melancholia.

( & WHAT I AM TO YOU? )

( dust, corner-curled things we don’t unfold anymore. you wanted a dream just to wake from it. )

touches skim skin, water ripple shiverings. he doesn’t need to turn to see august pulling away, doesn’t need to look to know that he’s staring, words forming.

a dance, almost. nothing leaves lips that’s worth staying and still, he finds himself in his home, in his clothes, in the company he knows will leave him when he wakes from him again. he thinks himself a fool, but the sweater is soft after a night in scratching lace and thinks he can fool himself a touch longer, maybe. a dream’s dream, this moment suspended.

but he asks, sharp eyes watching august from across the room. is too much of his mother’s son when he steps close to the familiarity, knives under tongue. rosebuds bleeding when he stands on the tips of his toes, breath brushing ears, leaning too close.

“take a guess, sweetheart.” how eyes find a way to glimmer even in the low lights, ever-charming. make a game out of it, fingers trailing buttoned collars, patterns that used to grace skin. nimble hands undo buttons, loosen ties, tugs him gently back to the couch again. reminiscent or fantasy?

he perches himself along the arm of the couch, crosses ankles and looks up at august, almost sweet. “who are you afraid of it being? is any answer right enough for you?” soft, lean in close to catch the words. “want to know how much my dear mister paid me to be half as close as you and I, once upon a time?”

( he is his mother’s son, knife to heart, knife for a tongue. boy bleeds just to wound. )

“did you wish it was you? i almost wished it was. how fate would have it that I ended up here again.”  

he doesn’t know when things began to change for him, somewhere between meeting cleo for the first time ( and he does recall being intimidated, seeing someone too sharp and too fragile all at once ) and deciding he couldn’t let himself get used to seeing him under his covers. he’s not naive enough to not understand what it means, how his heart reacts first whenever he sees the other, but they are two different people, and the last thing he wants to do is weigh him down. 

he stays still as cleo walks towards him, ignores the way heat crawls up his neck at the familiar touch, knows he should put an end to this but also knows he won’t. so he follows him to the couch, complacent, and one hand finds its way to cleo’s waist, holds him there. 

“i never want it to be anybody,” august says, pressing his thumb into cleo’s ribs underneath his sweater, feels the ridges. “do you hate me for it? i wouldn’t blame you even if you did.” 

and he would be lying if he said he hasn’t thought about it before - if he’d been someone powerful enough, if he’d had enough money - would that have changed things for them? would he have taken cleo away from this horrid place like he used to dream about? 

his jaw tenses for a moment, almost angry. 

Slumping back into the hard plastic seat she knows she was wrong to say anything. It seemed he wasn’t interested and that was fair enough. After all, if she were on the receiving end of unsolicited advice she’d be anxious; it wasn’t fair to expect someone else wouldn’t react similarly.

Her eyes dropped back to any random spot on the floor. Vex quickly came to an understanding and acceptance that maybe this conversation was already over. Even if it was, she couldn’t get out of her head how someone’s hands could become so painted with bruises like his. A whole movie of different ideas played in her mind.

The man asking for a recommendation tore her from her vision, “I… wouldn’t be surprised if it was in your local drug store. If not any holistic or natural health stores should have it. It can be kind of pricey though depending on where you go.” Vex offers him a tight but kind smile. This time a little more wary about what and how much she should say.

“Actually -” She starts up again, pulling her bag closer, “I think I might have an unopened sample somewhere in here if you want to try it?”

over the years, especially those he’s spent in the city among the mobs, he’s learned to not expect much kindness from anyone. this world as he knows is filled with people who are willing to use others to get ahead, filled with those who have no problem with painting their hands red as long as it get them to the top. 

so it naturally takes him by surprise when vex continues the conversation, and though she’s not someone he knows well, he thinks he might be able to trust her, just this once. 

and he actually does let out a laugh at her last words, probably the first time he’s laughed like that in days. 

he winces not at the sharp sting of rubbing alcohol to open cuts, but rather, the soft touch that comes with it. he is no stranger to such things; bruises and kisses feather-light, cherry-sweet - but it is never for him.

