Won't You Come Home? [Ishaq]

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse frowns. It’s clear that his answer hasn’t satisfied Ishaq. He’s not sure what other answer he could have given. Maybe he is a bit of a blunt prick when it comes to these kinds of things, but he’s not purposefully being vague. He’s not trying to lead Ishaq down some yellow brick road; he’s not lying. To answer in any other way would have been to lie. Of course, he could have told Ishaq he could do what he wanted; he could go back to being who he was and hang out with whoever he wanted. He could remain lead singer in his band, could see his parents often, could pretend like everything was dandy. But that would be an idiotic thing to encourage, given the nature of what they were. For the exact reason Jesse’s already mentioned – if only because they will all age and Ishaq will not. Sooner or later he’ll have to give it all up, and in Jesse’s opinion, sooner is better than later.

The topic is changed, however, and Jesse allows it to. Ishaq has proved that he won’t be an easy nut to crack. He won’t talk easily; it seems that he’ll not be able to tell Jesse how he’s feeling without some hint of anger or fury. This, Jesse can deal with. At least he’s not like Aria—a raging ***** with a superiority complex who’s one mission, she has claimed, will be to get revenge somehow. Not that Jesse has seen or heard from her in months, either. Perhaps she is biding her time. At least Ishaq has agreed to some form of help—whether he sees it as hep or not, Jesse doesn’t know. But to get him to Larch Court is a step in the right direction.

Instead, Jesse nods and heads toward the door. The handle is somewhat broken, the wood splintered near the handle. But it still functions just fine. He pulls it open, the crisp outside air weaving in, brushing at Jesse’s hair. He gestures outside.

“How much **** do you have?” he asks. They might have to call a cab—he has his bike, but he doubts they’ll get very far if Ishaq’s got furniture to move, or more than one bag worth of stuff. He doesn’t ask Ishaq whether the rented home in the slums has only been for the past year, or whether he’s had it for years. He doesn’t ask whether the stuff he wants to collect has accumulated over time, or whether it’s just a few odds and ends that he can’t do without. Whatever the case, he’s silently glad that Ishaq has even thought to collect his belongings. It means he intends to stay at Larch Court for the long haul. At least, that’s what Jesse assumes.

Although the topic may have been changed, Jesse can’t help but want to reassure Ishaq in some way. Just as a last word on the matter, something, anything. Although he’s already admitted to his own faults, he wants to make sure that Ishaq knows he’ll do what he can to keep from repeating those faults.

“If it’s any consolation, man, you’re not dead. You’re here for a reason and it might be a selfish one, on my behalf, but it’s there. You’ve come this far, now just spend the rest of it with me and mine, yeah? With yours, if you’ll call them yours one day,” he says. Then, should Jesse fall off some kind of wagon that he doesn’t quite know he’s hitched to, there’ll be other people that Ishaq can go to, who’ll ask after his well-being, in Jesse’s stead.

[Ishaq (DELETED 4744)]

He wanted to be complicated. He didn't want Jesse to know so easily; he wanted the other man to have to fight for this relationship. He was angry. He was scared. He most definitely was entering uncharted waters. Ishaq knew he needed Jesse, even if there was a bit of pride lingering in the back of his mind saying otherwise. Hell yeah, he made it without the help of the man for almost a year. Hell yeah, he figured out how to get his **** together and survive virtually unknown from many. Ishaq Alexander Habib did that. He did it. Yet, here he was about to walk out the door with the man who stole life from him. Why? Because he needed him. He survived this long but it was lonely. He survived this long but there wasn't a guaranteed he would have made it another year by himself. There was still so much to learn, and he knew that. Logically, he knew that. Emotionally though...? He wasn't ready to submit so easily. He wasn't ready to let them, Jesse and his brood, in so easily.

When the door opened, he just stared out into the street. By the time the wind reached him, it barely tickled his skin but he felt it nonetheless. Jesse gestured outside and Ishaq hesitated. Did he really want to do this? Did he really have no where else to go? He could change his mind and just go back to living in the slums. He was making a decent living being there, dealing. Rent was cheap. It wasn't like people were jumping to move there anyway. Apparently, his feet had a mind of their own or were taking orders from his subconscious. He found himself wandering toward the door, answering Jesse's question with a simple word, "Enough." Sarcasm always included.

