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The words seem to catch in his throat like invisible fishhooks. He’d never seen Skav like this - their usual composure shattering into a thousand jagged fragments. A voice at the back of his mind screams at him to stop, to leave before he cuts himself on the razor-sharp pieces of something irrevocably broken; yet against every fibre of instinct, Blue holds on. Yes, Skav’s breakdown was a storm, a buzzing, electric current of fear and panic, freezing winds that sliced at your skin with every gust, but the safest place to be in a storm was right in the center of it. He’s quiet now, though - frantic attempts at offering refuge giving way to silence. Blue wants to think that it’s what’s best for Skav, that it’s better to just keep his mouth shut and wait till the worst has passed, but the truth is, he doesn’t know what to say. What [i]could[/i] he say, in a situation like this?

With every word that Skav manages to force past their lips, Blue feels an icy sense of unease begin to claw its way up the notches of his spine. If ‘Arya’ already knew they were in San Marzano… No, he doesn’t want to think about think about that; doesn’t want to think about how a mere recollection was enough to do [i]this[/i] to Skav. But the question here was: just what is he supposed to be afraid of? Fear can be useful - he of all people should know - but fear of the unknown would ultimately commend itself as a devastating weapon. It was what kept him awake at night, why his heart starts to pound whenever a door is left ajar. Most days, Blue’s paranoia is unfounded - a rat scurrying around behind the drywall instead of bloodstained intent. Skav was different; they’ve always been solid, constant and unwavering in their apathy, but now, they’re just… [i]not[/i].

[color=d24dff]“Hey-”[/color] When Blue finally finds his voice again, it’s much too late. Skav is pulling away from him, a light sheen of sweat visible on their hairline. For a long moment, he doesn’t move, just listens to what the other has to say. Blue has had his fair share of adversary, sure, but he was lucky enough to have a brother who’d kept him off the streets - [i]alive[/i]. He didn’t cut him with knives, cuff him to a fence, or pump him full of poison. He might’ve given him that initial push, but he didn’t break him, no. Blue did this all by himself. [i]He[/i] was the one that’d made the decision to dive headfirst into the toxic underbelly of San Marzano. Skav, on the other hand, it seemed they never had the luxury of choosing.

That’s why he doesn’t press any further. Their words, quiet as they were, held the solemn, booming finality of an [i]‘Amen’[/i]. As far as anyone’s concerned, this conversation was over, and Blue wasn’t about to cross a line so clearly drawn. Part of him is afraid of he might end up saying. Violence is what he’s accustomed to - loud, rough words to ward off anyone who gets too close, teeth tearing at skin and flesh. Then there’s the opposite, too - whispered promises and roguish smirks that always leave his customers wanting more. But right now, neither approach would do him any good. Pry too much, and even the most patient snap. So it’s all he can do to back off, jaw set, crown dipping in an almost mechanical nod.

[color=d24dff]“Right. [i]Sleep[/i].”[/color] Blue drags a hand down the side of his face, and draws into his lungs a trembling breath. He doesn’t miss Skav’s gesture towards the other side of the room, but he’d never liked sleeping in beds. Years ago, when he still lived with his mother, the bathroom was the only place he could get any sleep, the only room with a lock on the door, the only place that made him feel safe. Up till now, the habit persists, having taken root in his psyche like a viral infection. A little unsteadily, he climbs back onto his feet, pushing past the sudden wave of vertigo that hits him. Blue feels like he wants, no, [i]needs[/i] to say something, but when he tries, the words seem to die in his throat. Instead, he just shoots one last look at Skav before retreating to a dusty, little corner of the apartment. He ends up with his back snug against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest.

It's still raining, he notices, and it isn’t long before consciousness starts slipping away.

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When he wakes up, it feels like he never even fell asleep. Outside, the sun is already shining, burning a hole in the atmosphere. Blue finds himself curled on the floor, his left hand fisted in the fabric of his shirt. For a long moment, he doesn’t get up, gaze sliding towards the figure lying on the couch. The sight makes him furrow his brow. [i]Skav?[/i] What were they doing here? His memories are still dark at the edges, yet to be illuminated by the morning sun. There’s a dull, throbbing pain that lingers near the base of his skull, and every last square inch of his body ached with scars both old and new. On the floor next to him, lies a bloodied piece of cloth. Subconsciously, he brings a hand up to his jugular, touching fingers to the still-healing cut there. As soon as he touches it, the side of his neck flares with pain. That’s when memories of the night before start trickling in, slowly at first, and then all at once. The bar, the Bomber, everything. Pushing himself upright, he shifts his attention to the only other person in the apartment.

He’s not sure when it started, but they’ve long since fallen into the habit of not letting each other die. There’s nothing noble about it, Blue thinks. It’s blood, stitches, car chases, and the two of them scraping through by the skin of their teeth on a weekly basis. Maybe that’s how it has to be, here in San Marzano, caught between an endless war of Bomber versus Razor.

Then, just like that, something in his brain clicks. What if they just… [i]left[/i]? It almost seemed like San Marzano itself was saturated with drugs, violence, and bloodshed, so deeply ingrained that it exerted an unseeable, oppressive force over its denizens. It’s true that he’d grown up here, but San Marzano has always been a shithole, and he had little love for it, if any at all. Of course, this isn’t the first time he’d thought about leaving. Just that the prospect of riding cross-country on a twitchy, little motorbike didn’t seem like the best idea. But now, he didn’t have to, did he? With the Qrow, both of them could get out of here for good. And after that, it’s just a matter of keeping each other alive - which he supposed was the hard part.

Sighing, Blue cards fingers through his hair in a fruitless attempt to work out the knots. If they were really going to do this, they had to do it quick. From the looks of it, ‘Arya’ was getting dangerously close to finding Skav; and part of him wants to leave as soon as possible. If they waited any longer… he’s scared might end up changing his mind again.

Sometimes it’s better to run and hide than face your demons.

Blue pads across the room, coming to a stop right next to the couch. He reaches out to place a hand on Skav’s shoulder, but stops halfway. Even unconscious, they look troubled, like their mind was a prison instead of somewhere they could seek refuge. He withdraws his hand after that, seemingly deciding against touching them.

[color=d24dff]“Hey, wake up.”[/color] Blue murmurs, then repeats it again, a little louder this time. When he’s sure Skav has regained a reasonable degree of consciousness, there’s a moment of hesitation before he speaks again, but his words are said with a near-manic earnest, like he had to force himself into believing in them. [color=d24dff]“We can leave, you know? San Marzano. We can get out of here and no one would know.”[/color]