( to: the ghost of my dreams, i hope this finds you safe. i’ve been imagining you in my bed all day ) 

no matter how reluctant, august’s hold has always been one for the not-dream, washed up thing occupying the corner of his too-small apartment. he wishes it stung instead, flinches like it does. 

stay. he can’t help but to let out a sharp laugh, too bitter for that mouth of his, disjoint. 

“stay? for you?” he knows it is too cruel, acid dripping around the curve of words. “darling, are you in a position to be asking me such things?” 

( what a bitter thing you have become; beautiful, spiteful. a lovely, poisonous weed; no wonder he left you ) 

he hums, a noncommittal sound, uncurls himself from the couch and steps past august purposefully. still he steps, tip-toed, as if afraid to rouse whatever nightmare-dream they have between them; disappears in his room for a moment before reappearing with a swathe of worn fabric draped on arms. 

( something of the other’s, old and ratty, still, he holds it too-tenderly, like some sort of truce for the night ) 

“unzip me, sweetheart? shall we order something for the night, or will the police be tapping in to our phones tonight?” something almost-playful, a sigh. 

ah, he thinks, there it is. 

in the midst of chaos he has almost forgotten that this is no longer something he gets to do anymore. for you? darling -- 

his face feels hot and he’s sure cleo can see - knows he should apologize but can’t quite bring himself to say the words and when his heart finally stills, cleo is already gone. 

“i still have your,” he begins when he sees his clothes in the other’s arms, thinks of the sweater cleo’s left behind at his house long ago. stops himself because he knows it doesn’t really matter anymore. it’s buried and collecting dust, no different from oliver’s photos that still rest at the bottom of his drawers. 

he’s always had such a hard time letting things go, and that’s his own fault. 

the way he quietly moves to pull down the zipper as he’s told feels too familiar. fingertips trace pale skin as the clothes become loose - too familiar, all of this - before he pulls his hand back as though he’s been burned. “i can order something,” he mutters, pretends nothing’s happened, makes his way into the kitchen so he can find the number to the chinese restaurant two blocks away.

( and yes, it’s their usual place, so he asks for their usual order. not fair that he still remembers. )  

there’s fear in his footsteps as he makes his way back into the living room, half wondering if cleo will already be gone and half-scared that he’ll still be there. when he does see the other there, he sighs. 

“Perhaps hell freezing over isn’t as far off as you might think,” Marquis mused as he sipped on his latte some more. He cocked a brow at the other man, no less concerned about the current status between the two sides. It only felt like attacks were increasing every week, and it was certainly making his dancers restless. Even he was unsure if his escorts would come back the next day safe and sound. Part of him hated sending them out because of the risks, but he also knew that it was the job, and they were all in it together. The dancer watched as August ordered himself his own cup of coffee, before gesturing for the two of them to sit down together.

“I know, but I make it a rule of mine to buy drinks for gorgeous men in my life. Think of it like paying it forward, or payment from people always buying me drinks,” he teased lightly, his gaze unwavering as he stared at the other man with a flicker of amusement in his eyes. But it was namely fascination, pure wonder and a bit of lust at the other sitting across from him. Of course, not like he could ever really do anything, but he wouldn’t let it stop him from flirting. The soft heat coloring the other’s cheeks certainly added to August’s charm. 

At the question, he furrowed his brows. The teasing gaze darkened a bit, not because he didn’t want August to ask, but because it brought to light just how dire everything was. How it put his dancers, his escorts in danger. “They… they’re alright. I think some are worried and fearful, but they’ll calm down. But my dancers aren’t dumb. They know how to handle it if the police come knocking.”

despite the frequent come-ons, august had to admit he felt a sense of comfort around marquis. perhaps it was because of this feeling of shared responsibility between them when it came to the other dancers, though he was certain that marquis had a much bigger role in taking care of them. so in more ways than one, he respected the other man - more than he ever thought he would. 

still, he couldn’t help that he did feel flustered whenever he was around marquis, but that wasn’t something he could entirely control. he almost felt bad about bringing up the incident, but it was important to him that they talked. 