Really, he didn't have much. After he had been turned, he beat everyone to the apartment and gathered as much **** he could fit into a book bag. He jotted down a quick note to Nikki, saying he needed time to think and create. He told her not to go looking for him. He told her to don't have anyone come look for him. Then he escaped into the night and made his home within the depths of dirt and filth.

Ishaq paused in the middle of the door way as Jesse began to speak. When he changed the subject, he was pretty sure he had made it obvious, very obvious that he didn't want to talk about it. But here was Jesse unable to leave it alone. Perhaps this meeting was just foreshadowing the kind of relationship they would continue to have in the future: Jesse being unable to leave **** well enough alone and Ishaq getting irritated, furious immediately.

"I don't want to be consoled by you, " he darkly rebutted, "I don't want your 'I'm sorry's' or you to reassure me. I don't want that **** because you wouldn't have to give them to me if you hadn't put me in this predicament." His finger pushed into Jesse's chest a few times.

"You put me here. You did this to me. Now..." Ishaq gestured toward the direction of the slums, " Can we just go get my ****? Can we do that please? I only have a few things to shove into a book bag."

He scowled and shook his head, stepping fully out of the house before heading toward the street. He shoved his hands into his pockets and didn't bother to see if Jesse was following him. He knew he would be, probably not as close at first. He welcomed the distance because he desired to cool down. His emotions just kept spilling out of him and he didn't know how to turn them off. The switch either was stuck or it was completely broken. Whatever the reason, he just couldn't handle being himself right now. He couldn't handle himself with Jesse around neither. It didn't matter anyway now. He was officially stuck with the man the moment he stepped out of the house. The decision was made.

Whether he openly admitted it or not, he entrusted his safety with Jesse and he was terrified. Yes, terrified but allured to the possibilities of life ahead of him.

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse takes the finger to the chest with grace and aplomb. Although Ishaq gets up in his face with his accusations, Jesse merely stands there and allows him to. He doesn’t get angry, or guilty. Instead, he arches a sculpted brow and listens. At least that’s one thing that he’s good at, when he wants to be. He can listen, and what he hears he will remember. The accusations are not light, and Jesse knows that he shouldn’t be so dismissive of Ishaq’s past, of his humanity, but Ishaq is right. Although Jesse shows all the remorse he should, it’s somewhat of a lie. When he watches Ishaq, there’s something about the other man that appeals to Jesse. Something about his instinct for survival. There’s pride, gathering behind Jesse’s breast bone that he won’t admit to, but which has him smiling at Ishaq rather than getting angry.

Ishaq is right. If Jesse were truly sorry, if he knew that he would have any regrets, he would not have put Ishaq in this predicament to begin with. Sure, he could lie. He could say that on the night of Ishaq’s turning, he’d not been in control of his senses. He could compare his addiction to turning others to Ishaq’s addiction to drugs. That could be his excuse, because he knows what it is, now. He knows that it’s a thing that he enjoys doing. The bond created with others is something that cannot be compared to anything else. It inspires within Jesse a feeling of absolute power. It’s only taken him far too long to realise—and with the help of others—that it’s not just the creation of the bond that he’d addicted to, but to the longevity of it, too. The strength of it. It’s why he’s here now, with Ishaq. Like a shepherd gathering together his flock. Yes, maybe it’s all for selfish reasons, but his need to help his flock is not an obligation. It’s a true and honest desire which cannot be expressed in words, but only in action.

And so Jesse does not speak any more on the topic. It’s true – he’s not really sorry to have Ishaq there with him. He’s not really sorry about any of it. This might make him a ********, but at the same time he’s going to do what he can to make up for his past shortcomings. That has to count toward something, right?

Without saying another word he follows Ishaq out of the run down house. He closes the door behind him, though he doesn’t know why – maybe to keep the dead body inside, hidden from the world. That jumble of rags and bones that no one’s discovered yet, and maybe they won’t for a very long time. Maybe that person had been homeless, and had died of natural causes. Maybe it was some gangster, dragged there by his foes and left to rot. But maybe it was killed by someone like Jesse, always thirsty and merciless when it came to human life. If the latter were the case, best to do what could be done to keep that body from being discovered for as long as was possible.

From his pocket, Jesse retrieved the keys to the bike. He has only one helmet with him; he takes it from the handlebars and tosses it to Ishaq, certain that the guy would catch the headwear. He then swings his leg over the bike, pushes the key in the ignition, and slams down on the pedal to start the engine. It roars to life. He then turns to Ishaq and slaps the seat behind him; there’s a sly grin on his face and a barely discernible wink in his ice-blue eyes.

