubted they’d get very far with the state Skav was in. They might’ve been handling it better than most others could ever hope to, but they were still grossly outnumbered, as Blue would realise when he slumps back into his seat. And the icing on the cake? They were too far away from Razor territory to even think of calling backup.

God, they really were screwed, weren’t they? He probably should’ve been a tad more worried, but the lingering effects of molly dulled his panic to a faint, unobtrusive thrum of apprehension. Heaving a sigh, Blue leans forward once again, though this time, he only does so to whisper conspiratorially. “Please tell me you parked the Qrow nearby.”

The hand on Skav's shoulder was an unexpected and grounding weight. They drank it up, memorizing the tug of familiar fingers rather then the masks that bore holes into the side of their head. The haze lifted just enough for Skav to tilt their head and groan out a wordless answer. The alcohol and drugs slowed their world down to a colorful, dark blur, swallowing their mind whole. Their heart was currently racing from memory alone, and the added strain only made them fall deeper into a thick stupor. Skav breathed in heavily again, holding it, counting to ten backwards over and over again under their breath until they found enough energy to straighten and lean across the table. Blue's mask came into focus then, and a harsh, unconvinced laugh echoed from deep within Skav's throat.

"I really am lucky, huh?" They slurred, swaying to press their head up against the wall as the world turn sideways and then back again, "Waitress slipped me something. I think-- I know, uh, it was a gift from those gentlemen over there. Are they still looking at me?" Skav twisted to stare at the table, and the group's eyes quickly turned to the jukebox casually. Skav laughed again. Their body had begun to quake from the neck down, and the laugh curled into another drowsy groan.

The rest of the pub remained none the wiser to Skav's woes-- well, most of the pub. Skav swore they could see a red-dressed blur pacing behind the bar. Poor, guilty, bitchy waitress, their mind sang, and Skav felt distaste swelling in their chest. Or-- maybe that was just their body wishing to dispel all the poison they took in tonight. Skav let their head fall to the table, sighing out around the rush of sickness threatening to claim their throat, and they hissed, "Qrow is a block down. No parking... Here." Skav shuddered again, stomping their left foot as the static of sleep filled their toes, "Now, now... Give me a moment to plan our downfall."

Skav turned their head to stare out at the rest of the room again. What was worth noting? The bar wasn't full, nor was it empty. There was a gathering of muscular, unaffiliated bikers surrounding one of the arcade machines, and a businessman was passed out alone at the bar. The group staring at Skav only consisted of four different masks, and they all were working at their drinks slowly. The rest of the room was a quiet hum of life, and slowly becoming a singularly colored blur. Skav struggled to fit all the pieces together. Their left foot had fallen asleep again. Their mind was a swirling vortex of nothing. It was all very distracting and Skav couldn't help but let their eyes slide shut, just for a moment.

Their dream was short and quick and nostalgic; all needles and smoke and smiles worth running from. Skav started awake and hissed out a curse meant for no one, straightening just enough to stare up at Blue's hissing mask. The glass clattered across the table, spilling messily off to one side, and when a few unfamiliar faces turned to inspect the noise an idea formed. Skav laughed once more while they surged up, pushing the now-empty glass over to Blue's side expectantly.

"I need you..." They slurred, swaying, "To start a bar fight. Throw the glass at the--the tattooed guys. By the arcade machine. Just do something to cause a commotion." Skav pressed back into their seat and let their head droop, once again losing their ability to move more than an inch a minute.

"Commotion... And then we book it. I'll try to sober up while you ge-get to work."

---

---

---

---

At Skav’s question, Blue shoots a quick glance at the group to confirm that, yes, they were, in fact, still looking. They weren’t being very subtle about it, either, and he almost snorts when one of the men turns to look their way, his movements dull and heavy-handed. Still, the fact that the Qrow was parked a block away did not bode well, a sense of dread beginning to well up in the pit of his stomach. The group was sat closer to the door than they were, so making a break for it was out of the question. More likely than not, they wouldn’t even be able to set foot outside the bar before they got the shit kicked out of them.

There’s another pause before Blue speaks again, raking a hand down the side of his neck to focus his thoughts. His nails leave behind angry, red lines on pale skin that fade away to nothingness just as quickly as they’d surfaced, but for now, it’s enough. He feels the buzz in his brainstem waver in response to the pain, like the bright, warm flame of a candle fighting against gusts upon gusts of biting wind. He mourns the loss, but only for a second, quickly remembering that he had better things to worry about; and the little plastic baggie in his pocket promised a rapturous taste of heaven if they only just made it out of here in one piece.

“Better come up with it quick, big guy,” he murmurs, moving to sprawl across his side of the booth like a long-limbed octopus. The group was getting restless - he could tell - their glances and conversation growing increasingly agitated. They’d expected to wait, of course, but not this long. Skav’s unnatural resistance to the drug was surely proving quite the nuisance, and Blue is almost awed by how they haven’t yet been knocked out cold. “I don’t think those guys are gonna wanna wait much longer.”

When Skav knocks over their glass, Blue flinches, recoiling from the spilt, amber liquid like it was poison. He looks up from the accident just in time to see a few curious faces, people reverting to basic instincts and muscle memory. It doesn’t take long for Blue to catch on to his companion’s plan, and he immediately moves to put it into action. No time like the present, right?

Blue then grabs the glass, and climbs to his feet with surprising grace. There’s a moment of hesitation, but the icy anger clawing up his spine far outweighs it. Did they think the Razors were easy targets? Did they think Skav was? Did they think he was? For a brief moment, he can barely resist the urge to stalk up to group and give each of them a faceful of glass, but instead, he just swallows his rage, fingers tightening around the makeshift weapon. If they were going to make it out of here, he needed to stick with the plan, however hastily thrown together it was.

“Hey, asshole!” Rearing his arm back, he lobs the glass at the biker, and he’s quickly rewarded with a grunt of pain when it shatters against his skull. Crystalline shards pepper the ground beneath him, some stained with bright red blood, some remained pristine, but it does get him the expected results. Soon, there’s shouting - something about how he should kiss his ass goodbye - the heavyset, tattooed beast of a man charging at Blue like a bull at the sight of a matador’s red cape. He doesn’t wait to get hit, leaping across a table to get to where the masked men were sat. The one wearing a dog mask grabs him, hands closing around his arms like a vice, but he manages to wrench himself free, ducking out of the way just in time to send the biker crashing into his would-be assailant.

It sets off a chain reaction, the other masked men on the biker in a instant, and soon, the ones crowded around the arcade machines join in as well. Blue, for the most part, is unscathed, managing to stumble from the altercation with nothing worse than a busted lip. The masked men and bikers were far too occupied to pay him any mind, though it would only be a matter of time before they realised that he was the one they should be after.

“Can you walk?” Blue hisses at Skav, but he doesn’t wait for a reply before he grabs them by the arm, forcibly pulling them to their feet. “Here, lean on me. We have to get the fuck outta here.”

"I-I'll manage, snake. Don't get too grabby." Skav groaned as the world shifted into movement, but they made no effort to pull free. In a world where Skav was of sound mind and body they would have, perhaps, slipped out of Blue's grasp to make a half-hearted bolt for the exit, knowing full well that the snake would be on their heels. That time and place was nonexistent. Skav was seeing double while their body was fighting against an invisible, liquid enemy. Shame swelled among the feelings of sickness and hate. Shame for being so easily caught, shame for having to rely on the steady (shorter) shoulder of Blue, shame for not being to walk on their own. The bar faded into a blur as Skav stumbled across the wood floor, unable to find solid ground.

They were halfway to the door when something dashed off Skav's shoulder. They winced against the feel of wetness, hearing the offbeat shatter of a glass by their ankle as they stumbled and clutched tighter to Blue. "Christ, they're pissed..." They slurred, head lolling back slightly to see a mess of bodies and colors. Glass dug into the sole of their shoe as they took a heavy step forward. One after another. Walk. Walk. Skav felt their toes curl with life, forced and heavy with drugs, and then they straightened somewhat and increased speed towards the door. The fight grew to a distant hum, and the stuffy air was suddenly sucked out and replaced with humid rainfall as the duo shoved the door open.

Skav practically fell up the stairs, hissing out in pain as the rain thudded against their mask and echoed tremendously through their hollow-feeling head. Weight shifted and they scrabbled to clutch onto BlueThe neon sign overhead cut into Skav's gaze, impossibly red and smudgy. Everything felt airy and cloudy. Skav wondered mindlessly if they were dreaming, if the bar and the rain and the weight beside them was really just figmants of their imagination. That thought faded as knees slapped against soaked stairs, and Skav regained enough sense of mind to climb up the rest steps.

"C'mon shorty-- pick up... The pace." Skav groaned, finding their footing again as the world meshed into a single black-blue and the rain filled up whatever silence was left between them.

Skav pointed limply towards the general direction of the Qrow, head rolling hazardously around on their neck. The thumping rain was almost enough to mask the sound of quickly approaching footsteps. Almost. Skav tensed and swayed, head twisting just enough to see the shadow barreling towards them from within the blur of night. The starting cough of a warning caught in Skav's throat, and, in an effort to save both of their heads, they twisted and kicked and pulled until they were able to push Blue away and toppled over onto the rain-flooded street.

