#golgothesterror

Melanin's a scarce resource in the Strider family so, by default, I've got the trademark pale complexion to go with it, which makes for a shitty camouflage. I'm pretty immune to most things that are supposed to embarrass people, though. And by 'most', I mean there's a single exception to the rule that I know of.

Got Jake a GW2 account yesterday, since we decided to have a game night. Haven't had one of those in a while.

When he realized Sylvari can have blue skin, the race was decided, no compromises needed. I waited for him at the awakening tents, because I figured I should check out the nice green vein-glow firsthand, before he covered it up with clothes.

We dicked around in Caledon Forest for a while, until I figured I could try and take him to Wizard's Fief in Kessex Hills (and yeah, he commented on the name). I found it a couple of days ago, while exploring. It's this small town on the edge of the map where a wizard named Isgarren created a legion of elementals that keep the town safe and help people in their every day lives. He's rarely seen, but cares for the people of the town and keeps them safe.  He keeps to his castle, which floats above the bay of the port town. Legend has it, no one but him's ever been inside of it.

The reason why I picked this spot is because Jake developed a liking to jump off high places - and there's a diving spot just on the cliff beside it, which is also the only place in the game where you can pick strawberries. He mentioned he wanted to give the chef profession a try so it all added up nicely.

Jake, as in the dude I live with? He's my bro, we go a long way back. There's plenty of things to like about him, though he is an acquired taste. He's got a ridiculous accent, a faulty memory drive, a broken gps, every part of every movie seems to be his favorite part of it, and he's got some wrestling fetish going on, even if he calls it 'fisticuffs'. He also must be masochistic, because he hasn't quit provoking me into it, even if I always win. Unless I let him win, of course, for peace's sake. Whatever floats his boat, though. To top it off, he's got buck-teeth and angular frames that I think are supposed to make him look cultured and well-read, but it all pars off to being one fluffy ribbon away from adorable.

Fortunately for me, I do have such an acquired taste and I do like all those things about him just fine, always had.

Well, more or less.

He turned the key slowly, already getting used to the rasp of the lock, a brand new bottle of wine dangling hooked between the index and middle finger of his other hand, cellphone between the thumb and the index. It used to be a thing for him, these subconscious tests of dexterity. But in truth, if he'd pause long enough to give it more than a passing thought, Dirk would have to admit it was because he was staring to miss the handle of his sword in his hand, the firm grip of his training gloves, Bro's discipline... or merely his and Dave's presence alone. Which wasn't necessarily something he wanted to come to terms with.

This was about the right time, too. He locked the door behind himself, shifted the keys up in the air and caught them mid-air without a jingle attached, pocketing them, all too awake eyes glanced across the dark, quiet apartment, at the humble and still mostly stark, but slowly coming alive nature of it. His eyes lingered on the closed bedroom door to the left, aimlessly for once, as he slumped back ever so slightly.

The time. It had to be about 6 in the morning now. Bro would have had him working his ass off for half an hour already, were he at home. He had a lot of sighs, groans and even stitches at the time, but with time, even the worst things seemed to be there for a reason, and now... some of them he had to admit he was glad for, and two steps ahead of being a better person, if one step behind from being who he wanted to be - but a step is still a step. And as a Strider, he had and would walk that through and many more. Stride through even, as soon as he got the footing where it had to be.

This was bullshit though. The wine. He ran a hand through his hair, tiredly. Being a bouncer in the club for Valentine's had been less of a handful and more of a mindful. He'd done the job, because all Striders do their jobs 120%, and he looked damn good doing it, too. He was beginning to think it was truly a job he had been cut to do, and had received more than a few pats on the back for it in less than a week of service. There was no sweet-talking him into closing an eye, and there was no verbal or physical situation that he couldn't handle. Only problem was, his mind needed more of a stimuli. Hours of standing by the door or overlooking the crowd, with the casual seasonal hit blaring overhead was far from enough to keep him occupied. And more often than not, he found his mind straying to the piece of paper he'd found.

He'd never told Jake. Never gave him a reason why he'd been holding back. It was, to a point, a matter of pride. He wasn't ready to admit, not even to himself, that Jake had been that one hurdle he stopped in front of, refused to jump. There was no medal to win, is why, and a lot of potential injuries to deal with, at the time. Now... now he wanted to believe it was a thing from the past. Something bittersweet, the one that got away, except he'd never been there quite like that at all. And it was fine like that. Jake still remained the only person that would drop everything for him, smile and follow him. Some friendships weren't worth ruining.

He smiled to himself. It had a bitter taste to it, but not all bitterness was bad. The wine was bitter as well. Bitter-sweet. Sour-ish. He'd gotten the best he could at the corner store - nothing fancy, but it would do for a toast. To a new apartment, to a new job. He left the bottle on the counter, jotting down another note under it.

"Happy friendlentine. Booking you for a lunch-toast today. Wake me up at noon. -DiStri"

The sky was turning light by the time he was pulling the black bouncer tee over his head in the wardrobe-divided section of the living room, one knee on the bed. He glanced over, squinting at light blue horizon across the cityskape skyline, lingering there. Yeah... he was overthinking it. Jake would not take the gesture as anything more- and no, it wasn't meant to be more. There was such a thing as caring, and beyond the crush he'd been overwhelmed with, this he could begin addressing. Beyond anything, he was grateful. Whatever reason had lead Jake to follow him, or lack of thereof, they were here now. And he swore to himself to make sure he'd have his back no matter what, just like Jake had his.