[Ishaq (DELETED 4744)]

Jesse didn't say anything. Nothing. No big ol' speech to defend himself. Just silence. Ishaq was unsure if he felt comfort or disappointment. Perhaps a mixture of both. He didn't have to be bogged down with false apologies, which was comforting. Apologies weren't meant to be overused. He knew that from experience. He stopped apologizing for his mistakes long ago. He discovered the 'I'm sorry's' didn't cover the multitudes of hurt he heaped upon his love ones. They were temporary band aids; cover ups to hide the mistake but the person was always reminded of the pain with every movement. It was even worse when you knew the person didn't meant them; tossed around with the assumption the hurt victim needed to hear them. Some times, silence was just enough. Ishaq was sure Jesse knew he was hurt, even if the anger was the only emotion he could muster up to show. Twenty-five years of life was stolen from him. He would never grow old. He'd never have children, which was probably for the best anyway. He tasted death and to know he was would never taste it again...


Fake apologies from Jesse weren't going to be enough. Actually, they were like salt to a slowly healing wound. He knew the man got what he wanted: him. And that's all Jesse cared about. A part of him continued to wonder why the man wanted him so much. How could he not sense how fucked up Ishaq truly was as a person? Maybe that's why he took him. He didn't know. It scratched at his mind. He craved to know the truth of it all. Was he really here for a reason as Jesse kept telling him? Or was he just going to be an added piece to a growing collection? He couldn't be the first of the pack to be angry with Jesse, could he? There had to be others.

There was just so much to think about, he thought his head was going to exploded from all the questions plaguing his mind. He almost missed the fact Jesse had passed him and headed toward his bike. He blinked for a moment, realizing his feet had stopped moving and he was standing still in the street. The vocalist glanced around the quiet street before his vision was distracted by a flying object. He didn't think but reacted by catching the helmet instantly, arching his brow. Staring, his ears were filled with the sound of the bike roaring to life and interrupted the silence of the mostly abandoned neighborhood. And there was Jesse, slapping the back seat of his motorcycle with this grin on his face. The man even had the audacity to wink at him.

"**** me...." Ishaq muttered under his breath, glancing at the helmet he held in his hands then back to Jesse on the bike.

"**** me."

Being pissed off toward the vampire who turned you was a reasonable response. Being allured by said vampire to the point of a growing attraction was another thing. It was not logical. It was stupid. It was an inconvenience. It definitely guaranteed the fact Ishaq was going to go with him at this point, other than the fact he needed this man to be able to survive a bit longer than he already had. It also made the fact he was about to climb on this bike with him an awkward moment. Begrudgingly, he wandered over to Jesse as he dropped the helmet on his head. Why the **** did he need this thing anyway? He didn't think he'd die from falling off a motorcycle. That would be really shitty. He swung his leg over the bike and shifted on the bike then adjusted himself. Then, he put his hands on Jesse's....

shoulders and gripped them tightly. He knew he looked goofy as hell, but he wasn't about that life. He wasn't going to get himself in trouble, err...more trouble than he needed to. This was one of those situations where he had to tell temptation to **** right off.

"I'm ready when you're ready, " he offered, pointing straight ahead.

He explained, "The apartment building is toward the back of the south east end of the slums." It shouldn't be hard to find, he felt; it was the only shitty apartment complex in the ******* slums. The plan was to go in, get his ****, leave the landlord with the rest of the month's rent, and get the **** out of there. Goodbye life in the slums, and hello life of the unknown.

[Jesse Fforde]

There are certain things that Jesse is aware of. That he always has been aware of. He’s not too sure what it is or why, but he does know that certain people are attracted to him. Growing up, he knew it. He knew that regardless of his circumstances in life, he was one of the lucky ones. Blessed with bright eyes and even facial features; with clear skin and good bone structure. He’d inherited the best genes from his mother, and the best from his father, and combined, he’d become Jesse Fforde. He’d then shrouded those good looks – and he’d been told plenty of times that he was good looking – with bad boy charm. That wasn’t completely his own doing, either. It wasn’t a completely conscious effort. His personality, and the stubborn cockiness that came with it, was part and parcel of his history. Avoidance of attachment and emotion had engendered within Jesse the kind of allure that he himself had never completely understood. Why are people drawn to assholes?