A baseball bat shattered where the two had been standing, splintering across the earth and pelting Skav's legs with a shower of chipped wood. They found no energy to scramble away, instead tilting up an inch to eye at their assailant. A dog mask stared back, holding the remains of the bat and breathing hard and heavy. The world blurred again and Skav let their head tilt back, wheezing out a defeated laugh as the shadow shifted to stand over them, a new, smaller weapon in hand.

"This is Bomber territory." The man said. Skav felt their fingers prick and reach instinctively for their back pocket, finding the butterfly knife there to be soaked and heavy in their grasp. They made no attempts to show off the weapon, however, as the man loomed over them. Another blur of a weapon was dangling precariously over the eyes of the crow mask. One last groan escaped them as they shifted onto their elbows and lurched back, waiting for a clear mind or an opening or a chance to run but finding only smoke and rain and shadows. "You know what we do to brutes like y'all around here?"

Fuck.

---

---

---

---

“Sure you will.” Blue starts, but bites back the rest of the retort. He wasn’t in the mood for a verbal joust, and he doubted Skav was as well. A quick look over the shoulder confirms that they didn’t have much time left to get out of here. He doesn’t even notice the glass hurtling their way until he hears Skav’s comment, chock full of that trademark sardonicism even in the face of danger. Blue, on the other hand, just lets out an exasperated, near-delirious huff of laughter, eyes flickering to the shards splayed across the ground, and then to the darkened patch on Skav’s shoulder. It had missed him by an order of magnitude, but it seemed the crow-masked Razor wasn’t quite as lucky.

“Jesus, what have you been eating?” Blue grunts with effort when Skav drapes even more of their weight on him, stumbling past the threshold that separated Quincy’s Bar from the cold, wet world outside. The moment rainwater hits skin, a dull ache awakens in his muscles, the muddied soles of his boots struggling to find purchase against slippery, metal stairs. With every second that crawls by, the climb seems to become more and more insurmountable, though it’s all he can do to grit his teeth and press on. The rainwater is starting to seep into his clothes, and he feels his stomach drop when he almost trips face-first into the pavement. Fortunately, Skav’s is there to steady him, their weight acting as a counterbalance even if they weren’t consciously aware of it.

Before Blue can ask where the Qrow was, he gets his answer. It’s hard to tell quite where they are through thick curtains of rain, but he trusts the street lamps lining the sidewalk will light their way. Taking a deep breath, he tightens his grip around Skav’s torso, prepares for the journey ahead.

And then, out of nowhere, Skav’s shoves him away. There’s a brief moment where he’s seized by shock and confusion and anger, a caustic, chemical cocktail of emotions swimming through the recesses of his brain, though it doesn’t take long for him to notice the figure careening towards them. Dog-mask is surprisingly agile for his size, and he reaches them in a matter of seconds, but his baseball bat goes wide and swings into the ground, splintering on impact. Like thunder, the sound of wood against concrete is deafening; the threat of violence a more effective deterrent than violence itself. Ears ringing, he finds himself unable to do anything other than watch, scrabbling back when dog-mask gets too close. Their adversary looms over them, the shattered stump of a baseball bat quickly forgotten, and it is only then that he catches sight of a glint of metal - sharp, serrated, and deadly.

On instinct, Blue reaches for his own switchblade - slowly, gently - while dog-mask’s attention is fixed on Skav. His heart pounds in his chest, but his grip is steady, waiting for a chance to strike.

Mustering up every last shred of energy, Blue launches himself at dog-mask, aiming for the throat. The Bomber, however, ducks out of the way with a second to spare, and the blade only scores a line through his jacket. Then, he catches Blue by the wrist, forcefully wrenching the knife out of his hand. It falls to the ground with a resounding clang, and Blue can almost feel the shit-eating grin underneath that mask, but he doesn’t let that bother him for too long - he couldn’t. With all his strength, he twists around to clamp a hand on dog-mask’s forearm, pulling the man with him as he falls backwards onto the sidewalk.

Blue knows it took him by surprise when the grip on his wrist weakens, though it only offers him a moment of respite for him to come up with a new course of action. Hooking an arm around dog-mask’s neck, he uses the other’s heft as leverage, pushing him onto his side. He’d almost forgotten about dog-mask’s knife, but a flash of metal, and the blade is pressed close to his neck - a particularly unfriendly reminder. Blue closes both hands around the Bomber’s arm in an effort to push the knife away from him, legs kicking all the while.

“You’re fucking dead, you little shit!”

“Skav!” Blue hisses through gritted teeth, his grip beginning to waver. The cold metal bites into his skin, and beads of red ooze from the still-shallow cut. “A little - shit! A little help here?!”

Skav breathes in response to Blue's outcries. The sounds are shallow and slow and laced with strain; the sighs of an Olympic runner or a dying man. They breathe and breathe until the world stops spinning and the rain appears as singular pixels instead of a mesh of water, and then Skav is rolling onto their stomach and pushing themself up onto their knees. The butterfly knife toppled into the rain-flooded street, a rectangle of oil-colors in the mess of a darkness. Skav fumbled to get a grip on it. Their fingers wouldn't close properly, filled with static instead of blood, and sleep wavered their vision and their grasp again and again. Eventually, adrenaline stuck the two together, and Skav was able to raise shakily to their feet. They didn't have a sense of mind to think anymore, and with a stunted cry they rushed forward as barreled right into the assailant.

Weight sent both flying over Blue and tumbling across the sidewalk. Skav kicked and thrashed against the heavier weight of Dog-mask, practically blind and mostly deaf to the curses that were barely filling the thundering air. They eventually managed to pull away from Dog-mask, skidding back an inch or two until their back was pressed securely onto a wall. The butterfly flicked open, glinting in the streetlamp light, and Skav tried to calm their wheezing breath and find their eyesight again. It came back too quickly, though, when a sudden fist dug into their stomach. Slashing random, Skav felt their blade catch on either fabric or skin, and then they were being thrown again, away from the wall and back onto more sodden sidewalks.

"Fuck! Fuck!" Dog-mask cursed. Skav rose onto their knees again, heaving dryly and sobbing despite themself, and then they were scrabbling to their feet again, twisting on their heels just in time to see Dog-mask reach out for another punch. Skav ducked, faltered as they lost their sense of balance again, and then they barreled into Dog-mask's stomach, throwing both onto the ground. They took a fraction of a second to notice the man's lack of weapon, and then another to realize he was bleeding from a gash in his shoulder. Satisfaction formed and then fell apart as they swayed again, and Dog-mask took the second of delay to thrash and throw Skav off to one side.

Skav groaned when a foot dug right into their solar plexus again, shuddering passed a wish to vomit then and there as weight fell onto them and hands closed around their throat. Skav had no energy to thrash. Air was vanishing quickly, and their brain wasn't prepared to go without oxygen, not when it was drunk and drugged to holy Hell. Skav muttered a prayer under their breath, short and sweet, singing out Hail Mary's in a drastically failing tone just as their hands rose up to bury the knife into the man's gut. Warmth soaked their hands, a drastic change of pace from the chilling rain above.

Curses were uttered like a fervent prayer, and Skav scrambled back when the hands around their neck loosened and rose to grapple with Skav's fingers and weapon. The butterfly knife is caught and thrown off towards Blue, an obviously idiotic act that the other man didn't even seem to realize until it was too late, but Skav didn't give them anytime to fix their wrong. They jerked up a knee and dug it right into the sensitive area surrounding the fresh puncture wound. Dog-mask screamed in pain, reaching blindly for the wound, and Skav pulled away further until, once again, they found a wall to their back. They took a moment to catch their breath, twisting around the bruises on their stomach as their lungs filled with wet air and smoke and the promise of sleep. Dog-mask wasn't screaming anymore.

No... There was no noise at all. Nothing, just the hum of their own heart in their ears. The world wasn't even a mesh of colors, just darkness. Skav was blind again, completely useless as they pressed far into the scratchy texture of bricks and grease and waited. They didn't have to wait long, of course. Dog-mask would regain some of his rage eventually, and when he did Skav would feel every inch of anger that decided to manifest.

Still, the next punch was much worse then Skav expected it to be.

It came like a bullet and caught their nose and upper lip beyond the mask. Darkness danced, rain water tasted coppery, and then Skav was being pressed higher up onto the wall, held there by hands that were shaking with truculence and pain and fury. Skav hung limply. "You're dead. You're so fucking dead, Crow."

"Don' feel very dead," Skav licked their split upper lip and tasted blood. Their eyes squeezed shut as the hands gripping their collar shifted up to press against their wind pipe again, "I think-- I think you're lying to me." They wheezed, and then laughed as Dg-mask cursed them out in reply.

---

---

---

---

Blue doesn’t see Skav collide into dog-mask, head twisted to the side by a meaty palm pressed into his face, but the crushing weight is off him in an instant, the prick of metal vanishing into thin air. A warm trickle of blood oozes down the side of his neck and mixes with rainwater, staining the collar of his t-shirt a vibrant red. He feels a stab of pain lance through the cut, a low hiss escaping from him when he turns his head to regain his bearings. The blade must’ve nicked his jugular, barely scraping the surface; though the fact that he wasn’t currently bleeding out on the sidewalk is a much needed reassurance.