“i know. they’re some of the smartest people i’ve met,” august agreed, “it’s just...i’ve barely managed to get used to seeing all of this and i can’t imagine...” if only he could move away - if only he had some other choice. he almost wanted to ask marquis, too, if he ever had doubts about being here, but he couldn’t quite bring himself. 

“and what about you? are you feeling okay? you know if you ever need a place to stay for a few nights or hide out...” he asked instead, trailing off for a moment as he sipped at his coffee. “my place isn’t big but the couch isn’t too uncomfortable, either.” 

There was something intoxicating about the stuffiness of a crowded room. So many people in one place and the energy of the room melding together with the pounding music amplified Kassandra as she moved through the dance floor. She had somewhere to be, but kept finding her eyes drawn toward the temptation around her. 

It was only the tall figure standing guard in the back of the club that centered her back on her goal. Years of practice helped her maintain her snarl at the sight of August and she took a moment to steady her mind before barreling forward. She didn’t bother telling him the password, even though she did know it, and she half hoped he would recognize her and make it easier on the both of them and let her through. His arm over the door snuffed that hope out quickly.

Her gaze darted up toward him, a friendly smile on her lips. “August! It’s been a while hasn’t it?” A vague memory of him lurking in the shadows as she made a young man bleed came to mind.

he’s certain that she’s doing this on purpose. he meets many who are...unlikable in this business. in fact, he doesn’t enjoy most people he tends to run into at asphodel. but there’s not liking someone and there’s getting chills every time you look or even think about them. 

and if someone were to tell him months ago that person would be kassandra, he might have laughed. but now, even as she’s smiling up at him, he can’t seem to find it in himself to put up a friendly front. not after the things he’s seen her do. he’s not innocent himself - he can hardly remember how many times he’s had to knock someone out, make their noses bleed, drag someone out by their hair to toss them onto the street just to teach them a lesson. but what he saw? she enjoys it and he know it so. 

“i didn’t think this was your kind of scene, kassandra,” he replied, easily ignoring her greeting. “what are you doing here? here to see someone? i thought you’d be staying quiet - surely the cops have noticed by now who’s missing.” 

it is familiar in a way he wishes it wasn’t - in the dim lighting, safe distances between them cleo could almost pretend it was a time that was easier for them.

instead: the ringing of gunshots, wind still in lungs. it takes him a moment to recognize the comfort of a not-home, breathe slow. boy makes small burrows into the corner of couches, ninety-nine cent dream with how he unfurls himself from the night and into his own skin again. 

boy turned dream, turned remnant of a memory. he feels too tangible in august’s home. 

“i’m fine.” he forces himself to look into his eyes despite the reminder of how the other will always pull away again. it must be a form of defiance to build oneself up for hurt again. 

“it’s nothing. thank you for - back there. i would have spent the night at the station otherwise and the lights make my complexion absolutely horrid.” a half-smile, voice light despite the bitter taste behind pressed lips. “your concern is sweet, darling, but there’s no need - i’ll be out of your hair by the hour. i believe i still have a dear patron to attend to tonight and my mister is such an impatient one.” 

a sigh, almost wistful. there’s something knifed in the sound, sharp eyes flitting back to august again. 

“should i repay you now, or another time?” quieter, almost tender if not for that gaze. “do you have a form of repayment that you prefer, sweetheart?” 

he ignores cleo easily and opens up the kit anyway, pulling out alcohol bottles and cotton swabs. eyes meet for a moment and august wonders if he sees resentment behind them. he doesn’t say much - doesn’t laugh when cleo smiles, even as he gently wipes at the angry cuts on bruised feet. 

and of course, his words are meant to hurt and again, august knows that he deserves them. it would be easier to ignore them and he has become too used to this, so he almost does until cleo speaks again. 

“i’m not...” not what? not one of them? is he any better? it shouldn’t make him angry that cleo thinks he owes him something - they are hardly friends, after all. 

“you should stay,” he finally says instead, words that feel strange on his tongue. what follows those words will matter, why he’s said them will matter more, and he would be lying if a part of him didn’t want to keep cleo here, like a pretty caged bird, because at least he could keep him safe. 

but he doesn’t want to keep cleo from flying away, because he deserves better than that. 

