There were days when he wished he was dead. Then there were days like this: where the sweltering heat of human contact was the fires from hell, skins-- all types of it-- were outlined in the gray haze of alcohol and drugs and movement was such a blur anyone could have died and their bodies still would've kept hopped with the music because what else did one do at a club?
It made Ethan sick just looking at it all. It made him feel dead inside, not just wish for it.
He didn't like Nightclubs, much less something as reckless and underground as Magic Touch. 

(God Ethan was going to kill whoever made that name)

The night was thorough: his bundle of 'pay back" bills was stashed in his vest pocket, his hands had procured another drink to help with the mind numbing boredness that came with being the one with the highest alcohol tolerance. His mother liked to brag about that-- He could smile and charm and scam even after seven drinks. Somehow Ethan had never considered it a good thing.
Yet here he was scamming and charming arrogant little fucks from all their money and dealing out more powders and pills than a hospital doctor. He hated his life most of the time.

"He did it," A voice before him said. Ethan let his eyes meet the bartenders, her lips glowing blue in the blacklight. The bartender, a girl smart as she was fast, named Katie, looked caught between angry and helpless as most did when they watched tragedies unfold and couldn't do a thing to stop them.

Ethan barely had to turn around.
His razor sharp eyes caught an uncoordinated exchange halfway across the room. In the lights of the dance pit he watched the same jackass he had been scowling the night at do the one thing he told him not to do. He could see the ginger haired girl mouth out gratitude to the man in front of her a smile across both their faces. Ethan wished he was trashed, because it would give him an excuse not to deal with this shit at this hour of the night-- again.

A figure moved in front of him, blocking his view for a moment. Ethan glanced up at a girl he recognized from other clubs but never had talked to. She was wealthy, Ethan knew that. Her hair was always styled a different way and clothes immaculate in a fresh, store bought way. She smiled at him, and he was mildly surprised that she didn't seem as drunk as anyone else. Then again she could also have just had a high tolerance for liver killing.

"Can I have whatever he was having?" She pointed at his cup which was still half full of tasteless liquid.

"Have the rest of mine." Ethan faked a lazy smile. She raised an eyebrow at him but in the shadow of her green hat her expression was lost on him. Ethan didn't wait for her to make a decision. He got up from his stool and readjusted his vest.

"Have fun!" Katie shouted at him. Ethan shrugged off his discomfort like shedding his skin. She had been the first person in a long time to remember him,, to understand what he did, to see the full picture. The sign on the wall said drug dealers were welcome, but that didn't mean Ethan was okay with it.

Even he had morals.

They involved not drugging girls to high heaven before taking them not-to-their home.

He shoved aside a guy making kissy faces at his friends, almost sending him toppling over into a plastic table. They might have yelled dirty things at his back but Ethan wasn't one to really care. The Music had long since grated his ears to mindless fuckery. Did people actually enjoy hearing loss? He didn't deal with hearing loss problems. He pushed through the crowd, hurried but not too hurried. After all it wasn't that the drugs could kick in immediately. He could spare a couple minutes to mind his jacket and keep it as discoloration free as it got. It was hard for a guy to find a purple shirt like the one he had on.

The guy's name is Michael Yew. Ethan only knew that because the man proclaimed it to the world, as he stood on a table that was meant for drinks and displayed pretty little baggies with price tags. His eyes were red, with colored contacts maybe. They hid his dilated pupils in a mask but he wasn't fool Ethan. He wanted to know how much of his own stash Michael had used before the party, but didn't care enough to find out.

Michael was short, shorter than Ethan, but built in a way that suggest this was not his only night job. Ethan would have guessed at him being an undercover cop if it wasn't for the scars that peeked through his ripped neckline, crisscrossed to high Hell. No, drug dealing was not Michael Yew's favorite past time. That was reserved for street fighting, which would explain why the idiot and him had never crossed paths before.

And why Michael would dare sell anything in a location Ethan already had stakes in.

Ethan hated everything.

"Hey, it's my homeboy!" An arm found its way around Ethan's shoulders, curving much like a snake until it wrapped his body and pulled him in close. Ethan sighed. The only thing worse than Michael messing around with crystal meth was Alabaster Torrington pretending to be his friend.