His muscles scream in protest, but he ignores it and clambers to his feet. When he sees Skav backed up against the wall, dog-mask closing in on them, adrenaline and basic instinct begins to take over, vision reddening at the edges. Blue easily notices the rainbow-hued butterfly knife on the pavement even through the shroud of night, and bends to snatch it up. Almost mechanically, his feet carry him across the distance, getting faster and faster until he’s barrelling towards dog-mask at full speed. He’s already injured, Blue thinks to himself, remembering the screams he’d heard mere seconds ago. Dog-mask is too busy choking the life out of Skav to notice Blue’s advance on him, and by the time he plunges the knife into his back, it’s too late for any kind of salvation.

Blue is rewarded with a howl of pain when the blade buries itself into flesh, drawing back to plunge it in once more before he can even react. It isn’t long before dog-mask collapses in on himself, stumbling back in a wild thrash of agony. With each pump of blood, more and more of dog-mask’s lifeforce slips out of him, and it’s an easy enough matter to shove the Bomber onto his back, cracking his skull against the concrete with a well-placed kick to the head, though he doesn’t stop there - not yet. When dog-mask tries to grab him, Blue stomps down on his arm, and feels the satisfying crunch of bone and tendon underfoot.

Dog-mask is as good as gone - Blue knows, judging from the pool of blood gathering under him - but he just keeps doing what he’s doing. Readjusting his grip on the knife, he slaps away another clumsy grope before bringing it down again - once, twice, thrice, countless times. Beneath the mask, Blue’s eyes are wild, teeth bared with rage, so furious that he can feel it burning through him, and he only stops when dog-mask dying gurgles fade to nothingness. For a long moment, he just stares at the blood weaving away down the cracks in the pavement, shoulders heaving with exertion, but as if by a flick of the switch, he remembers Skav. Letting the knife clatter to the ground, he stalks over to them, and crouches down to inspect the damage.

It’s hard to discern any noticeable injuries, as covered up as Skav was, though it’s probably a good omen that there’s nothing too readily apparent. What lies underneath the mask, however, is likely a different story altogether. He hadn’t exactly been paying attention, but he’s still vaguely aware of what dog-mask had done to Skav during their little altercation, and despite what some might think, a fist could sometimes do more damage than a sharpened blade. He’d peel off Skav’s mask to check, of course, but he comes to the conclusion that there’s no immediate merit in doing so; out here, there’s nothing he can do to help them, anyway. Right now, their top priority was getting somewhere safe.

“C’mon, get up,” Blue snaps, the words spitting out of him like bullets. This kind of thing had never been Blue’s forte - he doesn’t have the patience - though he isn’t about to wait around for Skav to slip away, either. Gingerly, he snakes an arm around the trunk of Skav’s body, braces himself against the wall, and pulls both of them back up to their feet. His knees nearly give out beneath him, but through sheer force of will, manages to stay upright, and he makes sure to pick up both knives off the ground. Skav feels even heavier than before, no doubt due to the combined efforts of near-unconsciousness and waterlogged clothes. The walk to the Qrow seems much longer than it actually is, but with the steady pitter-pat of rain against his skin, incandescent anger begins to cool into something a bit more manageable.

After what seems like an eternity, Blue spots the familiar silhouette of the Qrow, bathed in the warm, yellow light of a sodium street lamp. Briefly, he turns to look at Skav, then back at the car again, and it’s not at all an overstatement to say that he’s never been so relieved to see it. Half-dragging, half-stumbling, he starts to make his way towards the car, tightening his grip around his much taller companion.

Unsurprisingly, the Qrow is locked, though he still tries to yank the door open. “Keys, keys, keys...” Blue mumbles (mostly to himself) as he rummages through Skav’s pockets in his efforts to find the object. When his fingers finally find purchase, he lets out a triumphant ‘a-ha!’, and fishes the key from its hiding place. Blue has to shift awkwardly around Skav to manoeuvre them into the car, but he does eventually manage to do so, slamming the door shut once all of their gangling limbs have been stuffed safely inside. The bloodied handprint left behind is definitely a problem, but that’s something for his future self to worry about.

Blue then circles around to the opposite side of the car, climbing into the driver’s seat. Once he shuts the door, all that’s left is the steady drumming of rain against the roof, and he takes a moment to contemplate their destination. For more reasons than one, his apartment was definitely a no-go, and after the events that’d transpired, they sure as hell weren’t going to the hospital. Now, there’s only one place left to go, isn’t there? The Qrow roars to life when he twists the key in the ignition, and soon enough, they’re peeling away into the night, leaving the pale, exsanguinated corpse of a Bomber in their wake.

Skav heard a scream cut through the silence of their resting senses, and then the hands on their neck vanished and they were toppling to the soaked concrete. They waited in silence. Blind and deaf and immobile, they waited and waited and waited for some kind of sign. Skav felt their adrenaline and mind waver as their head lolled and their body slumped and grew even more malleable to outside forces. Prayers, airy and quiet, escaped them. Wishes to keep living were born, and Skav lapped at the bloody river that trailed down their face and, once again, waited. Waited for the end or for the beginning of a chance to continue on with life. Waited. Waited. Waited.

Blue's voice comes suddenly, loud and clear right in front of their face. Skav winces away from the noise and regrets the action almost instantly as their body swayed and ground further up against the rough bricks. Words failed, caught on their raw throat and flooded tongue. Liquid dreams sloshed in their hollow head, drowning out the feeling of hands and air that swelled when they were once again forced to their feet, and then they were walking. The focused on the movement. One foot after another, left, right, left, right. Skav had to keep remembering to stay awake. Without the push of panic coursing through their veins they were simply another roofied pedestrian, a drunk and drugged citizen who was lucky to be alive.

The duo stumbled down the rest of the block in silence. Skav thought they heard the rumble of more footsteps behind them after a moment, and then a curse and a name they hadn't heard in a long, long time. "... Arya... -ing to... pissed."

Skav's stumbling walk turned into a withheld stumbling sprint, and then the voices were gone and Skav was being pressed against the Qrow. Hands they assumed to be Blue's scoured through their pockets, and they couldn't hold back the small flinches of discomfort that spurred. A joyous noise of satisfaction reverberated through Skav's skull once Blue found what they were looking for, and then the rain was replaced by the familiar smell of gasoline and leather and peace swallowed them whole. Inky darkness claimed them as the engine growled to life. Dreams of the past and the present swirled, a vortex of muted colors and chrome. Skav slept the entire ride, because they couldn't fight the drugs anymore and it was better then getting sick and ruining the interior of both their mask AND their car.

When they burst awake again, Skav found they were pressed against the window of the car, and their apartment complex sat like a dazzling beacon of hope among a dreary, painful night. Their hands grasped at the door, pulling at each jutted corner they found until the passenger door opened and they fell out onto the pavement. Their mind churned, along with their stomach, and Skav settled back onto their heels to catch their breath before sliding up the side of the car and leaning in. They nodded back towards the building, a silent invitation, and without waiting for a response back they turned and stumbled towards the side-entrance of the building.

Skav's apartment was on the fourth floor of the complex, and a single uninterrupted elevator ride brought them to their front door in a matter of seconds. After snagging a spare key from the higher sill of the battered door, Skav pushed into the apartment and made a staggering beeline for the bathroom, making sure to leave the front door slightly ajar for Blue. They ripped the crow mask clean from their head as they stumbled, throwing it onto the hall floor. The apartment was a studio, a single room home that was bare of everything but essentials. A sheet-covered bed was pressed up against the wide, blind-covered windows, and a poor-man's version of a kitchen was exactly opposite to that, pressed into a single corner along with a ratty old couch and a few metal chairs.

Clothes littered the floor, boxers and sweaters and jeans, and Skav added their leather jacket and stained sweater to the pile as they pushed by and practically kicked open one of two doors that were sitting alone on the bare side of the room. The binder holding them together felt too tight, but they made no effort to remove it. They didn't even bother with lights, pressing blindly into the bathroom until they collapsed in front of the toilet and retched. Shaking hands clung to cold porcelain, then rose up to scrub over their shaved head, pressing into the aching flesh at the back of their skull before their body shuddered and dispelled the rest of the alcohol. Blood mingled with sweat and bile, and after a while of pained noise Skav shifted back from the toilet to breathe.

They rose after a moment of feeling utterly helpless, staggering to a halt in front of the mirror to glare through the darkness at their own face. A beaten mixture of their father and mother stared back. Red stained most of the lower half of Skav's face, dropping messily onto the white-porcelain sink. It poured lazily from their nostrils and bubbled from their split lip, and Skav licked at the coppery liquid again until their tongue felt heavy with the taste. Icy gray eyes glared, heavy-lidded and much-too dilated, contrasting vividly with the tanned and bruised flesh that adorned their face. Everything besides their crooked nose and swollen lips looked as it always did; their eyes were narrowed, their eyebrows were furrowed, and the scar jutting from brow to cheek looked much brighter than it usually would.