Whatever the case, he uses the allure to his advantage, but not always. Sometimes it bores him. Sometimes he sees no actual advantage, beyond teasing and poking fun. Sometimes—like now—he’s got far too much seriousness in his head to do much joking. He doesn’t want to anger Ishaq further. He hears the double utterance of ’**** me’ and could very well run with it. Could tell Ishaq very clearly that he doesn’t swing that way. He could play along; he could make it seem like a very real possibility, though there’s no possibility at all.

No, instead, Jesse pretends like he hasn’t heard over the pounding roar of the bike. He waits until Ishaq’s weight has settled in behind him on the bike. With a terse nod, as soon as Ishaq says he’s ready, Jesse peels the bike away from the curb and accelerates – though not before he’d gotten the vague directions from his progeny. Although Jesse doesn’t hang around in the slums as much as Ishaq must, he does know his way around. The slums are the best place to come to find Gangsters. Gangsters themselves hold many of the items required for crafting traps or for use in rituals. And, just as the body found in the derelict home, this area was the best if one had a hankering to feed. And to kill. The cops were less interested in keeping the slums in order, or responding to calls about violence in the area. Or so Jesse assumes.

It doesn’t take long to arrive at the apartment building specified by Ishaq. At least, it’s what he thinks is the complex described. The bike idles beneath them as Jesse pauses, his boot crunching on the gravel of the road in order to keep the bike balanced. He turns his head toward to the complex, half trying to see over his shoulder – to confirm with Ishaq that they are indeed in the right place.

[Ishaq (DELETED 4744)]

The travel to the apartment was a blur, not that it mattered. He'd seen it hundreds of times. Hell, he'd walked it hundreds of times; he practically knew the way to and from the slums like the back of his hand. He sat on the bike for a moment and took it all in. This was possibly the last time he would ever come near this building again. There was a mixture of excitement and sadness there in his heart. This had been his home for over a year. It wasn't perfect nor was it safe by any means. But it was his home. This was where he laid his head and rose every evening. He would be lyng if he said he wasn't going to miss this apartment complex.

He stared at the building and chuckled softy, patting Jesse's shoulder lightly to confirm they were in the right spot. He slid off the bike with ease then pulled the helmet off. He couldn't decide if he should place the helmet on the bike or if he should hand it to Jesse. Placing it on the back of the bike, he slid his hands into his pockets, digging around for his key. "Do you want to come up? " He offered, scratching the corner of his jawline, " I mean, it'll only take a minute to get all my ****. Like I said, I don't have much to get. Just a few things. "

His left hand wrapped around the key and held it tight. This was going to be the last time he used this key for a while. Moving in with Jesse and the gang could prove to be really good. Before he came to the complex with Jesse, he had planned on giving the landlady his last month's rent. But as he stood there, gripping the key, he decided he was going to keep paying on the apartment. It would be a good place to have just in case everyone of the Larch Court makeshift family got on his nerves. It would be a good place to be a reminder.

Ishaq stared at the building, really stared at the building. It felt strange to be moving out his home. He called it his home because it was the first place he could honestly say he paid for himself. Out of his own pocket. His own cash. Sure, it was drug money and his job was less than honest. But what could he do? At the time, he had no source of income. Business was booming...unfortunately at others' expenses.

"You should park your **** some where a little hidden. Not a lot of bikes come around here and I'm sure someone is aching to take your **** for a ride. I mean, like I said earlier, it's a pretty nice bike." He gestured toward it before he pointed to the building.

"So," he began," Are you coming up with me or not?" He started making his way toward the opening of the building. He brought back a mental picture of the condition of his apartment. Hopefully he didn't leave any of his **** out in the open. He already had to figure out how he was going to get his stash out with the rest of his little to none luggage. Sure, he told Jesse he wasn't going to do **** in his house, but it didn't mean he couldn't have it with him. Besides, it would be stupid to leave here for someone to steal. If someone hadn't ransacked his apartment already.

****, that would suck major ***.

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse glances up at the apartment complex. It looks more like a compound, really. All square and mundane, like every other apartment complex around. It’s not like he can really judge. He bought a house in a housing estate, amidst a whole bunch of manicured lawns and bright red front doors. There might even be a few white picket fences. Where better to hide than in plain few, right? Anyway, Jesse didn’t buy the property for the neighbourhood. He bought it because it was large, and because it would house quite a few people if required. Apartment aren’t quite built for that, and at the time there’d been nothing else on the market that suited his needs.