"Got any new products for me, my home dog?" Alabaster persisted with a slur that was completely different from his normal proper speech. He was as high class as they come, but he knew his babysitter watched his pay flow. And more importantly Ethan watched Dr. Claymore watching the play flow. If Alabaster was caught, Ethan knew he'd be sold out for less than five minutes in the time out corner of Torrington Mansion.

"You got yours tonight," Ethan reminded him coldly.

Alabaster smiled easily charming. "Sure I did." He pumped his head fast in the direction of a girl that looked like she wanted to kill them both. "But my half sister Lamia, Nakamura. She's the one who's been asking. Now I know you don't--"

Ethan forced out of his half hug, "Then don't ask, fucktard. I don't lift rules for anyone."

Alabaster rolled his eyes, drowning himself in his alcohol as if he no longer cared. Ethan rolled his eyes.

"She was gonna pay double for it!" The rich kid yelled. Ethan flicked him off and let his words die in the chaos of the dancers.

A girl in high heels flopped to the ground in front of him, another woman laughing at her and swinging her own heels over head. The lights soaked the room in green and blue. The DJ yelled something about hitting it up and the crowd as one took a series of boppings and hoppings and generally looked like idiots. Ethan used both his hands to grab a cool metal railing and heft himself up the layer. It wasn't prodecal but no one was stopping him. He hooked a foot over the bar and bumped a table of pillaged purses and jackets. The boy passed out on the slick surface didn't even budge.

Michael Yew was still where he had been, scarcely moving except to get closer to the girl he sold to. If she noticed she didn't show it. Michael was leering so much now, the only way he could get more was to take her right then. She swayed, her smile filled with about as much confusion as amusement as her own loss of coordination. Up close Ethan could make out more details of the brainless barbie Michael had picked up. She was a ginger, with a splattering of green hair and matching lipstick that was worn with sips from many glass shot cups. She wore a tank top with half a shirt thrown over her shoulder with a wide V-neck to make her shoulders glow. She was a picking alright. Young enough for this to be her first club, stupid enough to have lost her friends to the music and drinks.

Michael offered her a smile and she laughed at a touch that tugged at her curls. It was light, a ghosting, a taste to see how she would react. Ethan watched, hands stiff on the metal bar he hovered on. He could break them apart now, Michael might swing at him, call him names. The thing about people on drugs is they saw a world entirely different than everyone else.

It was the same as showing ten different people a Where's Waldo picture for twenty seconds. Each person saw and remembered something different-- and none of them ever saw Waldo. Ethan could go up and break them up and Michael might swing, but at the same time Miss Mysterious might want this. Ethan hated people on drugs. They got their morals all mixed.

Maybe that's why he never took any.

The girl said something with an elaborate twist of her hand. She stepped back... and fell. Michael was quick catcher her by the waist helper her up like he was all pure intentions. Ethan watched his hands; they were slipping, and fast. The girl was noticing.

She jerked back, a head shake in a messy but obvious "no". Ethan stepped down off the bars. She stumbled again, dizzy now, weighed by her own panic. With the heavy throb of the music everyone seemed to miss her yell as Michael grabbed at her again.

Ethan latched onto Michael's bare arm, and yanked it back. It was reaction to stand between the predator and his prey. It's all Ethan had ever known how to do.

"Nakamura," Michael's face split into a grin that didn't flatter him. "You're in my way."

"And you're a retarded shit." Ethan replied with little to no expression. "Are we done stating the obvious?" He could see the girl's feet shifting under his, but he didn't dare remove his eyes from the form in front of him. Michael was a street fighter; he wasn't one to be underestimated.

"I don't remember either one of us asking for your intervention." Michael said, "Or are you just concerned about your competition."

"And there's the delusions of grandeur. I wonder if that's a side effect of the meth in your system or the tumor in your brain." Ethan squeeze his arm painfully, "You are never going to be my competition, Yew. Don't flatter yourself."

"You're right! There is no competition, Nakamura. I've already won. Just ask Kayla here."

Kayla was on the ground now her face on the carpet and her shoulders weak. She was trembling as if scared but her expression was still a couple minutes behind. Her bluebell blue eyes struggling to focus on something, anything.

Michael drove a punch to Ethan's gut.

As sudden as it came, Ethan barely had time to recover before Michael was pinning him in a choke hold. His forearm was like a tree trunk, thick and firm, and Ethan noticed all muscle. He gasped for air in a very unflattering way. Michael dropped his head in close until Ethan feel his lips ghosting by his ear and feel his sweltering smokey breath singe his cheek.