Everything about their face was utterly feminine, and hideously bruised. Skav hated it.

They stared at their reflection until they saw double, then triple, and with a huff they slid down to lean against the broken wooden cabinets below the basin. "Blue?" They moaned, running their tongue over their front teeth idly, tasting blood but thankfully no empty spaces, "Blue? Not sure if-- nose is broken. Check please."

---

---

---

---

The drive to Skav’s apartment nearly kills them both. Blue is as reckless as ever, shooting past stoplights, making too-tight turns, rainwater splashing up the sides of the car, and he’s almost glad that Skav is knocked out cold when he turns to look. The Qrow is their pride and joy; if anything untoward happened to it… he shuddered to think of the consequences. Blue’s hands jitter on the wheel, skin prickling with gooseflesh. The adrenaline still lingers, and like stop-motion, flashes of the confrontation shutter through his mind’s eye. His hands, slippery with blood. The feeling of driving a blade through muscle, scraping past the stubborn cage of bone. The final, desperate struggles of a dying man. He only snaps out of it when the blare of a horn rings through the cold, night air, swerving out of the way just in time to avoid a head-on collision.

In spite of it all, they manage to make it to their destination without further incident. Blue notices Skav awaken when the car jerks to a stop, and shuts off the purring engine with a twist of the key. Skav is stumbling out of the Qrow before he’s able to do anything else, but when they manage to climb to their feet, worry fades into exasperation. Pushing open the door, he gets out of the car as well, and slams it shut behind him; booted feet landing against the asphalt with a wet-sounding thump. He gazes up at the brick building before them, at the warm, yellow light spilling the third-floor window. He sees a silhouette flash past, a darkened blur of motion, and then the light is gone, extinguished like candle flame. But Blue doesn’t wait any longer to follow Skav inside, stepping through the entrance at the side of the building.

He’s been here enough times to remember that Skav lives on the fourth floor, but the space still feels alien to him. Buzzing fluorescent lights line the corridors, and he hears an argument resonate from behind the paper thin walls. It’s not much different to where he lives, he thinks when they step inside the elevator, though he doesn’t spend much time at home, anyway. Blue moves to lean against the rightmost wall as the elevator shudders to life, sweeps his gaze over Skav’s lanky form to make sure that they aren’t about to collapse. He wouldn’t blame them if they did, considering what they’d gone through, but he didn’t want to have to drag their unconscious body the rest of the way.

The elevator lets out a faint ding when they reach the fourth floor. Blue follows closely behind Skav, taking a small step back when they bolt inside to avoid a potential door to the face. Almost immediately, sounds of retching fill the apartment, bouncing off its narrow walls with ease. He doesn’t bother to shrug off his jacket, but brings a hand up to remove his mask, feeling the tepid air of Skav’s apartment hit his skin as soon as it comes off. Bleached blonde hair, hacked in uneven shocks with black peeking from the roots fall from their latex confines, and Blue draws a hand through the locks in a fruitless attempt at wrestling them back into place. He’s still bleeding from the neck, the stain on his shirt having grown to the size of his palm, but it has slowed substantially, platelets at the wound coagulating into a sluggish brick-red.

Quite unlike the rest of him, the skin on his face is unmarked - pale with a faint hue of olive. He’s always looked like his mother, or what he remembers of her, at least, years before the drugs took their toll. Hollowed cheeks, almond-shaped eyes with irises the color of obsidian, an overall unremarkable nose, and plush, cupid’s bow lips that have earned him many compliments from his clients. His mouth… yes, what was he forgetting? Almost involuntarily, his hand comes up to touch his bloodied lip, fingers coming away daubed with red.

Without thinking, he shambles over to the kitchen sink, turns on the tap, and makes to scrub his face clean. Almost immediately, he feels a sizzle of pain around the cut on his lip, drops of red swirling down the drain. He doesn’t, however, react beyond a muted hiss, pressing a damp hand to the side of his neck before turning off the water.

Then, all of the sudden, it’s too quiet. No sooner did he take a step towards the bathroom that he heard Skav’s voice coming from around the corner. Blue picks up the pace, feet stomping through the apartment, but he isn’t about to let Skav bleed out on the bathroom floor. The door is unlocked, and he steps through the threshold to see Skav, crouched against the sink.

“...For fuck’s sake,” Blue sighs, flicking on the light, revealing the terrible, sleepless bruises under his eyes. Dropping to his knees in front of the other, he eyes the purple-red bruise that was starting to bloom across the bridge of their nose. Bony fingers reach up brush against Skav’s jaw to turn their head, eyes narrowing with an almost metallic focus. The cartilage is slightly askew, but as long as they didn’t go getting punched in the face again, that was nothing to worry about compared to the still-bleeding gash. They needed to get the wound cleaned out before any nasty shit managed to worm its way inside. “It’s pretty bad, not gonna lie. You got any bandages? Disinfectant?”

Skav stared at the wall above Blue's head as the man inspected their face, feeling a bit too bleary to focus in on the other's own injuries without losing some of their well-trained apathy. Still, their lips quirked painfully at Blue's honesty, and without another word they shifted away from the cabinet and his hands and stood to claw open the medicine cabinet. Sparse items sat on the mirrored shelves: a gathering of unopened pill bottles, a collection of unused but crumpled tissues, and a single brown bottle of peroxide. No gauze or bandages, but Skav didn't expect to find any. They grasped the peroxide bottle and closed the cabinet door, glancing down at Blue with heavy-lidded eyes. They focused in on the cut on his neck, and something more akin to concern cut through their straight gaze.

"No bandages." They said simply, reaching over them to grasp a few handfuls of toilet paper, "Rip up one of my shirts if you want to cover that ghastly cut on your neck." Skav opened the bottle with shaky fingers and then took a few moments to gently tip it into the wadded tissues, watching lazily as moisture caught and turned the paper into a white-ish mush. They pressed the mess onto the cut and winced visibly, leaning over the sink with a short hiss as the concoction bubbled against the cut and sent swaths of foam and blood down into the basin.

Skav held the toilet paper there out of pure spite, finding some sense of mind from the sting and smell. They stayed stagnant and focused until the TP was more blood and disinfectant than paper. The mess was then discarded into the toilet, and everything within was flushed down and hidden below the seat. Skav took a few more silent moments to scrub the blood from their skin and gently dab at their bruises with a soaked finger, pupils still small and wavering with each glance they took at their own face. The bruises on their neck were beginning to fade, but the weight remained. They sucked in a labored breath and held it. The feel of swelling lungs reminded Skav that they were indeed alive.

Eventually, they backed away from the sink, sliding passed Blue's smaller frame to sit on the toilet seat. They leaned onto their knees and scrubbed their hands over the back of their scalp, feeling dirty and tired and heavy-headed. Vulnerable, a muted voice in their head screamed.

"Okay," Skav muttered, glaring down at the messy tiles, "Okay, okay. That's over. Snake?--" Skav's head tilted to stare at the blonde again, eyebrows furrowed. Faint memories but memories nonetheless came; hands on throats, knives on skin, Blue stabbing a body over and over again. Ghastly sights they don't remember seeing. Moving on feeling alone, they hooked a finger in the back of Blue's shirt and pulled, "You look gross." They said apathetically, "Don' got warm water but, like, take a shower if you want one. And loose the bloody shirt. I'll give you something to wear if you want."

Skav stood up unsteadily and slid passed Blue again, leaning against the bathroom door to open it again. Their body didn't see much logic in walking after that, however, and with a grunt they lowered down onto the wood floor and reached to grab whatever article of clothing was nearby. They took one last second to glance back at the bathroom, at Blue, at the memory of blood and knives, and with a cool if not slurred voice they purred, "Confessionals are open now, too, in case you would like to get some sins off your chest. I'm all ears, snake."

---

---

---

---

At Skav’s words, Blue is suddenly reminded of the cut on his neck. Vertigo begins to creep up from him, a dizzying combination of lightheadedness and nausea. Just how much blood had he lost? No sooner did he remove his hand from the wound that it started to tflaming from sullen mauve to incandescent red. Despite his body’s attempts to knit itself back together, the paper-thin scab that’d formed wasn’t enough to quench the flow of blood, sloughing off in broken pieces as soon as it came into contact with water. He wastes no time in retrieving one of Skav’s shirts, but gives it an experimental sniff before ripping it up.

Blue easily spots the open bottle of peroxide sitting on the edge of the sink, and closes a hand around it, tipping its contents over onto a torn piece of cloth. When he first presses the peroxide-soaked fabric against the gash, the pain is white-hot, searing through his nerves like acid. He lets out a quiet wince at the sensation, but doesn’t let go until the bubbling ceases, a cold trickle of pink sliding down his neck, over the jut of collarbones. The cloth falls away to the floor, and Blue sets aside a fresh, mostly clean piece to knot around his neck later.