“the police will be looking for everyone at the party,” he settles on an excuse, “at least if you’re here, it’ll be awhile until they get to you.” 

his shoulders feel heavy as he finishes cleaning up the wounds, like he couldn’t stop cleo if he wanted to leave. and he is suddenly too tired to be prideful, even if it wouldn’t be fair. 

he’s hardly as quick to react as august, knows only to follow the familiar figure, to keep up as much as he can. he tries not to slip, keeps holding onto arms, sleeves like a child, afraid. heartbeats ring in ears and is only accentuated by the screaming, by the footsteps that ring out behind them. 

he clambers up the stairs, doesn’t think twice when he climbs out the window and lands on the hard ground outside, wincing at the poor landing. it takes him too long to even register that august has climbed outside with him, speaking. he’s not sure he hears the words, only sees him turn and kneel. 

( a sharp intake, momentary fear of backs walking away again. he does not need to be reminded of it. ) 

slowly, he positions himself on august’s back; familiarity at the warmth of being this close but not now, not again - 

arms wrap around shoulders, resting heads too close to the space where jawlines meet neck that he used to call safe. he still hates how it feels like so. we were so close to forgetting. 

“your place or mine?” there is something unspoken in how he wants the other to stay, arms tightening around him. the place matters little to him. 

“there’s a back entrance - there, on the other end of the alley. where the valet parking is. the police won’t come through there, we could still slip out - “ 

he has always been amused by the fact cleo weighs virtually nothing to him, but it’s a bitter reminder at the same time of how often he’s had to carry him like this before. it’s a good thing he can’t see his face now, because he might say something he’ll regret. he’s not sure how to answer that question without giving too much away.

instead, he looks up at where cleo is guiding them to, and stands up, arms back and holding cleo. “okay,” he says, and not much else as he quickly brings them towards the back door. 

and he thinks about it as he walks - he’s tempted to go to cleo’s because it would be easier for him to leave once cleo’s taken care of. but for the life of him he cannot remember ever seeing a first aid kit or even a proper bandaid there, while he knows that he’s got a full kit underneath the sink at his place. 

he’s afraid that if he says anything now, it’ll sound like an excuse, so when time comes, he simply makes a turn towards his apartment. 

“it’s closer,” august tries, a moment later. it does sound like an excuse. 

he only lets cleo down once they’re inside. apartment is always far smaller that it seems to be in his head, though today he can’t seem to care. after washing his hands in the bathroom, he makes sure to grab his first aid kit and brings it back out to the living room, not yet sure what the right thing to say here is.

where: a subway car, somewhere on the orange line when: 7:37 pm status: closed for @ofcharons​​

It wasn’t typical of her to dare to try and give unsought advice but, the purpling around the knuckles of the man across from her was curious. She tried to analyze, being as inconspicuous as possible. All she could gauge was that they were simply bruises. Some looked like they were healing and some of it seemed fresh. Was it really her place to say anything, though?

Tilting her head to the side and removing a single earbud she asked, “Have you tried arnica balm before? It does wonders on a stubborn bruise.”

No - it definitely wasn’t her place to say something but, she was coming to that conclusion too late. Vex awkwardly cleared her throat before adding, “Feel free to ignore that though, it’s just my two cents.”

he deserved it, august told himself. after a night like this, he always felt as though his ears were ringing (though he secretly hoped it was because of the terrible new york subway system, and not because of anything like guilt) and tonight was no exception. 

he deserved it - of course he did. the man, after all, had been getting a little too rough with one of the escorts at asphodel and it was his job to protect them. but the bruises scattered across his knuckles told a different story - after all, he wouldn’t have needed to do so much if all he wanted to do was scare the man but punishment was always at the back of his mind. 

so he was startled when someone spoke to him, visibly flinching in his seat. and once he saw the somewhat familiar face, he let out a sigh. 

time: September 29th place: coffee shop status: closed: @ofcharons​

“Ah, my knight in shining armor,” Marquis cooed at the older man when he strolled in. The escort smiled warmly, spinning in his chair with coffee in hand to peer at the other. “I don’t remember asking them to send in the charming one. You’ll just outshine me now,” he teased, reaching a hand out to him. “So tell me, what is a man like you doing with one like me? I certainly don’t mind it when you keep me safe, though I prefer it when you stay close to me. I like that feeling,” the dancer teased, raising a brow as he took a sip from his hot coffee.