"You're pathetic, man." Michael laughed, "They say you're something special up here in the drug world! That you have connections to Hades and 'em. Where's your gang friends now, pussy?" He pressed harder until Ethan thought he was going to crush his windpipe. He spit out to keep from swallowing his tongue in his desperate gasping for air.

Goddamnit he really hated his life.

He went slack, his knees dropping immediately to the ground. Michael wasn't expecting it-- Ethan was betting it all on that. A split second loosen on the hold and a breath of life meant two things: first, Ethan's eyes focused on what he was doing, and second he had a knife. A really nice knife.

He flicked his arm up and drove his switch blade into Michael's arm, not particularly careful where. The guy was going to kill him, Ethan felt in in his grip, the intent was obvious and while Ethan hated his life, he wasn't going to go out that easily. Not by some thug idiot and definitely not before Kayla got home.

Michael howled in pain. A gay couple nearby stopped long enough to watch. One reached for his phone but Ethan caught his eye and shook his head. No calling the police; not while one third of the occupants are high and the others are drunk and the fight was young. Michael cursed his mother to hell.

(Ethan was okay with that, mostly)

Ethan spung the blade in his hand. "Crybaby," he huffed, "It was barely a knick!"

Okay he might have severed a nerve. Which was not a knick, and was actually a dangerous cut that could cost Michael his arm functions.

"You fucker!" Michael swore, "The Police'll--"

"What would you tell them, Yew?" Ethan challenged, his breath was short, and painful, but he pretended not to care, "You were going to rape her. I defended her. Do you know how many years in prison it is for criminal sexual conduct intent? I don't! And doing it while high?" He whistled, which morphed his face into a wolfish grin. "And selling illegal substances too?"

"I'll take you down with me!"

Ethan shrugged, "Hades will bail me out. Of course, I guess that's only if you believe the rumors. I could just as easily say I was out having a fun night. Afterall, I'm not the one who jumped on a table to exclaim I was selling things. And I know a couple of people who would vouch for me."

Michael told him where he could shove his knife.

"Real creative." Ethan snickered, "Run along now, Yew. There's still time to get more wasted. Or to the hospital. Whatever your fancy."

He gripped his arm seething at the other man. Ethan waited until he was back on his feet before lunging forward and catching him against the wall. Michael swallowed a scream, his fear suddenly on his face as Ethan steadied the knife to his throat, until any movement at all would break his skin. In the gleam of the blade Ethan could see a smile that wasn't his on his face.

"And if I see you..." Ethan licked his words savoring the fear that rolled off the jackass in front of him, "If I see you sell another thing, even a snow globe, to a lady, in one of my clubs--"

"I--I won't!" Michael swallowed very, very carefully, "I-- uh-- swear!"

"I'll kill you, Michael Yew." Ethan promised, "And leave your body to swim with the fish under Westmore Bridge."

His eyes were wide and a sweat of fear dripped off his black hair. "I won't! I swear it!"

Ethan glared at him a little longer. "I don't believe you."

He looked frantic, panicked as he counted the number of ways Ethan could kill him with a knife in this position. Ethan had ten so far; he wondered if Michael got that high.

"I'm going to be watching you, Yew," Ethan whispered, "And the next time someone is stupid enough to ask you for drugs, you point them my way first and I get to decide if they get to inhale or inject."

Michael nodded, scraping the first layers off his sensitive throat he was shaking far too much to truly notice any of if. Ethan let him go. Michael ran towards the dance pit like Satan was on his heels. Kayla was on the ground, untouched, unnoticed, but conscious still.

She stared at him, "Who...are you?" She asked weakly.

"Where are your friends?" Ethan carefully knelt next to her, wiping the blood on his jeans.

She shook her head as if that was a viable answer. Ethan huffed. He hated his life.

"I'm going to help you up, got it?" He said carefully enunciating each of his words. He didn't wait for her confirmation, mainly because he knew whatever concoction she had been given, whatever god-awful thing Michael thought he had been entitled too, was started to kick in faster. In a minute or two it would be washed away in her blood, pumped to every limb and muscle and thought until she lost herself in the calm serenity of unconsciousness.

Ethan wrestled to get her in a sitting position. She feel hot, too hot. Ethan hated skin on skin contact. He tried to make his touches light; he knew what rough touches were like, especially from the unknown and unremembered. And if everything went right, Ethan would be completely unremembered in the morning.