“Still look better than you, sasquatch.” He bares his teeth in a half-hearted grin, though it quickly morphs into a grimace when he feels the lingering peroxide begin to foam and sizzle. Still, he has to admit - the shirt was getting a little too grungy, even for him, and he starts to shrug off the jacket, then grabs onto the collar of his t-shirt to yank it off over his head. It falls in a pool next to him, reeking of sweat, rainwater, and the coppery tang of blood. Blue feels a twinge of sadness at having to get rid of it, but he ignores it in favour of climbing to his feet. It’s surprisingly difficult to push himself upright, his legs beginning to prick with pins and needles, and he has to brace a hand against the cool porcelain of the sink for support.

Reaching for the holster at the back of his jeans, he drops two knives into the sink - one colored in shades of rainbow, and the other a simple switchblade. They land with a loud clang that reverberates through the bathroom, clattering around noisily before finally falling silent. “Almost forgot these.”

Blue doesn’t stop the other when they brush past him; instead, he starts to move further inside. A shower sounded like heaven; the fact that warm water wasn’t an option didn’t bother him in the slightest. All he wanted was to get all this filth off him, and a shower - no matter how cold - was just what he needed. He’s in the middle of removing his boots when Skav’s voice reaches him, a short bark of laughter tumbling past his lips. His reply is tinged with nonchalance, much like a mother humoring her child, but he doesn’t reject the notion completely. Something to think about, perhaps. “Yeah, sure. I’ll keep that in mind, Father Skav.”

The rest of his clothes are removed with well-practiced ease, and he steps into the shower, twisting the tap clockwise. Water bursts from the showerhead in a freezing torrent, and Blue has to fight the urge to duck away. His body is warm, warmer than it should be - thinner, too. These days, he’s eating better than he used to, but his hipbones are like knives, the knots of his spine punching out angrily from under a layer of skin. Clear, clean water soon begins to run rusty red, and for the longest while, Blue just trains his gaze on the wall before him, unmoving, unthinking. When he does eventually come back to himself, the water isn’t red anymore, and he twists the faucet closed. Wringing his hair out the best he can, he manages to find a surprisingly clean towel that he uses to dry himself off with, then pulls his boxers back on.

It doesn’t take him too long to find something to wear, a black t-shirt hanging off the bathroom door handle. Skav had obviously left it there for him, and while Blue is positive that it’s a few sizes too big, he pulls it on anyway. The fabric hangs loosely around his shoulder, the hem reaches halfway down his thighs, revealing the two usually-hidden tattoos. The ink has faded somewhat, lines that used to be black turning to a pale, sickly green, though he only takes a moment to knot the piece of cloth around his neck before moving to seek out Skav.

Blue doesn’t even notice his body start to list until he feels his shoulder bump against the wall, but he manages to make it to the couch, collapsing onto it with a sigh of satisfaction. It’s a long moment before he lifts his head again, eyes sliding open, and turns his gaze to meet Skav’s own. Once, twice, he teeters on the edge of conversation, only to decide against it. Another sigh escapes from him, though this time, it’s crossed with a humorless breath of laughter, and he yanks a fist through his hair. “God, where do I even start?”

Endless thoughts swim through his mind, melting together into an amorphous blur. He doesn’t feel like talking, never does; but soon, the words start pouring out of him before he even has the chance to stop himself. “What do you think of me? Like, honestly...” He pauses, draws his legs up to sit cross-legged, and leans forward ever so slightly, head at a quizzical tilt. “What do you think of me; when I let myself get fucked by some John just to make enough money to get high and forget about it? Why do I keep doing it?”

Skav listens to the running shower like its their favorite song, leaning towards the door subconsciously as they shifted over to lean against the couch once propping a spare t-shirt on the door for Blue. Something inside them was stretched too tight, held together too well. Each shuddering breath they took felt like it was too little, too small. At first, they thought it was something to do with Blue, and then something to do with the stranger's hands on their neck. Skav sighed out, held a hand to their chest, and then glanced down as the issue became all too apparent. Glancing towards the door, Skav listened to the rumbling showered, and once the slight concern of being caught changing faded they wiggled out of their binder and reached for a thick sweater to hide whatever curves dared to form.

They had caught a flash of purple-red flesh on their stomach. More scars from the fight. Skav decided to deal with the haunting pain another day, when they knew they were without interruption.

The fog in their mind suddenly lifted, just a bit, as Skav sucked in a real breath and held onto it tightly. They sighed it out, sucked in another, and felt logic and reason return to them, as well as a few heart-stopping memories. The shower squeaked off beyond their mind, but Skav was stuck on a name. Arya. The wish to run woke from hibernation. It had been a long time since they last fled a home, a town, a city; a long time since they last heard that name that offered such a reaction within the Razor. Skav lifted a hand to they face, their eyes, and pressed the heels of their palm down into the soft flesh of their eyelids.

Tears were squeezed away when the door to the bathroom open, and Blue stumbled over to sit above them. Skav tilted their head up to survey the disaster that was their companion. Apathy clung to their expression as they waited for something, anything, to come from Blue's lips. The question at hand, now, was unexpected. Skav's eyebrows quirked considerably, lips pursing and tightening as they processed an answer. Before responding, however, they rose and stumbled on jellied legs into the kitchen to grab two water bottles.

"What do I think of you?" They reinstated, tossing one of the bottles onto the cushion besides Blue. They settled back on the floor, head tipped back to lean against the couch beside Blue's leg. "Well, I think you're a bit of a nympho, or you seem like a nympho. And the drug thing isn't exactly great in my books." As if to prove a point, Skav's expression twisted into mostly feigned disgust. This obviously wasn't going to be a judgement free confessional. Skav twisted open their water bottle and drank slowly, coughing as room temperature liquid swam down their raw throat much too quickly.

Another sigh escaped into the air. Skav stared up at the ceiling, watching the lights of the city beyond the large window dance brilliantly across the room. Purples and pinks and blues and yellows, all twisted due to the storm, all bright due to the never ending night life. To think they almost died in that night outside. Skav lifted a hand to their heart and felt the gentle thumping. It was another reminder: You are here. You are alive. You are fine.

Skav glanced up at Blue again and the apathy threatened to melt. A small and trained smile pressed against their lips instead. "I don't care how you make your money, though, snake. It's not my business. Despite what you see with my driving, I like to stay in my own lane, deal with my own issues." They sighed and gently brought themselves up onto the couch, taking up the far corner out of instinct to curl up and stare at Blue. Their eyes gleamed in the half-light, blue-gray, heavy-lidded, chilling. Emotionless. "I don't think you're a whore or anything, if that's what you're worrying about. I don't think anything of you at all. You're just-- just 'Blue' in my head." Skav ran a hand over their shaved scalp again, rubbing the bristles thoughtfully, scratching at the few bruises that came from being tossed around on soaking pavement.

Something in them wanted to confess. It wasn't an unusual feeling; they felt it every Sunday morning, every weekday night when they settled down to pray. Skav didn't believe in lying or liars, but they still kept secrets locked away, and some days it felt like they were just another sinner keeping information from those who could help them or use it. Lying by omission was still lying, their mind often told them. Something tight twisted in their chest again, and Skav lifted a hand to press against their sternum.

Skav almost said 'I'm being hunted down.'

Skav almost said 'I can't stay in this city anymore.'

Skav almost said 'I probably won't last the summer.'

Skav did say, "And what do you think of me, Bluesy? You annoyed with me yet?" They forced a choked laugh, legs pressing hard against their chest as they curled further into themself, "I'm sure a lot of our fellow gangmates find my anti-blaspheme ways and attitude to be quite a chore to deal with." The tightness in their chest twisted harder. Skav assumed it to be heartstrings, pulling themselves apart out of spite as they sat mostly-bare in front of an ally.

---

---

---

---

Blue can’t help but let out a snort when Skav stumbles back over, two plastic bottles clutched in their hands. Of course, he would’ve preferred something a little stronger than water, but he accepts it with a murmur of thanks and takes a gulp anyway. It’s only then that he realises how parched he is, the water sliding easily down his throat, and he takes another swig before replacing the cap and setting the bottle on the ground. For a long moment, he just sits and listens to what Skav has to say, nodding along; once or twice, he even finds the audacity to smirk. If there’s an imaginary line that separated him from being a whore, he likes to think he hops back and forth over it with the ill-intentioned glee of a disobedient child. “I am though, aren’t I? You’re being pedantic.”

“Besides, it gets me everything I’ve ever wanted. Money, sex, drugs. What’s not to love?” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, but the corners of his lips quirk upward into a self-deprecating smile. There’s a long, pregnant pause before either of them speaks again, and Blue takes the opportunity to cast his gaze out the window. The repetitive tap, tap, tap of fat raindrops drumming against glass, the faraway, neon blur of city lights - he’s suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of quietude, like he could fall asleep right there and then if only he just closed his eyes. Just thinking about how they could’ve died out there… well, he doesn’t feel much of anything. That paralysing fear of mortality had quickly evaporated as soon as they got into the Qrow, leaving behind nothing more than broken skin and aching bones.