“Shall I buy your cup for you?” the younger man asked carefully, slipping off his stool as he walked over to the bodyguard. He tilted his head to the side, his eyes tracing over the other’s frame before flicking his gaze over to the barista. “They seem more than eager to assist you. If you wanted, I could put in good word for you,” he said in a sing-song voice with a teasing lilt in his voice.

august wondered at times what it must feel like to be so blatantly shameless as marquis seemed to be. it wasn’t something he could ever become - he was almost the opposite, really - to be that self-assured and comfortable. then again, marquis did dance in front of hundreds of people at a time for a living, so they certainly were on different paths. 

and yet, here they were, meeting in a coffee shop at the end of the road. “the day i outshine you is the day hell freezes over. and god knows it won’t be doing that anytime soon,” he replied, though it was hard to hide the smile playing at his lips. this felt like a routine now, and something he’d surprisingly warmed up to over the years. after all, he’d decided long ago that marquis was one of the good ones, and in the end, their goals were not so different from one another’s, he thought. 

“i can afford a cup of coffee. even on my salary,” august said, ignoring the heat rising to his cheeks at the other man’s obvious gaze, and he turned back around as though he was paying close attention to the menu above. in the end, he got himself a cup of hot black coffee, and finally turned back around after he put in the order.

“listen, i’ve - i’ve been meaning to ask. is everyone...okay?” by everyone, of course, he meant the dancers - he hadn’t quite known how to ask them himself, but it’d been keeping him up at night, the shooting. “you know. in case the police come looking for anyone.” 

no matter how often he wore them, august was certain that he would never get used to the feeling of wearing suits. perhaps the reason he didn’t like the feeling was because it always seemed to be packed inside of asphodel, and tonight was no exception. only he was in a worse mood than usual, mostly because he hadn’t been getting much sleep as of late, with a million and a half things on his mind at once. 

thankfully, tonight he was minding the door at the back towards the private rooms, which meant less people to deal with (though at times no less unpleasant.) when he saw a shadow approach him, he shifted to block the door, one arm out. 

“sorry - paying customers only back here,” he said out of habit, without bothering to look at the unknown guest. only after he’d caught his mistake, he lifted his head and let out a small, but definitely audible, “oh.” 

during its earliest stages, samael made sure that the number one thing their associates knew was that their door was always open. anyone who passed by saw mundane desk work or them occasionally pacing the office floor, lost in thought. the implications that their boss was unwavering dedicated to Elysian’s goals. an open door meant samael was always accessible. there was nothing stopping someone from crossing the threshold and asking for their attention. a promise that it was always given. there wasn’t a dull conversation samael wouldn’t take a moment to entertain.

hades was exactly what you needed them to be, exactly when you need them to be it. sometimes, before you knew that was what you wanted. harvey had praised that the most.

once the party was over, they resumed their position back at the office. the times published a short article on the event and though most of the details were vague, there wasn’t any mention that the commissioner’s death was tied to them. a minor victory. they closed the tab at the sound of a knock at the door and smiled at august.

“you don’t have to apologize. I’m not doing anything important.” samael said. they knew there was something underneath that stammer in his voice, something in the eyes that refused to make contact with theirs, and with every hint samael became more and more interested in him. “come in.”

though he’d never been particularly close to luli or samael, he knew them and the stories surrounding them well enough to know the stark difference between the two. and though he was never truly given a choice seeing as he had gotten his beginnings at asphodel, he was certain that he would have followed samael regardless. 

still, it put him on edge to be here, hairs on his neck standing up as he heard the familiar voice calling out to him, as though he was certain if it was coming from a friend or a foe.

“okay,” august managed, only looking up at them briefly before looking back at his own hands as he moved inside, hesitantly taking the seat in front of their desk. “thank you, i - um.” he paused, and took a breath in before he continued.