Anyway. It had to be better than this squalor; though he had started to wonder whether Ishaq enjoyed squalor. Whether he got a kick out of it, or some abject sense of self because he chose to subject himself to it. Perhaps Ishaq wanted to be an upstanding citizen, and to do so he willingly subjected himself to the lowest of the low, so that he could understand the way the other half lives.

Or maybe there’s no reason for it but fate, or life’s humble storms just tossing bad luck after bad luck in Ishaq’s direction. It doesn’t matter.

Ishaq is asking if Jesse wants to come up; he goes on to warn Jesse, to tell him to park his bike somewhere safe. But before Ishaq gets to the end of his sentence Jesse is shaking his head.

“Not,” he says. “You said it yourself, man. You’re only going to take a few minutes. Whatever, take your time. I can wait here,” Jesse says. Maybe it would be polite to go up, to see how Ishaq had been living, to offer to help with whatever self-admitted meagre belongings that Ishaq has. Jesse had never been one to submit to social niceties, however. Expected etiquette is not his strong suit. Although he kills the bike’s engine, he remains seated, his feet planted on either side of the vehicle, and his palms flat on the denim of his thighs.

“Just give me a shout if you need help,” Jesse adds with a slight grin. He’s looking forward to getting Ishaq settled at Larch. More so, he’s looking forward to introducing Ishaq to the rest of the crew. It’s about ******* time there was another man around the joint. Jesse was beginning to give up on Axel’s ability to provide some more testosterone, as Axel himself was barely around.

Maybe it’s high time he sired some more testosterone. Yes, that’s a plan. Pick men, rather than women. And why not? It’s good to have a bit of a mix.

[Ishaq (DELETED 4744)]

What a relief. He could feel the tension his body released when Jesse declined to come into the apartment complex with him. This was going to be easier than he thought. "Alright, man," he stated, trying not to sound as relieved as he felt. He dug his hands into the pockets of his jackets and started toward the building. First it was a slow walk but it soon picked up into a little jog. Ishaq needed to be in and out so he wouldn't create suspicion for himself. Besides, he knew exactly how he left his apartment. Everything should and would be within his reach. He shouldn't think more than fifteen minutes there and back. Reaching the door, his fingers wrapped around the door handle before his arm yanked it open. It swung wide enough where he could slip in with ease. Immediately the smell of musk and mold tickled the hairs of his nostrils. It was rancid at first but soon he found his sense of smell adjusting to it as it always did.

Trash populated the floor around him along with his filled trash bags. People were either too lazy to walk to the dumpster behind the building or didn't think it was a safe idea to do so. He peeked around the first level before he jotted toward the stairs. He lived on the third floor. He liked it. It wasn't too high up in the complex and it wasn't too low to the lobby. Generally his neighbors were a bit more quiet on the third floor than the floor below him and especially more than the floor above him. Most of the activity happened there and he made sure to never be a part of it. Even when he was fresh into the whole vampire way of life, he knew then he didn't want to draw too much attention to himself.

Up and up his feet raced on the stairs until he got to the door leading to the third floor. Much like he did with the building door, he yanked it open and slipped on in. The lighting in the hall was shitty as usual but his eyes were more enhanced now more than ever. It was as if he was walking in daylight it seemed; even the dingy washout wall paper looked vibrant to him each and every time he had come back this very apartment. He dug his hand into the pocket of his pants once more as he crept about the hallway toward his apartment: 307. He rubbed his finger tips along the coolness of the key's surface, turning it over and over the closer he approached. Ishaq promised he would be just a second and he was going to keep his word.

Pulling to key out of his pocket, he inserted it into the keyhole and gave it a jiggle then a twist in order to get the door open. A light chuckle came from his lips; this was going to be the last time he would have to do this for a while, perhaps forever. The vampire shook his head as he pushed the door open and slipped in closing it quickly before locking it. The last thing he wanted was for someone to attempt to break into his place while he was there. He took a deep breath and allowed the lingering scent of cigarettes to makes its home in his chest. Ah, it was a strangely comforting smell. He bent down and swiped up his back pack, making his way toward his bedroom, which actually was the living room. He hadn't bothered to make his way to the bedroom when he first moved in. The living room was the first room in the apartment, easier to get to. Besides, he felt more at home sleeping on a couch than in an actual bed.

