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 look so pleased to see you because 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?

And Cain’s cheeks were bright red, free fingers tugging at his shirt cuff. Like he was embarrassed by it.

For fuck’s sake.

“So you actually meant that it’s your Chinese.”

“No. I—I mean that’s the point. It was a gift. They just don’t charge me anymore – you know because I—” Again, Cain’s words died as Casper burst out laughing, the scratching sound ringing down the empty street, and Cain groaned. “You brat.”

“Brat?”

A sharp hiss between his teeth. “No, not brat. I mean—” They stopped by the fence, a small gate set into an ingress in the rails, and Cain broke off, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

Was this it? A shiny padlock glared up at them from the heavy chain looped around the gate and the fence post. Casper gave it a rattle. Locked. “So much for your park.”

“Well I was hoping you wouldn’t be too averse to climbing over...”

So mister suave-when-drunk dopey rich man didn’t mind some breaking and entering. Certainly nice to know.

The fence looked climbable, spikes on top every other post, sure, but Casper was lithe and limber and built for exactly this sort of thing. Problem was the fence was ungodly high, and he was a short prick. He couldn’t reach the crossbar with his foot on the filigree, and his foot would be jammed in too tight between the rails to jump.

“Fuck sake,” Casper muttered, and shrugged off his coat, a black wool trench coat that brushed the floor. Cain raised an eyebrow as he handed it to him. “Hold it.”

Hooked over one finger, Cain held it up, a dull, dark shape in the dusky light. “This is a nice coat.”

Casper backed up, scowling at the fence as he stuck his gloves in his pocket. “No, it’s not.”

“I disagree. It suits you.”

“Sure, but it’s a shit coat.”

“Again, I disagree.”

No point disagreeing back. Casper rocked back on his heel and took a running jump at the fence. One foot hit a post and he pushed up. The iron of the crossbar bit like a knife of ice into his palms. A scramble and he got to the top, a spike jutting threateningly up at his balls, and after a moment eating up the satisfaction, he jumped neatly off into a crouch.

Cain didn’t say anything, but a certain smugness coloured his grin. Casper took the coat passed through the fence and caught the tied bag of Chinese thrown over to him, then got busy putting his coat back on. Cold as tits out, Jack would say. Casper didn’t really know what that meant. Never held a pair of tits in his life but he figured they were warm.

Also thinking about Jack could fuck right off. Look at me, asshole, I picked up a guy who’ll buy me a yacht for a blowie.

Better if he didn’t think about that either.

The fence posed no problem to Cain, reached the crossbar easy and all. He grinned at Casper when he landed, not even a hair out of place. Rolling his eyes, Casper threw Cain back the Chinese bag. “That’s just showing off.”

“And you weren’t?”

“Well, I’ve got to woo you somehow.”

Laughing, Cain set a path off between some trees. Asshole even had a fuck-me laugh. After seeking the cold metal at his waistband again, Casper set off after him.