"i know that i may be crossing a line by asking you this,” and for a moment, he thought that it would be best if he turned around here now, apologized and left, before he said something he wasn’t supposed to or worse, did something to give off the idea that he wanted to be involved. it wasn’t that - it was never that, but he remembered how scared cleo had seemed, small hands clinging onto his shoulders as people ran for their lives, and he somehow managed to find his voice again. “but was this - was this us? the commissioner?” 

She smelled the burning pan a second too late, and so did August. She smiled gently at him, waving a hand in the air to dismiss the apology. “Don’t worry, it happens to the best of us. And I’m sure the last few days have been… intense.” She scrunched her nose at the thought before shrugging. “No, but I left pretty early. I had a early shift the next day.” She shook her head, staring down at her mug of coffee. Surprisingly, Catalina was okay. It was tragic, sure. But she wasn’t the biggest fan of the commissioner, given her line of work. And no one else was hurt. She winced to herself at how cruel she sounded, her saddened expression clear in her eyes.

“God, I feel horrible. But I’m not that upset, I feel relieved. And guilty.” She scrunched her nose before taking a sip, her eyes glancing over to August. “How do you feel? It’s been hectic, I wanted to check in on you.” She smiled softly, glancing towards the food. “I can order us bagels if you’re not up to cooking. Your call though.”

“oh. that’s good,” august nodded, picking up the omelette with the spatula and chucking it into the sink. with practiced hands, he began cracking open a few more eggs into the nearby bowl, half-lost in thought again as he mixed the eggs, fork scraping at the sides. “good, as in. good that you weren’t around. everything else was not...great.” 

he momentarily stopped what he was doing, however, when she spoke up again, and turned towards her. “guilty?” august questioned, raising an eyebrow, mostly out of concern. “none of that was our fault, i...i didn’t even know it was supposed to happen.” and he himself had a rahter colorful past with the police, of course, but it wasn’t as though he had any ill will towards the commissioner himself. then again, he knew that it wasn’t about the commissioner - this was about something much bigger.

he hadn’t quite noticed the cut on his arm until he’d stepped into the shower after the dreaded night - he supposed he’d gotten it while he was escaping, though he couldn’t quite be sure. he knew enough about first aid to get it cleaned and wrapped, and he would have let it sit had he not woken up the next morning with a stiff shoulder and a sharp pain running through his arm. 

the thing was, he wasn’t the type of person to ask for anyone’s help, but then again, he’d always been a bit of a hypochondriac - which was why he found himself giving halim a quick call, and why he was now standing in front of his door, chinese food in hand. (nothing else he could offer as a thank-you, really.) 

is he angry? 

no, it doesn’t quite feel like anger when it comes down to it, even as he feels his heart rushing, palms sweaty and cheeks hot. samael is not someone he ever wants to seek out - perhaps because he’s heard so much of them, and not necessarily only the good parts, or perhaps because he knows he’s potentially crossing a line by doing this. 

but then again, their office door is always open. it’s terrifying. 

“sorry,” is what comes out first, despite his supposed anger, as he walked into samael’s office. “i just, i - i can come back later if you’re busy.” 

he is not the first thing to have touched him like this - soft, gentle. like glass, sugar-spun and deserving of the pretence of love. cleo has felt it too often; men desperate for a touch, desperate for wives to look at them twice, desperate for a dream to hold in their hands and pretend that for an eyes-closed moment he is theirs to have as whatever they’re missing in their lives - 

he is no different. he uses this as a mantra now, closing his eyes when august reaches for him, wills himself not lean into the touch for how real it feels, heartbeats betraying him. he is no different. 

there is an overture of ache when he pulls away. he hates it. 

he opens his mouth, as if to ask him to tell him to stay. as if to promise, as if to say, you call me, not the other way. i can’t need you; that’s not how dreams are supposed to work - 

instead: screams. 

they’re not his, too distant but coming closer at an alarming rate, followed by the the telltale thump-thump of footsteps rushing their way, abrupt break in their safe haven. 

“august, what - “ fear edges the corner of his voice, heads snapping to the fire escape door and the oncoming panic that creeps closer to them. reflexive, how hands wrap themselves around arms, pulls himself closer to him without a second thought, games long forgotten. 

the doors open and bodies spill in in waves, chaos erupted. 

