"You’re making this sound like it’s a job interview," Blake said, letting his hands wander up Clara’s sides, feeling the curve of her waist before flattening both palms against her back and arching her toward him. "Give me a sec to remember my resume. It’s been a while since anybody’s asked," Blake continued, curling his lips just enough to count as a smirk. "I like it when people know what they want. Cuts down on the formalities, don’t you think?"

he slouched further and rested an arm along the back of the couch, stretching fingers that still had blood under the nail from the night before. didn't matter how often he scrubbed, it lingered. "do you want it warm or cold this time?"

Blake hated being called babe, but it was an easy role to play, so he went along. He curled his lips into a lazy smile. "Missed you, too. What are you drinking?" He flagged the bartender with two fingers, not waiting for Amelia's answer. The bartender came over, bored and hostile, letting Blake order another round. Chelsea jersey was still hovering, his pint glass sweating on the bar, trying to make sense of the shift. Blake ignored him. "Thought you were with Lydia," he said, voice just loud enough for the jersey to hear. "She still hates me?"

          "because if words fixed rot, we’d all be saints by now." blake's lips curled into a smirk, but there was no warmth in it. "some people don't benefit from... emotional excavation to feel better. some of us have the necessity of being better. there's a difference."

blake's fingers pressed harder against the wound, crimson seeping between the pale digits despite his attempts to stem the flow. he inhaled sharply, every breath stabbing through torn muscle. yet he forced his posture straight, shoulders squared against the cool brick. he recognized the simple, human logic in her offer, the attempt at a bargain. it was almost endearing in its naiveté. "and you think you can make me do anything?" he scoffed. he pushed off the wall, a sudden, jerky movement that sent a fresh wave of agony through his side, but he held himself upright, refusing to falter. "i can simply tear your throat out the moment you're within reach. wounded animals are notoriously unpredictable."

"i was caught up in the sorrows of a desperate man," blake remarked, watching the suitor limp away into the river of bodies, shoulders caved in defeat. he tilted his head at the femme, appraising her with new interest, weighing her wit against her bone structure. both won out. "if you'd prefer 'schnookums', i'm at your mercy," he offered, attempting levity. "but you don't seem the type to go in for pet names."

"heart-to-heart sessions aren’t part of my schedule. can be if you're paying for it," blake was quick to respond, lips tight at the corners. he let his gaze linger on her for a long moment—appraising, almost amused. "i would have thought that was abundantly clear. unless, of course, your perception is as lacking as your understanding of social cues."

          the edges of his lips were pinned in place for the cameras, his jaw relaxing only when the shutters paused for half a second. "you think i like talking to you at all?" blake muttered, eyes trained forward. "if it were up to me, i'd be drinking espresso in milan and…" he paused, his gaze sweeping over elliot, a silent assessment of his discomfort, "certainly not enduring this… forced intimacy." but the publicist had made it very clear—he needed to soften his image. make himself more 'human'. whatever that meant. elliot, with his anxious smiles and bookish reputation, was the pr fairytale: the gruff model and the quiet writer, opposites attracting and whatever bullshit they were selling. the studio loved it. the fans were frothing. blake, on the other hand, was fighting the urge to light a cigarette just for the hell of it. "just a little longer," he said after a beat, meant as reassurance as he straightened. "smile for the nice people, and then we can get out of here and go back to pretending the other doesn't exist."