The Stains Beneath Our Skin [mxm] ✔

3.1 | Spectacular

A rare lull had descended on the street, and other than a middle-aged couple dawdling arm-in-arm down the other side of the road, not another soul disturbed the gentle quiet. The streetlamps cast pooling amber light across the precise shapes of the flagstones, and as they passed into a shadowed interlude, Casper slipped his hand around his waistband. His fingers met chill metal, a switchblade in a pocket sewn into the inside of his waistband, and some tension ebbed out of his shoulders. Some luck for once. Just in case.

"So how come I got my food half off 'cause she saw me talking to you?" Casper asked.

At the edge of his vision, Cain blinked, startled, out of the lingering stare he'd had on Casper since they started walking, dopey grin and all. "What?"

Casper laughed. "Seriously. Are you high or something? Where did suave mister rich man go?"

"Oh..." Cain's cheeks flushed, and that touch of colour contrasted starkly against the clarity of before. Not even a hint of the bite of cold, and he still walked in that shirt and trousers as if it were the middle of summer. Nut. "I think that was the difference."

Drunk confidence then. Casper could appreciate that, and this—this was far more endearing. It put him at ease. Hopefully not too much at ease.

"You going to tell me why I got my food cheap, then?"

"Oh. Did you?"

Casper nodded. "Half off after she grilled me about talking to you. How come?"

"Ah..." Cain's long fingers ran over his lips. "I go there a lot."

"She didn't give me a discount for knowing you 'cause you go there a lot."

A mutter, an inaudible word with a rueful sort of smile on Cain's lips. For a moment, Casper heard only the precise taps of his shoes against the paving stones and the muddy thumps of his own boots. A car slid past, sleek and black and almost silent. Even got a bit cold as it went by, and Cain frowned at it, his fingers dancing a little through the air.

What was that smell? Just a little wisp but it stunk like something had died. Was it him? Surreptitiously, Casper pulled his collar out and sniffed. Goddamn, Roach, you need a shower. Not quite death though. He'd been worse.

Cain's words startled him out of his thoughts. "Alright. This sounds dreadful though."

"Hit me with it."

Cain nudged Casper around the corner onto a narrower street. Residential, lined with tall terraces with a posh old-timey vibe. The city fell even quieter here, and all the cars outside were shiny and new. Dark, heavy trees shaded the distant end, looming above wrought-iron fencing.

"Well, it was the Chinese I used to go to—a while ago, when I lived somewhere else. I swear her husband's cooking is the best that will ever grace your tongue, but they weren't doing so well – the area, you know? So, when I moved here, I..." Cain grimaced, fingers scratching at the back of his neck as he studied the houses they passed. One of the little balconies was so abundant with plants that the railing was lost amongst the leaves. "I bought the new shop and put some money into their business to get it running, that sort of thing."

Cain's eyes flickered down and he must have found Casper gaping at him, because he looked away again and groaned. "That really sounds dreadful, doesn't it? I didn't buy it or anything. It's just my favourite Chinese and—god, I'm just making it worse, aren't I?"

So Cain was that kind of rich. The bring your favourite Chinese with you when you move rich. Fucking hell. Was Casper even wearing anything new? Shit, did he even buy his boxers new or were they a pair that had been too small for Jack? Shit. He'd even cut his hair himself. Why was this guy even looking twice at him? What did he want?