Kayla leaned into him as he picked her up bridal style. Her green hair tickled his chin. She was dead weight in his arms, a corpse that breathed white hot air at his neck.

"Address." Ethan asked in her ear. She replied but Ethan lost it in the scream of the music. A cheer had gone up in the crowd, and a new beat had hit the floor like a fountain of youth spitting all the insects with a second life. They made the definition of Rejuvenation out of formless bodies and fragmented memories.

Ethan carried her Kayla to the door, where the bouncer, a girl hung at the doors with a cigarette in her mouth and a phone in her hands. She flicked him a look when he shoved the metal doors with his hip.

"Another one?" Lou Ellen asked, she hissed out a bit of smoke, and kicked herself off the wall, "I knew when Michael came charging out--"

"Where's Cecil?" Ethan cut off her small talk. She might approve of him, of his style, but Ethan did not consider her anymore a friend than he considered Katie one. Both of the girls unnerved him. Lou Ellen however was aware of how much she unnerved him.

With a coy smile she ran a thumb towards a car stalling by the road. It wasn't anything amazing by the look, which was how Cecil like to roll. He had a different car each week, an assortment of colors, an assortment of styles, brands, frames, even the decals he changed. He was reading a Manga in the front seat of the car, feet on the dash and two empty coffee cups in the the cup holders. Ethan kicked the side door and he cursed dropping his page.

"Son of a Bitch, Ethan! Could you warn a guy?" He hollered as he opened the door only to stop short at the sight of Kayla, "Are you kidding? Another? I just dropped what's-her-face off! And before that, there was that guy--"

Ethan ignored him and buckled Kayla into the backseat. "Just get her home, Cecil." Ethan told the other boy. Cecil saluted him.

"W-wait..." Kayla mumbled. Her thick fingers caught the edge of his shirt as he pulled away. Her eyebrows scrunched in sleepy confusion, "Why?"

Ethan rolled his eyes, "Because people are generally jackasses." He yanked away as if her touch was burning him. He closed the door and Cecil grinned from the driver's seat.

"Some advice, Ethan, my dude," Cecil told him and although the last thing Ethan wanted was advice from a high school dropout he paused to listen, "Call it a night. You'll drive yourself crazy before you save every psycho in this club."

Ethan waved him off, plucking a box from the dashboard shelf. Cecil didn't stop him, but merely rolled his eyes. "Those costed me my lungs man."

Ethan slipped one out silently and put the box in his pocket. " You take care of her, I'll worry about my health, Markowitz." He waved his unlit cigarette at him, "Good night."

He turned away pretending not to hear Cecil call after him with complaints. He met Lou Ellen's eyes from across the street, nodded to her, and headed down the road. Cecil's car came to life and headed in the opposite direction, to wherever Kayla lived, and then right back to here, lingering until Lou Ellen's shift was over and they were off to wherever. It was a routine built on a trust in Cecil, who despite being a blockhead ninety seven percent of the time, Ethan trusted with his valueless life.

"Yo, Nakamura!!" Lou Ellen called, she glanced around quickly as if she was delivering sacred news. "There's a girl, she was looking for you. I sent her away but she looks like trouble." She flipped her bangs and let the white street lights color her in makeshift shadows, "Well, more trouble than even me."

Ah, great. Just what Ethan wanted. More trouble for tonight. Knowing his luck it was most likely an undercover cop.

Ethan yawned and fished around his pockets for a lighter. It was a cheap one with the good old Seven-Eleven brand stamped on, but it worked so he kept it handy. He tasted the nicotine on his tongue before the Magic Touch had let him out of sight.

The night was far from quiet. The city let the beatbox of back alleys, and the rumble of the metro and car horn honks echo every hour of the day. People lived for the night, or in the night, There was always seven restaurants and a bar open at a time. It was amazing that anyone ever actually went home with the number of things to do in a city like this. A number of ways to wake up tomorrow several hundred dollars poorer. And that was only if you woke up.

Ethan was all too aware of the black car as it slid up the curb in front of him. The license plate was new and the car was fresh like a pool of ink against the neon street lights. A car behind them honked but pulled around. Other passerby merely glanced and shook it off. If it wasn't there for them then it wasn't worth getting into trouble with.

Ethan hated that he couldn't walk around it. He let his cigarette burn, through whistling gray smoke into his equally grey looking future. He didn't run; he had the feeling there was no way out of this confrontation. If it was the police he would only look more sketchy than before.

