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Blue expects to flinch when Skav’s fingers grip his wrists, to recoil as if he’d been burnt, but he just lets them turn his arms over. His own gaze fixates itself on the bruises on his wrists, faded from purple to sickly yellow - souvenirs from a client that’d gotten far too enthusiastic, from strong hands that’d held him in place as he’s pinned against the wall, and—

He closes his eyes for just a moment, and lets out a deep sigh. The veins lining the insides of his elbows are like a spiderweb, haphazardly arranged in a mess of purpling bruises. It’s been awhile since he’s injected, but he doesn’t know how much longer he can resist the temptation. He remembers the taste of iron, the caustic tang of stomach acid, skin clammy with cold sweat. Going through withdrawal was hell, and it’s even worse when you have to do it behind bars. The methadone they gave him didn’t do much to help, and the day they lowered his dosage by a mere two milligrams, he couldn’t even muster the energy to stand up. By the time he got out, he wanted to stop, he truly did, if only to avoid the likelihood of withdrawals; but when he saw that needle sitting next to a baggie of china white (pure as driven snow), his fingers started to itch.

Then, he feels arms around him - Skav’s arms. They tower over him, even sitting down, but Blue doesn’t feel intimidated, and it only takes him a moment to reciprocate the gesture. Once again, his hands find their way around the other, easily settling on their back. Skav’s voice quaked with such sincerity that it made his heart ache, though he isn’t quite sure if it’s for him, them, or both. There’s a long pause before Skav says anything else, and he feels a quiet sigh tickle the surface of his skin. The silence isn’t uncomfortable - natural, even. Blue just listens to the sound of Skav’s breathing, jagged inhalations gradually smoothing out into something a little more rhythmic. When they start to speak again, it sounds almost accidental, like they didn’t mean to say it. The existence of a sister is news to him, though his only reaction is to rub comforting circles into the other’s back.

As the recollection progresses, with each memory worse than the last, Blue could almost taste the bile climbing up the back of his throat. And here he thought his mom was a bitch, but what she did, or didn’t do, couldn’t even compare to this [i]‘Arya’[/i]. In his mind, he pictures a young Skav - long before they grew into their lanky limbs - trying desperately to squirm away from the sharp bite of a knife. Then, it flashes forward to glassy eyes and paralysed muscles. He’s seen enough overdoses to come up with a believable approximation. Dark, crushing terror is the first thing that comes to mind, and you don’t even realise it's happening until it’s too late. He’s only ever fucked up once, and a friend managed to save him with a syringe full of narcan, but the memory is seared into his mind, taunting him every time he pokes a needle into his arm. The fact that Skav has gone through much worse sends a shiver up his spine, but beneath it all, he feels anger, simmering, bubbling its way through his bloodstream. Why did bad people always get away with it? Who gave them the right to smash things up without consequence, to hurt others?

What he didn’t expect was for Skav to say that Arya was here in San Marzano. For one, two, three seconds, Blue thinks that he had misheard them, though his doubts are quickly put to rest when he hears the fear in Skav’s voice, and he feels his blood turn to ice. He doesn’t know much about her, just a vague patchwork of the things Skav had recounted to him, but already, a sense of dread was beginning to well up within him. If just talking about her elicits such a reaction, she must be a piece of work. Blue doesn’t know what to do, at this point, what does he even say in a situation like this? He feels a tremor shudder through Skav, and he just tries to calm them down the best he can, arms tightening around their torso. When he first tries to speak, the words die on his tongue. [i]Should[/i] he even say anything? He’s so afraid of making things worse, of pushing Skav even further off the edge, but when they start to apologise, he feels like he has to say something.

[color=bf00ff]“It’s okay, it’s okay. You don’t have to.”[/color] Blue tries to sound reassuring, voice kept at a quiet hush, but his thoughts keep getting shunted back to Arya. If she was in San Marzano, it’s not hard to guess why. How she managed to track down Skav, on the other hand, is a whole ‘nother matter. The fact that she even bothered to come all this way - it didn’t bode well in the slightest. Just what did she want from Skav? Blue wants to ask them, wants to understand all this, but he doesn’t think there’s a good way to phrase the question. There are too many things he wants to know, and in the end, he bites the bullet. The more he knows about the situation, the easier it’ll be for him to help. There really was no other way around this, and Blue hopes the vodka was doing its work. [color=bf00ff]“When… when was the last time you saw her? Why is she looking for you?”[/color]