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[color=bf00ff]“Who says I’m lying?”[/color] 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 [i]anything[/i] 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? [i]Then again[/i], a voice whispers at the back of his head, quiet and unobtrusive, [i]why stop now[/i]? 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 [i]real[/i].

[color=bf00ff]“Pulling out the big guns, huh?”[/color] Blue smiles a sad smile. [color=bf00ff]“I don’t think I can top that.”[/color]

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.

[color=bf00ff]“I didn’t start doing this till I was about - oh, I don’t know… fourteen?”[/color] Blue rubs at the nape of his neck, looking everywhere but Skav, dispossessed of his usual, unwavering confidence. [color=bf00ff]“I had a brother once, he took care of me before that.”[/color] A pause. [color=bf00ff]“Well, [i]‘took care of’[/i] 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.”[/color]

[color=bf00ff]“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.”[/color] His shoulders lift in a shrug, the corner of his lips turning up into a smirk. [color=bf00ff]“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.”[/color]

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. [color=bf00ff]“But enough about me. Your turn.”[/color]