The back window rolled down and a seemingly familiar voice beckoned him forward. "Get in."

Ethan pursed his lips considering it. "It's been a long night--"

"Get in the car." The voice said again.

Ethan sighed reached for the door handle. It wasn't like he treasured his existence anyway. Whoever it was could kill him and his ghost probably wouldn't even care. Were there more excited things to do in Hell?

The inside of the car was a neutral color, with the scent of vanilla and lemon. Ethan wasn't one for perfumes but he knew when an expensive one was being used. This one was made of compressed hundred dollar bills. The inside was small but roomy. Enough space for four people all facing each other. There was a singular figure sitting, waiting patiently for him to sit down. There were no seatbelts.

Ethan heaved a sigh and sat down. The girl before him was pretty, even he could admit that. He knew he had seen her somewhere before, probably even earlier tonight but he couldn't pinpoint the exact moment. He looked at her and his barely smoked cigarette before flicking the rod on the ground behind him and closing the car door. She smiled, revealing dimples that made her freckles glow.

Ethan hated his life.

"Thank you," she said, her tone much warmer than before, "I'm not a fan of smoking."

Ethan didn't respond. She was wearing a night going outfit: jeggings with ripped thighs and a purple tank top with her hair done in a long braid. Her shoes were new and a right-off-the-line style if Ethan ever saw one. Her arms were bare, with the sparkle of glitter that caught his eyes when he moved slightly. But what he truly noticed was the green hat that rested on her head like a halo of shamrock.

This was the same girl that he gave his drink to back at the bar, before he dealt with Michael.

The car gave a lurch and Ethan felt the tires flop back off the curb and roll straight back into traffic as if they had never stopped at all. He should have started counting the blocks or the corners, but he couldn't pull his eyes away from the figure before him. She was dangerous, somehow, like the shiny gleam of an unused knife. The girl shifted her weight slightly, refolding her legs in a smooth fluid motion that should not have caught his attention so quickly. She twisted a strand of her hair back behind her ear and let out a quiet sigh.

Ethan really hated his life.

"I must admit," she said, "I was expecting a bit more rebuttal."

"If you want, you drop me here and we can try it again. Can't have you disappointed." Ethan rested his arm on the door leaning his head in his palm. "Are you going to reimburse me for my cigarette?"

"Depends," She leaned forward, "Are you really part of Hades?"

Ethan paused though he didn't mean to. The question was really the last he expected, and it wasn't often that he was surprised. "What does that have to do with my cigarette?"

"What if I told you I know a new drug?" She leaned forward staring into his eyes as if she could see his soul. (Ethan wasn't worried; she wouldn't see anything). "It's brand new and highly addictive. It will make you a millionaire overnight. There are some things I don't want Hades to be in on. Would you be in?"

Ethan narrowed his eyes, "What's in it for you?" If there was ever a question he had never forgotten, it was the first one his mother had taught him. Someone always wants something.

"A lot of money." She fiddled with a stray string on the seat. "I want twenty percent, since you know I'm supplying it."

Ethan tapped his thigh. Twenty was a high split; he had turned down people for less. But in any case, that wasn't an issue.

He looked at the woman in front of him. She was young, his age if not younger. He wondered if she would have approached Michael with the offer first if Ethan hadn't sent him running with his tail between his legs.

"What are the side effects?"

She raised an eyebrow, "Do they matter?"

Ah, Yes. Young and powerful. Ethan pulled out the wad of cash he earned in the night. He hadn't bothered to count it but it was thick and crisp. Ethan made it a habit to tell alcoholics when they underpaid for goods but most never noticed when they overpaid. Ethan let more than guy walk away while pocketing two hundred dollar bills. He tossed them into her lap.

"We have a deal?" She asked, "What are you--?"

Ethan didn't waste time flipping seats until he was right next to her, his knees burned from touching their open skin even for just a split second. Ethan had his blade out almost before he moved, his breath was cool and even, controlled as much as he was in this situation. They were inches apart but only has blade kissed her smooth neck, right above a yin yang pendant.

"Here's your deal, Princess," He gave her a dark, humorless grin, "You take your wanna-be drug and you keep it the fuck out of my city. Take your money and go before I get angry."

She didn't move merely breaking into a mirror smile, "Oh? What will you do, Ethan Nakamura? Kill me?" She laughed, "I don't think you have it in you."