His right foot kicked some trash out of the way as he rummaged through the random piles, picking up various articles of clothing and giving them quick sniffs. Shrugging, he'd shove them into the bag until he couldn't fit anymore. He could take another bag but what would be the use? He could always buy more clothes once he got settled into the house with everyone else. He shuffled toward the couch and grabbed the cushions, tossing them to the side carelessly. They didn't matter; it was what was under them that mattered: his stash. quickly grabbed the sealed sandwich baggies and shoved them deep into his back pack, right under the clothes. Ishaq gave the apartment, or at least, the living room one last look over before he popped himself on the forehead. He rummaged through the pile of **** he had know clue was there half the time. He swiped up his vial and shoved it into his pocket.

"Alright, Shaq," he murmured to himself, looking around once more, "I think that's it." He slung one of the straps onto his shoulder and took a few steps backward toward the door. This was strange. It was truly about to be a brand new beginning for him. No more sleeping in this neglected apartment complex. He was going to live in a house with more people he barely knew but at least it was going to be cleaner more likely.

Ishaq stepped out of the apartment and left the key on the ground, before going back through the hallway toward the door leading to the stairway. And he allowed his feet to carry himself down those stairs and the further he went down toward lobby, the more peace started to wash over him. He didn't even look back! Perhaps it was the fear this was all fake. Or because he was afraid if he hesitated even once, he would have stayed in the apartment. He would have declined Jesse's offer and continued to allow himself to be wallowed up by the guilt and the insecurities seeping from the wall into his pores.

So he didn't look back. At least, he didn't look back until he was out of the building, jogging toward Jesse and his motorcycle. That was when he felt he could turn around and stare at the building. He'd pay for the rest of the rent another day. "I'm all set," he stated, patting the bottom of the back pack with a grin. Ishaq picked up the helmet then climbed back on the bike with ease.

"Lets get the **** out of here."

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse doesn’t move. He remains seated there, on his bike, his palms flat against his thighs and his head bowed. The street isn’t quiet. Not really. These apartments and houses and blocks are not so much abandoned, but derelict. Home to the anarchists and the criminals. To the homeless and the impassioned. Those who cannot or will not submit to the societal dictations of a normal life; those who for reasons of fate or ill-luck are forced to adhere to a life outside the well-regarded circle. There are no white picket fences or hopes for marriage and children and a solid nine-to-five job that has prospects for future raises in position and pay.

But these people don’t just lie and take it. They live. God, they live more than those who have a normal life. These derelicts and anarchists have experienced more of what life can offer than anyone else. They do not have money to waste on the good things, on the creature comforts. They get their enjoyment from baser things. In the end, who is Jesse to judge Ishaq for his habits? He can’t, not really. This is the reason why Jesse had chosen Ishaq. Because he comes from a crop of creatures so unlike the ordinary cream. Tough, weathered, and—he would hope—with an instinct to survive that is stronger than most.

On the wings of the wind noises of the neighbourhood drift past Jesse’s ears. The dim, dull bass thumb of someone playing music loud on some boom box somewhere. Shouting, as of a domestic. The shrieking cackle of a woman who is no doubt very drunk. The shot of a gun. The more he focuses, the more he can hear; preternatural ears pick up on everything. The yelling of the cats fighting over a dead rat. The hissing sniff of cocaine entering the nasal cavity of some junkie, somewhere. He even imagines that he can hear Ishaq romping around in his own apartment, tossing things aside and rifling through trash.

It’s almost like meditation, sitting there and focusing only on the swirling sounds around him; opening up to them, slowly, to allow his ears to be completely overwhelmed.

Until his senses are disturbed by the slamming of a door and the crunching of boots on gravel; until that familiar voice breaks through the cacophony, and the weight settles on the back of the bike, sliding in behind Jesse.

Jesse grins, too. He opens his eyes and shifts; his body had become like stone, sitting there so still and quiet while he waited. He is a patient man, always has been. Always will be. When he moves, the world comes awake again around him, like he’s just woken up from a small nap. Maybe he had napped. Maybe, just quickly. The bike revs, where before it had been idling. Roars beneath the weight of the two men.

“As you wish, darlin’,” Jesse says, the teasing smirk obvious in his broken tone of voice. He lifts his foot from the ground and peels the bike away from the curb. Jesse doesn’t look back. He’s got no reason to look back. There’s no attachment to this place. He has what he needs. He has what he wants. So why look back?