“august - ! what’s - what’s happening, please - “ 

he’s almost afraid to open his eyes. cleo is unpredictable in ways he still cannot seem to manage, and just when he thinks he might have figured him out, he’s already out the door, as though nothing has happened. then again, has anything really happened? he doesn’t know. 

when he finally opens his eyes, he waits a beat, knowing that he’ll have to go now, but he never does quite get the chance to say his goodbyes because they are interrupted by what sounds like a scream, followed by a loud bang and the unmissable rumble of feet running towards them.

he instinctively grabs cleo, still not entirely sure what to expect, shoes long forgotten and he manages to lift cleo up before the crowd hits the door. the screams drown out anything he says, and most of the crowd heads down the stairs, august makes the (perhaps foolish) decision to go up two flights of stairs, exiting on the floor he knows is connected to the fire escape. 

it seems easier once he finds the way out, and he hoists cleo over the window first and quickly follows suit - the alley it leads to is empty, though he can hear the police siren coming from afar. 

he hardly takes his eyes off of cleo as they make their way down, and only after catching his breath, he finally manages to look over at him, sees his bare feet, and frowns. 

he could barely believe that it had really happened - a murder in the middle of a very public event, and who knew how they’d gotten past the security in that area? he supposed he was on watch that night too (not that he was keeping his eyes on the police, of course), and he’d been completely caught off guard. then again, he was not so blind as to think that something like this was impossible. no - he should have expected it, rather. it’d been far too quiet as of late, after all.

still, it seemed to preoccupy his mind and he was rudely snapped out of his thoughts when he smelled something burning, and he quickly realized it was the omelette he’d been making in the frying pan for himself and his guest. 

“shit,” he swore, quickly looking back at cat and looking back at the now-burnt chunk of food. “i’ll - let me start that again. i’m just a little...it’s just been a little weird around here. have you talked to the police yet?” 

it’s almost too easy, the soft words and the soft touches that comes with it - cleo’s certain he could ask for just about anything and august would give it to him and that’s the problem, isn’t it? 

he likes it too much, as he always does - how large hands capture his and pulls him along, how this gentleness is damn near addictive. it’s too easy to follow along and you tell yourself that you are a thing to be pushed and pulled around as they please and he is no different, he is no different - 

cleo settles in too comfortably to the touch, leans in closer and hides a wince when the shoes are finally pulled off his feet, watching how august refuses to watch him. 

“darling, you know i don’t look good alone, even if it’s in an abandoned stairway.” there’s a lilting in his voice that almost sounds playful again. “what kind of man guides me here only to leave?”

he pulls himself closer, retracts his feet from august’s lap to make space for him to him to sit instead; not quite but just enough to be present. just enough for the man to have nowhere else to look but at him.

“oh? should i?” eyes are focused on him, too bright, too sharp. “sweetheart, you know my dear benefactor has paid for me to stay the night. would you like to handle changing his mind?” 

closer still. there’s champagne in that rosebud smile, almost pressed up to lips with how close he leans. 

“or do you have a higher bid for me tonight?” 

he is dangerously close to asking cleo not to go, even though he knows he has little to offer. he is nothing in comparison to the men who look for him - every cent he earns he sends to his sister, and he barely has anything to his name; no car, no house, nothing. so he stays quiet, even as cleo moves close, face now too close to his. 

he imagines this anonymous benefactor (he doesn’t want to know who it is - never does) looking for cleo in the crowd, smelling of whisky and bourbon and grabbing at thin limbs with sweaty hands. he wonders if he’ll see bruises on cleo’s skin the next day, red marks scattered down his throat. it makes him feel sick, just thinking about it. 

you signed up for this, he reminds himself, even as his heart is beating in his ears and he’s trying his hardest not to look at him. it’s not fair, with big eyes staring at him, words as sharp as ever. eventually, he shifts his gaze and looks back at cleo. too close. 

“if you need to work,” he begins carefully, but doesn’t know how to finish those words. he doesn’t want to tell him to go, he knows that - but if he asks him to stay, he’ll disappoint and isn’t that so much worse?