Skav’s voice cuts through the silence like a hot knife through butter, instantly shattering Blue’s train of thought. He turns, however, in such a in-his-own-good-time deadpan that it must’ve been impossible to tell whether he’d heard them or not. “M-hm. Can’t have little ol’ me actually starting to mean something now, can we?” There’s not a shred of malice in his voice; instead, it’s imbued with diablerie, and a pinch of well-meaning sarcasm. He doesn’t take Skav’s comment as an insult, because he knows it wasn’t meant to be. In fact, it was probably the closest thing to a compliment he’d ever get from them. Especially when it comes to the drawling, enigmatic Skav, being nothing is oftentimes better than being something.

It isn’t long before they’re at it again, countering his questions with their own. Blue raises his hands in surrender, before shrugging and crossing his arms again. He looks abashed; stealing furtive glances at Skav every now and then from under his lashes. It’s not an act, contrary to what one might believe, he’s just that uncomfortable with actually taking things seriously. Somehow, despite his best efforts to prevent it, these so-called ‘confessionals’ with Skav always manage to smash through his indifference with a metaphorical sledgehammer. Hell, they might as well be huddled around a campfire, holding hands, and singing Kumbaya. Still, he feels like he has to answer - a little something to repay Skav’s honestly, if nothing else.

“Nah, I can think of worse people to hang around.” Blue masks his uncertainty with an endearingly lopsided grin. “The whole Jesus thing is pretty fucking weird though.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, he feels a seed of curiosity germinate within him. He’d never felt the need to ask about Skav’s past, despite their strange yet easy companionship, but now that he’d put his interest into words, it seemed like most apparent course of action, right behind coming up with a coherent answer.

“But, uh, it’s great that you listen to me, you know?” His fingers curl, gripping the corner of his t-shirt. Skav listens when others merely hear. Most of the time, Blue thinks no one gives a shit about what he has to say. He’s just a dealer in the eyes of the Razors, not even their best, in fact, and to his patrons, a warm place to bury their dicks. Ordinary, mediocre, dime a dozen. Perhaps it’s one of the reasons why he’s always been drawn towards Skav, like they could change him into something exceptional through the simple act of association; and if they couldn’t, well, he doesn’t have anything left to lose, does he? “San Marzano looks better with you in it. Brighter, prettier, less like a shithole.”

Then, he lifts his head to catch Skav’s gaze, voice clear and unwavering. He almost chickens out at the last second, a tension-defusing joke at the tip of his tongue, but by the time he’s able to stop himself, it’s far too late. “I’ve been meaning to ask…” For a second, Blue pauses, silently calculating his words. While it might’ve been hard to believe, fucking everything up was the last thing he wanted. “Why did you come here? Why did you join the Razors?”

Skav waggles a finger in Blue's direction at their self-deprecating smirk, eyes glittering with something new, something exciting. They looked like a child for a moment, a child who had discovered something worth playing with and examining. They saw an inch of Blue's self-hate, right? A margin of the man's true colors. Observation was Skav's key trait as a scout for the Razors, and if they didn't put it to use now then what good were they? "If you keep up this little act of yours, Blue, then you'll stay nothing." Skav leans forward and offers a soft, uncharacteristic smile. They felt the tension of a lie between them, but they weren't sure if it was Blue lying to himself or Skav. It left the latter feeling a bit prickly, a bit concerned, and a bit curious. "Don't you know? I can't stand liars."

As Blue turns the conversation over to Skav's questions, they listen quietly, not expecting much. Their apathy returns in record time, and they seem rather unaffected by the other's words until the end. They blinked, feeling a bit caught off guard, and then pressed further into the arm of the couch. Idly, they picked at the fraying fabric at the edge of the cushion, snuffing a dopey look. This time, they felt no lies. "Everyone listens, and San Marzano hasn't changed, regardless if I'm here or not. It'll always be a dreary, dark shithole." Skav gives Blue a complicated expression, a mixture of confusion and gratitude, and then they reached down to snatch up their water bottle.

Skav drank slowly, eyes dark, but at Blue's next question they froze. Their chest constricted, their mind blanked, everything turned white and fuzzy and Skav only saw dark eyes. Their glare refused to falter, even if their fingers clenched and shook.

"Why? Ah--" Skav forced a straight face and leaned back, trying to get as far as humanly possible away from Blue's stare. The couch suddenly felt too small, too open, and without much of a warning they rose and wandered back into the kitchen. Every move was calculated, every step heavy, every sway intentional. Hands grappled quietly for ajar cabinets, pulling out half-empty liquor bottles. Of course, drinking after just throwing up every single poisonous substance in their body wasn't a smart move, but the morning was bound to be a rough one regardless, and with a soft laugh they spun the cap off an aged vodka and took a long, burning shot.

They breathed around their screaming lungs, head stuffed with cotton and veins pumped too full of blood, and then they turned and returned to the couch, passing on the bottle to Blue expectantly. "This is gonna help," They said first, casually nodding to the bottle between them, "Because obviously nothing is peachy keen in life for people like us." Skav stared ahead, trained apathy glowing from every inch of their body, and they focused on the gaze in front of them. Dark eyes versus light ones, dealer versus scout, Blue versus Skav.

They had no reason to hide from Blue. They also had no reason to spill their heart to him, no matter how good getting everything off their chest would feel. Words queued up, confessions and prayers, apologies and curses, lies and truths. Skav placed a thumb to their bottom lip and pushed at the skin there, lost in thought. The action was so innately human, so innately Skav, that they barely registered the tick.

"How about this," Skav began, throwing an arm over the back of the couch (calculated, calculated), "We'll make this a game. A past for a past, a truth for a truth. That way this doesn't become too one sided." And that way, I can hold myself back. Skav's eyebrows perk slightly, and without another word they held out their arms and rolled up the sweater's sleeves as far back as possible. Even in the window-lit room, the spots of needle marks and knife scars stood out among their tan skin. Most assumed them to be self-inflicted, and from them a pretty basic past could be thought up. Most believed Skav was once a drug addict, once institutionalized, once something more than the Christian they are now. None of those stories were true.

"These scars aren't self inflicted." Skav said matter-of-factly, head tilted up and away from the raised flesh as if it offended them, "They're the reason I came here. I ran. I had to get away from he-- the thing that did this to me." Skav stopped themself quickly and slid the sleeves back down, eyes heavy-lidded and not foggy enough to deal with the painful flashes of memory happening within. They reached for the bottle and took another swig, gasping against the burn in their throat.

"That's my first truth. You go, Bluesy. Have any secrets you want to share?"

---

---

---

---

“Who says I’m lying?” Blue questions, eyes wide with feigned innocence, like a child that’d gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It was true for the most part, what he’d said - he loves money, he loves sex, and most of all, he loves drugs. That’s what he tells himself every time he crawls out of a stranger’s bed, muscles aching, brain fuzzy, hair matted with sweat, and other, less savoury fluids. He doesn’t care what form this supposed joy comes in, they’re all just the same to him. With every pill, every note, every fuck, he climbs closer and closer to heaven on a stairway sculpted from his vices - but it’s never enough. He never gets close enough to touch it, only to bask in its glory from the sidelines, and it’s almost as if every step he takes draws him further and further away from that pure, perfect light just beyond the clouds.

San Marzano is the exact opposite - dark, broken, soaked with blood, a cesspool for the worst of humanity to wallow in. Blue has never known any different, his entire world contained within the boundaries of a city. When something (or someone) new comes along, the dull, monochromatic fug is lifted, if only for a second. The Razors had been interesting, too, a vibrant splash of colour. He remembers the days before them, before Skav, when he would do anything just to get enough cash for his next fix. It’d been an unending cycle of highs and lows, flying and falling, light and dark, heaven and hell. When Blue first collapsed at the front door of the Grotto, bloodied and beaten, it’d been a member of the Razors that’d taken him in. For once, he thought that finally being part of something would put an end to the monotony, but it wasn’t long before he started hooking again. The money he made as a low-level dealer just wasn’t enough to sustain his lifestyle, and like they always said: old habits die hard.

Whether Skav realises it or not, their presence here has made a difference. What they did next, however, was something that caught even Blue off guard. He’d expected a strong reaction, of course, but nothing quite like this. Unspoken words die on Skav’s lips, and he doesn’t miss the way they curl into themselves, pressing further into the opposite end of the couch. He watches on with a modicum of trepidation as Skav trundles off to the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets in search of something. When they finally return, a stale bottle of vodka clutched in their hand, Blue can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. Looks like getting absolutely shitfaced was still on the agenda, after all.

For a moment, he thinks they’re not going to answer, and he fills the emptiness by taking a pull from the bottle. It tastes how Clorox smells, burns its way down his throat like a terrible, caustic concoction, but he just lets out a tiny cough, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. At Skav’s proposition, Blue has to take a moment a consider. Maybe he’d already said too much, maybe he’d rather put an end to this while he could. Was this just a coping mechanism? His brain’s histrionic attempt at a distraction from horrors past? Then again, a voice whispers at the back of his head, quiet and unobtrusive, why stop now? Blue’s silence is taken as affirmation, fingers curling around the neck of the bottle as he brings it up to his lips once again.