"I don't have to kill you." Ethan whispered. He let his eyes wander in a syrupy slow motion. "I mean, there are worse things....and who's going to stop me?"

She went stone statue still. Her eyes were wide, revealing large, brown, vulnerable irises. Their faces were almost brushing, the brim of her hat was lifted over his head. They were still letting tree rock of the car move them, the driver unaware of what business was actually going on.

Then she smiled. A real comfortable smile of relief and happiness. It stretched across her face breaking in her dimples and showering her eyes in warm stars. Her laugh left Ethan breathless.

Sometimes he really hated his life.

"Oh you are good!" She laughed, leaning closer to him. Ethan in the midst of his surprise retracted the blade slightly. Her laugh was something wicked, a magic or a drug inside itself.

"I believed you there for a moment!" She watched him with admiring eyes. Ethan wanted her to stop, to look away. There was nothing here worth admiring. "Okay, real question then! Are you part of the Hades gang?"

"Who the fuck are you?" Ethan growled.

"I asked first!"

Ethan stared at her. His irritation was sitting thick in his head, swirling and gaining speed in the mess that was his sleep deprived state. He wished he was anywhere but in this car, with this girl, who made him feel so irritated.

"No." He snapped, "I'm not part of the fucking gang! Now who the hell are you?!"

Her eyes went wide as if she was now surprised. Her breath was warm on his face. She looked so vulnerable, and Ethan found himself hating his life more than usual for this time of night.

Her silence let them ride for a full block as he impatiently twisted his knife in his hand. She wasn't afraid of his knife like others were. It was an illusion of pain that she had already felt, much like Ethan had before. She knew the slices, the way the sharp edge picketed at skin, how it drank blood slowly, slowly, then all at once, how it felt to rip it out of a borrowed hole and scream in pain when the cold and hot fused in agony.

"Bianca." She said, quiet but firm, "My name is Bianca Di Angelo. I'm eighteen years old and I don't supply drugs."

"If you don't tell me what the Hell game you are playing right now, I'm going to toss one of us out of the moving car. And hint: It's not going to be me."

"That drug that I mentioned? It's real. The side effects are brief episodes of insanity, murderous intentions, increased adrenalin flow and most commonly death." She started talking slow and pointedly as if she was holding back information only for the fact that she couldn't break it to him all at once. A controlled river of words that was threatening to sweep them both away in it's dangerous currents.

"I need..." She took a deep breath, "I need help. This drug is dangerous, and if it gets out a lot of people at going to be hurt. I can't let that happen. And from what I've seen and heard from you, you can't either."

Ethan stared at her, the movement of the car swayed them back and forth. Outside people were spilling from a night club oblivious to the black vehicle driving along the road. Ethan recognized the street; they were heading out of the city.

"Who are your sources?"

Bianca grimaced, "Not fun people. They're solid believe me. They wouldn't have been killed otherwise."

Ethan sighed his fingers itching for a cigarette, or just something to do with them. He felt clamped up, tight and uncomfortable. Why did she come to him? Why not anyone else?

"The police can't handle something like this. I mean they can't even take small drugs drug dealers like you and Michael. I would go to Hades but the rumor is that Hades cut a deal with the supplier of the drug. I need someone outside both influences." Her eyes bore into him. "Someone who can't be bought or coerced or arrested."

Ethan pretended to be interested in what was going on outside the boxed windows. He ran his fingers along the handle of his blade to remind him of why he did what he did.

"Ethan, will you please help me?"

Ethan Nakamura hated a lot of things. He hated a lot of people, his mother at the top of the list and for years he had never hated anyone more than her. She had taught him many things like how to avoid the police, how to build allies, and twist loyalties, how to look after himself and only himself. Lessons were hard, failure was brutal. It took years to reverse the effects on himself. Sometimes he hated remembering her more than he hated existing.

But here was Bianca Di Angelo. She was asking for his help.

Asking him.

It would have been easier to hate her if she had demanded his help, if she had threatened him or bribed him or God forbid seduced him. If she had sat there retaining that confident facade with an ugly smirk on her lips and an unflattering devil in her eyes. If she was telling him to take the drug and the money and to hurt people like he had been hurt.

If she hadn't come to him at all.

Most of the time Ethan hated everything.

"Talos," Bianca reached forward and knocked on the cab wall separating them from the driver, "Take us somewhere secluded please."

