❝ GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF OF ME . ❞ he responds with a cold snarl , & he stops victor’s hand with a vice grip , as if to break off the fingers reached on out towards him . ❝ you like wearing your rings , yeah ? then keep your hands off . ❞
it’s more than a defiant manner , but it’s defensive , shielded by the cool threats laid beneath the dark growl of his voice . pitiful little mutt , what are you going to do now ? his father had said the same thing once too , & he had only smiled back through with bloodied teeth & gums , before spitting into his face with a wider grin . that punch better kill me or else , shitface .
in a measured calculation , he removes his hand away from victor’s , curling them into a tight fist by his side as he tilts his head to take up a good look of this man . tall , collected , didn’t seem like a potential threat . yet . but regardless , he still reminded him of a venomous snake slithering its way through the grass , keeping its fangs hidden until the moment was ripe . so he was a danger . most things in the world around him were , including himself . it was like walking with a ticking bomb planted into yourself , & each time he looked into the mirrors , it was his father that stared back towards him , wearing his bruises & scars . countless of times , he’d broken the mirrors of his home , shattered them to icicle bits beneath his fists .

& — this time , he doesn’t ask who this man is . he wasn’t interested , to be precise . creating more connections meant only more potential risks for himself . maybe it would have been better to give a false name to isaac too , —- but no , isaac had already known him before they had met . parrish would have given his name up due to his fair & trusting nature . it was too late to back - trek on him now , but this new man . .
he could easily hide himself beneath the veils of lies , & it was the only matter of getting isaac to cooperate with him . maybe he would , maybe he wouldn’t , but every choice was always a gamble . drawing back , he recoils away from victor in a wary manner , keeping the gaze locked steadily upon him . ❝ you don’t need to know where i came from , that doesn’t matter anymore . right now , i’m no one . ❞ in a flat voice , he digs his hands deep down into the pockets of his jeans , tilting his head in a measured pace , a twitch of grin daring to appear on his face . ❝ i’m nothing , but i’ll spin you a story if you’re so unable to mind your own fucking business . ❞
When his hand is grabbed tight, Elliot’s fingers like a vice as though he intended to crush his bones, the curious, half smile on his face dims considerably. His expression goes flat, and all that remains is a quiet youth of his lip, a grimace that might appear more like a snarl.
“A filthy street kid with an equally nasty attitude. How original.” His look of disgust fades as Elliot releases him, and he has half a mind to grab the boy’s throat in retaliation, but he thinks better of it. He has no idea who he is, who might be searching for him - for all he knows, he might be getting his hands dirty with a rich man’s son, one who might have his head on a platter by daybreak (although judging by this stranger’s appearance, that outcome felt incredibly unlikely)
He decides to play his cards carefully, but not without a bit of fun added into this game. He was always hunting for something new, something exciting in which to inject his venom. Perhaps this boy will prove to be a useful asset yet, even if his only use is just pure entertainment.
“I can only assume Isaac picked you up from the rabies ward in the city shelter. Didn’t your parents ever tell you it’s not polite to try and hurt someone you just met?” He’s rubbing his hand as he says it, despite the truth that the pain was less than minimal, practically nonexistent at this point. “Normally I’d insist on getting in apology, but I’m going to guess that’d be akin to pulling your teeth. Am I wrong, mutt? I think I’ll just call you that, since you seem so insistent on hiding everything possible away from me. Sound fair, mutt? Or maybe I’ll call you a snotty little puppy instead?”
He throws the words like verbal bullets in Elliot’s face again, and although his body language is very subdued, his eyes tell the whole of the story. It was a challenge, as though he were just begging Elliot to come at him again, just try and lay a hand on me like that again, see if I won’t put a bullet in your heart.
The tenseness of the situation seems to be building to a fever pitch, until Isaac steps into the fray, a knife to cut through the thick air between Victor and this standoffish boy. “Heeeyyyy, let’s all just be cool here, yeah?” He places a hand on Victor’s shoulder, only for the older man to shrug it off immediately, a noise of clear disgust uttering from the back of his throat. Isaac is unfazed by the action. “Victor, why don’t you just give me the money you came here to give me, and-”
He pauses, looks at Elliot, bites his tongue just before he blurts his name out in the open air. That’s all Victor would need, just enough to be able to worm his way into another person’s skull. “And my new friend and I will keep hanging out, like we were planning to do before you barged in here.”
Victor gives Elliot one last once over, before finally releasing the boy from his icy glare. “Mm, I think I might stay for a bit, if you don’t mind. By which I mean, I’ll be staying here, getting to know your ‘new friend’, and you’ll shut up and wait for us to finish. Then I’ll pay you. Good? Good.”

He turns to his new focus of attention, Isaac’s kitchen, a small, built-in-the-corner room of the apartment, with a dingy looking refrigerator, which he promptly swings open and retrieves a bottle of beer from inside. He cracks it open, takes a sip, but his eyes narrow as he swallows. “Isaac, this brand is… Horrid. Buy a different kind next time, would you?”
“Uh, well, I didn’t buy any of it for you, douche-nozzle!” Isaac yells, fingers curling into fists at his side. He leans closer to Elliot, mouth right next to his ear as he whispers, “We used to live together, a long way back. Now when he comes over, he still thinks he owns the place, along with every goddamn thing in it. Annoying as fuck.”
“So, let’s get back to you, smart aleck,” He promptly pours the beer down the kitchen sink, to Isaac’s utter dismay. He grumbles in the background and brushes past Elliot to close the fridge door that Victor so rudely left hanging open and allowing all the cold air to escape.
“You say you’re nothing and no one, but that just leads me to believe you’re running from something, someone, right? But you, I’m sure you’ve got at least one person back home, pining for your return. Why don’t you run back to them, instead of allowing yourself to be beaten to a pulp in alleyways by thugs? You, with your baby face and pretty blond hair, you don’t look like you’re cut out for this life.” It’s then that he reaches upward, fingers skimming the skin of his own face, outlining a faint, but visible scar that spreads from the right corner of his mouth, up to mid-cheek.
It was a mystery to most how it came to be, and the only ones who truly knew the whole story were long, long dead and buried in shallow graves lining a lonely, isolated riverbank. All that remained was the ugliness of one fateful encounter, a craggy indent forever etched there, like a vine of death and destruction that spewed from his dangerous lips, and stuck to his skin like a badge of dishonor.
“Why don’t you tell me a story then, street pup? There’s only so much of one’s own business they can mind before they start to wander, indulging in the lives of other people. Plus, I’m not leaving here anytime soon, since I haven’t got an appointment until tonight, so you might as well say something. Unless you want me to talk your ear off. But something tells me you don’t care much for me, or what I do.” He flashes his teeth when he smiles in Elliot’s direction, crossing his arms and leaning his back against an adjacent wall.