"you were the only person i could go to." Darby spoke through the mask he wore over the lower half of his face. He had his hood pulled up, the combination obscuring the young man's scarred face but doing nothing to hide his icy blue eyes. "Know its been a while. I thought I should let you know, even though its all different now." he managed. He wasn't sure what was about to happen, the riders might just finish the job the other club had failed to, it all depended on the reaction of the man in front of him.
If all Mox saw were those eyes, he’d still know on sight. Has them memorized like his own hands.
It’s all different now.
Yeah. Sure is. A fucking lifetime feels like it’s gone by. Mox, older, a little wiser, a lot more tired, bears his own scars. What does Darby know? Shit. Who’s he kidding? Everything, if he’s here. He tongues at a chipped tooth. He really needs to get that repaired.
The reaction, so far, is deflated. Wondering. Maybe a little scared, even. Rather than voice that, he asks, in his level, quiet way: “Why, after so long, am I your only choice?”
Why didn’t you tell me sooner, or maybe you couldn’t?
He’s standing behind his desk on the upper floor of the Riders clubhouse, like that’s any protection. Like he wants protection to begin with. (He doesn’t. Not really. He wants to reach out, wants it to be like nothing had changed.)
He doesn’t often make eye contact- not for long. He holds it with Darby for quite a while before his have drifted elsewhere, to the mask, the hood.
“…And how can I help?” There it is. An olive branch, for now. Helps they’re alone at this time of night.
unprompted