The first thing he sees is movement, Skav moving to grip one of their sleeves; then… he can barely believe his eyes. He stares, entranced, at the scars that lined their skin, unable to say a word. Subconsciously, he draws closer, to get a better look. Blue wants to touch them, wants to trace his fingers over the maze of scar tissue, but at the last second, he pulls away, hand dropping back into his lap. It feels wrong, somehow, seeing Skav this way. This Skav doesn’t hide themselves behind an impenetrable shroud, and for a moment, Blue is able to peek behind the curtain, catch a glimpse of something real.

“Pulling out the big guns, huh?” Blue smiles a sad smile. “I don’t think I can top that.”

Silence ensues, dark eyes shuttering to the crucifix on the wall. He thinks about his life, about every single event that’d transpired to make him who he is today. The carved, wooden effigy of Jesus just stares back at him, hands nailed to the cross, crying bloody, bloody tears. And then, Blue feels his eyes water, vision blurring. He blinks - once, twice - before a strange sort of laughter bubbles up from his throat. Blue rubs at his eyes with the heel of his hand, takes a sharp breath that he could barely let out without choking. His eyes sting, his chest aches, white-knuckled fists clenched tightly in his lap. It’s with supreme effort that he finally brings himself to meet Skav’s gaze, though he only manages to hold it for a second.

“I didn’t start doing this till I was about - oh, I don’t know… fourteen?” Blue rubs at the nape of his neck, looking everywhere but Skav, dispossessed of his usual, unwavering confidence. “I had a brother once, he took care of me before that.” A pause. “Well, ‘took care of’ might be too strong a phrase, but he didn’t let me starve to death, at least. He’s also the one who got me into this mess in the first place; it doesn’t matter anymore, though. He’s been dead for years.”

“I came home from school one day and he was just lying there. Cold, stiff, dead as a doornail. The paramedics had to pry his fingers open to get the pipe from him.” His shoulders lift in a shrug, the corner of his lips turning up into a smirk. “It’s weird, isn’t it? How someone can be alive one moment and gone the next. At least he died doing what he loved the most, so that’s something.”

Then, Blue takes a deep, shuddering breath, carding fingers through blonde locks of hair. He does his best to sound unaffected, but deep down, he knows it’s all in vain. Skav is too perceptive, too observant; the only way he can turn their attention from him is to shift it towards their own past. “But enough about me. Your turn.”

Skav drank in silence, contemplating Blue’s reaction to their scars and Blue’s reaction to reminiscing. Were those tears? Was that a sigh? Oh, Blue. They couldn't hide the tension that clenched their jaw at the mention of a sibling, nor could they hide the fire of realization as to how Blue became so dependent on things like drugs and sex. It was odd, knowing things and feeling emotion towards this knowledge. It was odd sharing secrets. It was odd being seen without a mask and layers to hide away their memories. Skav pressed a finger against their lip again, staring blankly at the shaky breaths Blue took. Something like pity swelled, pity or disgust or chilling concern, and suddenly they couldn't stand it.

For once, Skav moved on a whim. They pushed away from the arm of the couch, closing the small space between them and Blue, and then carded their fingers through the man’s hair. Skav felt dampness from the shower, weight from the locks, and an odd warmth behind their eyelids. They drew back into themself slower than they planned and sighed, eyebrows knitted as they said blankly, “I’m drunk.”

As if to prove a point, they took a long swig from the bottle and groaned, feeling their very soul clench and twist against the bite of the alcohol. It burned a hole in their heart, and numbly Skav whispered, “Sorry for your loss.” They did not say ‘good riddance’, because Blue didn't deserve that harsh of a truth. Another sip made their face feel pink and their mind slow. Skav counted memories of their past, searching for a good truth rather than a rant about their sadist of a sister, and finally they settled back against the cushions and shrugged. Nonchalance poured from every angle of them, even though there was a shadow of a nostalgic smile on their lips.

“I used to live in a nice house about three hours from here. It was so nice– I remember it had a greenhouse and I would spend my days in there with my dad, just reading or examining the flowers my mom planted.” Skav said nothing about the first night Arya had locked them inside that glass building for ‘some easy testing’. “ My mom and dad were great, kind even, though they were busy with work a lot. Mom was a messenger of sorts between the gang and Mafia set up in that town, dad was… Something worth killing. I also had a sister, but…” Skav hesitated, drawing their knees up to their chest warily, as if they were preparing for a blow from something or someone.

“But good things don't last, of course. I found my dad beaten to death with a baseball bat in our backyard, and mom had been dosed with something bad– very, very bad. Killed herself in the aftermath.” Skav dug their nails into their palms, teeth clenched into a smile despite the chilling calm in their gaze. The future and the past melded together into one mesh, a drunken memory of fans and ropes and slanting blinds. Skav ran their tongue over their split lip and tasted chemicals and raw flesh.

Grounding.

Skav let their head tip back, neck straining against the weight of their murderous thoughts. Mom’s face hung in front of their eyes, Arya’s hands clutched at their neck, dad’s blood choked out whatever air was left in their body. “Life is a nightmare.” Skav said simply, and reached for the bottle. The shakiness of their fingertips didn't bode well, however, and instead of grabbing the vodka they bumped it, allowing the bottle to clatter to the floor. Skav stared at it dumbly, thanking God for caps silently, and then turned an expectant gaze towards Blue, waiting for a new truth.

---

---

---

---

Blue freezes when he feels Skav’s fingers in his hair; muscles tensing, eyes widening like a deer in headlights. For a moment, he wants to pull away, maybe even bark some sort of obscenity at Skav to deter them, but he can’t help the chill that runs up his spine, and he nearly melts into the touch. There’s an odd flicker behind their eyes - simple pity, or something else entirely? Blue can’t quite put his finger on it, though if he had to be honest, he really couldn’t care less. His eyes start to water again, chest tightening painfully; but before any tears had the chance to fall, Skav’s hand was gone, and he feels like he could finally breathe again.

Hastily, he rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand. It’s only after he hears what Skav has to say that he lifts his head, watching as they took another swig of vodka. Blue opens his mouth to speak, but he just can’t find the words, and closes it again after a second. He could see that Skav was thinking, their gaze blank and faraway, fingers still wrapped around the neck of the bottle. Blue really doesn’t want to push them on - not when the situation is already this fragile. It’s like walking on eggshells, like everything could fall apart with just one wrong move. The memory of Skav’s scars is seared onto the surface of his consciousness, and he almost feels guilty for even daring to tear up. What does he have to cry for when Skav has gone through so much worse? Why does he have to be so goddamned weak?

Listening to Skav’s story is nothing short of surreal. Blue has a hard time picturing Skav as anything but what they are today - a strange, enigmatic figure, hidden behind a mask of jet-black feathers. What was Skav like when they were young? He imagines a nice, suburban home, complete with a white picket fence, and a crisp, green garden… well, it isn’t what he expected, to say the least. It seemed like something straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting, the exact opposite of San Marzano. How did such an upbringing result in someone like Skav? Scarred, incomplete, but never broken. Then again, maybe not everyone’s as much of a stereotype as he was. The fact that their parents were embroiled in crime didn’t even matter; the mere thought of a pair of kind, loving parents sends a pang of jealousy through him, but it's easily extinguished when Skav resumes their recollection.

At least he never had anything to lose. To have your parents torn away from you like that? Blue is willing to bet that it hurt more than anything else in the world. He feels his heart clench, eyes drawn to the way Skav’s lips curl into a grimace of a smile. He’d never seen this much emotion from the other before, and he has a nagging feeling that they haven’t yet told him all there is to the story. Despite the chilling calmness in their eyes, every other part of them was painfully tense. Part of him wants to reach out, return the favour for what they did before, but he’s never been too good with stuff like this, and he’s not sure he wants to risk Skav lashing out. Like a tightly coiled spring, they seem ready to burst, promising anyone that so much as touches them a bad time. Did he really want to get caught up in this?

Then, before he even realises, it’s his turn again. Blue’s eyes, however, are drawn to the other’s own with a kind of veneration that he never thought he could have for another human being. Maybe he does need to be salvaged. The cogs in his mind turn furiously, trying to excavate a suitable truth to toss into the melting pot. Compared to Skav, he was already an open book. He wanted to know more about their past, but what else could he say?

“God, I don’t know,” Blue begins, eyes darting around the room in a fruitless search for inspiration. When he finds none, he just reaches for the memory that sticks out the most. It’s not something he particularly enjoys thinking about, but it’s the least he could do, after everything Skav had said. “Whatever, I’ll just tell you.”

“I guess I was about eighteen back then - sucked some guy off in the alley behind a bar, then he tried to leave without paying. I asked him for the money first, of course, but he just laughs, calls me a fag, and said that I wasn’t going to get shit for what I did.” Blue reaches over to pick up the bottle of vodka, unscrewing the cap, and taking a swig. It burns the whole way down, but it quenches the fire in his belly. “I got pissed, obviously, punched him in the nose, but he was bigger, stronger, blah blah blah. Fucker broke three of my ribs, got my leg real good, too. I managed to drag myself to the Grotto after he left, figured that was the only place with people that’d actually give a shit about me - don’t know why.”