Then there were times Ethan only hated his flimsy little heart.

****

Ethan stood on the balcony of the apartment staring at nothing. His cigarette burned in one hand down to the filter but he had get yet to bring it to his mouth. He wanted to pretend the chill of the night was the reason he was so cold.

"Ethan?" a small and tired voice whispered from the doorway. He didn't need to turn around to know she was standing there, looking fragile even though he knew by now she was anything but. She would have a gun on her thigh and a knife on her waist hidden to everyone but each other. Her slim body dressed in old thrift store clothes and her hair a glorious fountain of temptation. She stood like she was unsure if he wanted the company; her hand on the glass door holding it open but ready to close it the moment he shook his head.

Suddenly his second flip phone felt so much heavier in his grip.

"Lou called." He told her, because he never kept secrets from her anymore. "Cecil..." He closed his eye, "He hasn't come back to their apartment tonight.... He isn't...picking up his phone."

Ethan leaned over the railing, dropping his cigarette into the midnight abyss. He pressed his forehead to the wooden railing, his breath rattling in his lungs. "He said he was cleaning out the apartment today. Getting ready to move his stuff to her place. I don't...I'm..."

She didn't make a sound walking over, but Ethan didn't flinch when her hand found it's way on his. Her touch was soft, a whisper, the only drug that had him aching for more. She led him away from the edge and into her arms like a sheep to slaughter.

"Come come back to bed, Ethan." She whispered.

"I can't," he mumbled, "I have to find him. I have to make sure he's okay."

She didn't say anything. Ethan was grateful. If she had asked again he would have followed her just like he had two years ago. Just like he had been doing ever since.

"They're getting closer, you know." She said, "Maybe it's time we go to them with what we have."

Ethan snorted as he intertwined their fingers without a purpose. "They think that I am the one giving it out. That I drugged Luke Castellan. That I'm a monster that needs to be shot. Pretty soon they'll figure out I killed you too."

A distant siren howled in the night. She sighed ideally, and maybe a bit disbelieving too, "And here my dad was worried I'd fall for some average Joe who'd have a problem with gangs and murder. If he could see me now..."

"He'd kill me faster than your brother would." Ethan rested his chin on her shoulder, if only to feel her laugh rising in her chest, "I'd rather die by my own hands please."

She was warm still, Ethan noticed. She must have crawled right from under the covers, to find him out here. Though to be honest Ethan wasn't sure she got cold. Everything about her was always warm, protective, dare he say safe.

"Next week then." She suggested, "We'll both go to the station--"

"No." Ethan untangled himself from her, "You can't. After all this--!"

"They won't believe you without me." she pointed out, "besides it's not like there's-"

"I'll find another way!" Ethan snapped, "I'm not...I won't let you get hurt again!"

She cocked her head to the side, both annoyed and touched at the same time. He knew her well in the moonlight, every movement and every breath. The curve of her hips when she was mad, the tight shoulders when she was stressed, the grip of her arms when he was the only thing holding her sanity together.

"We aren't arguing this, Ethan." She said, "We are in this together. Don't you see that? Since the crash, is been us together. I send you out every night, praying that you come back, that you text me, or call because if I lose you, I lose everything, Ethan." She was shaking, her voice stopping her emotions in that frustrating way she had. "Believe me, I know the last two years have been hard. Trust doesn't come easy for me either remember? You are my sanity, my rock."

Ethan hated that he couldn't talk the way she did. That he couldn't find words that expressed who he was and what he was like she did. She wore herself out day and night and still out put up with him. Ethan hated that he could live forever just hearing those words rattle off her lips.

"Also I kinda helped with this whole saving the world thing. I'm not letting you get all the credit."

Ethan scoffed looking back out at the haze of the city. "Fine," he said. "Once we have credible evidence of where the stock is, we'll go." He breathed deeply, "We'll go."

She clapped doing an immature happy dance that was inappropriate for the daughter of a mob boss to do. Ethan rolled his eyes, waiting to her to tire herself out.

"If they find out--" Ethan started, but Bianca lunged at him. He hadn't expected her, in the moment blinded by his frustration, his fear. He didn't see her eyes go wide as they focused on something past him, or her breath catch in her throat.

He did feel the bullet as it broke through his skin, an explosion of heat and a shockwave of confusion, and Bianca Di Angelo screaming something or nothing at all.