Another gulp of vodka, and Blue has to take a moment to quell the wave of nausea rushing up to meet him. “Someone actually let me in. They made sure to fix me up, and I thought working for them would be the one thing that changed my life, but nothing happened. Every day’s the same shit as always.”

“Can I touch you?” The query comes unbidden, uninvited, but the words roll off his tongue before he can put a stop to them. He wants to wrap his arms around the other, hold them for as long as he could, but he’s far too afraid of the consequences to do so without asking. “I’m just - I’m so sorry.”

Tears glinted in the half light, fresh and bright and rubbed away before Skav could even react to them. Questions spurred, queued up, and died on anxious lips. Being so close to someone to see their tears, and hear the shakiness of their voice was affecting Skav oddly. Something like pity that wasn't quite pity kept gnawing at their heart. Sorrow? Pain? A need to touch Blue’s hair again? The name of the emotion was lost to inexperience and alcohol. Skav quietly sank into themself and waited, waited and listened to Blue’s somewhat-known truth as if it held all the answers to the crushing weight that stuffed their lungs full. Shakily, they snatched up the bottle and drank until their throat felt raw.

“That idiot should be rotting in hell by now.” Skav said in response to Blue’s retelling of his fateful encounter with the Razors. Their voice was devoid of emotion again. Their eyes were devoid of light. Their veins devoid of blood. Blue’s truths choked them just as bad as their own, leaving foul tastes in their mouth and a wish for murder on their fingertips. Skav was aware, suddenly, of the similarities between them. The faint knowledge that both of them were abused, pushed around, taken in. There was something oddly comforting about this comparison to Skav, something that made them feel as if their secrets were really, truly safe in this space.

”Blue, you–” Skav slurred their words and felt much, much sicker than they should be after just a few chugs, ”You don't deserve– didn't deserve– any of what happened to you. Just know that.” They breathed in deeply, apathy breaking to harbor a grimace, but the twisted expression turned to awe at Blue’s next question. They blinked, tried to fight away the heat in their brain, and then blinked again. ”You want to touch me?” Skav resisted the urge to say ‘why’ and instead quirked an eyebrow and shook their head slowly at Blue's apology.

A memory appeared then and there; a new truth to bat away the awful urge to mention Arya. ”The last person to, uh, touch me without being high or drunk or mad was the head priest at my church.” Something like happiness clipped through their shroud of reminiscence. It was refreshing to find a good truth. ”I had went to him to confess to something, and I expected him to shun me or turn me away– to say I was too sinful to stand in that pew with him, but…”

Skav stared at their hands and frowned, which made their face seem softer, feel lighter. ”He held my hands, took off my gloves, and thanked me for sharing my grievances. And his hands were soft, an-and–” Skav’s eyes misted and the bottle lifted to rest by their lips, not tipping any further to drink.

”He held me like I was something worth holding. Funny, huh?”

Skav had never been the empathic type. Their mother had tried to instill a sense of righteousness into them at a young age, the kind that allowed you to see the tears of others and relate to them in some way to help them with their sorrow. Arya had ruined this side of Skav– with knives and needles she poked away at the child they were and burned that bit of them to pieces. It was gone, never to have existed perhaps, but not tonight. Tonight Skav felt their heart swelled and their veins clench with relatable pity and concern. The misty eyes of Blue and the horror of remembering started a chain reaction of chemicals within Skav, and suddenly, they were crying. Silently. Motionlessly.

The tears slid down their cheeks and strained their neck with water. Skav made no move to rub them away. They breathed and cried, spurred by memory and the sight of the only real person they've talked to deeply like this crying. They cried like it was as easy as breathing, though the torment in their eyes told another story.

Skav didn't like showing weakness. This was a weakness. Still, they held out their hands as if expecting Blue to still take them. ”You– you can touch me.” A pause, and then they forced a straight, watery face to say, ”And it's your turn.”

---

---

---

---

Blue can barely suppress a scoff at what Skav says, shaking his head slightly. He might’ve believed it a long time ago, before the Razors, before everything, but in his experience, people never got what was coming to them. Chances are, the guy that’d beat the shit out of him is still out there today, trawling the streets for two-dollar whores like nothing ever happened. He knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that it was Skav’s way of trying to make him feel better, and he wants to be thankful, but every part of him is just so inured to all of this. Words, whether they be kind or cruel, don’t affect him as much as they used to. Dealing with people’s bullshit is something you become accustomed to, growing up in the bad part of San Marzano; and rest assured, Blue has spent the entirety of his life getting dealt a shit hand.

What came out of Skav’s mouth next, however, took him off guard. He’d never expect to hear this from anyone, least of all Skav. They had always been distant, enigmatic - emotionally, psychologically - a vague silhouette hidden behind frosted windows. Blue feels his throat tighten, muscles constricting around his airway, and his heart… his heart actually skips a beat. On instinct alone, he presses a tightly clenched fist to the left side of his chest, as if to will his heart into stillness. Blue doesn’t dare to speak, he’s too afraid to, hating how the crack in his voice might give him away. The rush of blood is the only thing he can hear, the sound resonating with the fervour of a thousand, toiling bells. His heart doesn’t stop pounding, and it’s only when he forces himself to take a deep, steadying breath that he notices the tear rolling down his cheek.

How did they end up having this conversation?

The words are stuck on his tongue, caught in his throat. Blue hears Skav’s voice again, and he’s glad that he doesn’t have to speak quite just yet, only nodding when they answered his query with one of their own. It's embarrassing, almost - this side of himself. He’s never liked showing vulnerability, building up countless walls. Strong, solid, invulnerable, he laughs off any jabs thrown his way, no matter how painful. Blue never lets anyone see how they got to him, creating an callous, impenetrable facade that he uses to keep people at bay. As far as anyone’s concerned, underneath his mask, there’s only another snake, hissing and spitting venom in the faces of those who dared look at him the wrong way. But the thing is - Blue breaks instead of bend, shattering into tinier and tinier shards every time something or someone sets him off. It never takes him long to knit himself back together, to gather up the pieces, to pretend like everything’s fine. He doesn’t realise how much he needs those words until he hears them for himself.

Skav’s recollection of their experience stirs up a strange sense of empathy within him. He’s never gone through the same trials they have, not exactly anyway, but he feels their despondency as if it were his own. It’s been far too long since he’s had any meaningful human contact. Most of his encounters are painfully superficial, fuelled by tabs of ecstasy , or whatever he can get his hands on, and he never remembers much the next day - just bits and pieces, tastes and sensations. It satisfies his most primal cravings, the ones deep beneath his skin, gnawing away. None of it ever lasts long enough, though. Like the hallucinogens he loves so much, all they do is leave behind a gaping emptiness, harder and harder to satisfy with each passing day. He never stops searching for a way to fill the void, but perhaps he could stave it off awhile more.

“You are worth something, you know?” Blue begins, but the words sound sharp and jagged, like he couldn’t quite bring himself to say them. The sight of Skav’s tears, however, causes him to blink in surprise. For a moment, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Was it a trick of the light? It was dark enough in the apartment, maybe he was just seeing things that weren’t there. Those doubts quickly evaporated when he heard the sound of their voice - strained and choked with tears. Blue’s fingers reach up as if to touch Skav, but his hand hovers over theirs, unsure. Then, without any warning, he hoists himself up onto his knees, and leans forward, almost collapsing against Skav. His arms move to snake around Skav’s torso, hands coming to a rest at their back. It’s awkward, at first; he can’t remember the last time he actually hugged someone, but it’s all he can do to push any doubts to the back of his mind. Would they react kindly to it? Would they push him away? He doesn’t wait to find out, and draws back after a few seconds, sinking back into his side of the couch.

Blue is only silent for a moment, then he drags a hand down the side of his face, murmurs something unintelligible. He feels bloated, unhealthy, miserable, but takes another pull of vodka anyway. It doesn’t taste any better, even if the burn down his throat is a welcome distraction. Once again, he finds himself on the receiving end of this little game of theirs, though he isn’t quite sure if there was anything left to tell. Still, he reaches into the furthest recesses of his mind, finding a memory that he forgot even existed. “You know that shitty brick building along Mill Street?” He can’t help but pause, a sharp intake of breath punctuating the sentence. It’s as if a floodgate had been opened - old, discoloured memories spilling past with all the strength of a tsunami. It’d been so long ago, but the more he thinks about it, the more vivid the memories become. Blue could almost smell the nauseating stench of vomit, hear the banging of angry fists on the door. “I think they demolished a couple of months ago, but I used to live there when I was a kid.”

“My mom… god, she was a bitch.” Blue lets out another laugh, but his eyes start stinging again, and he quickly turns it into a cough. “Everyone says all this crap about family, right? About how they’re the ones who care about you the most? But she never did anything for me. All she cared about was getting high - didn’t even notice when one of the guys broke my hand for taking his lighter.”

“I got out, though - soon enough. That’s when I found my brother’s place, almost couldn’t convince him to let me stay, but he stopped saying ‘no’ when I showed him the money I stole from her before I left.” His teeth are bared in a grin, as if he’d said something very funny indeed. “Didn’t have to lock myself in the bathroom just to get some sleep anymore.”