Isaac Lisiewicz's Story

---

He shouldn't have left the house at all. He's going to be late getting back and its all for the sake of family bonding; aka, going ten rounds of gossip on a fifth of whiskey. Cards spread out before him, wearing only boxers and a single sock - fuck Nadia and her winning streak.

Strip poker with family sounds like the start to a bad porno, but its a fairly common practice with them. They veto'd full nudity after an incident last Christmas involving wine and a candle, so nobody had to endure staring at each others junk the whole time. Mores the pity, nothing says family bonding like getting naked around a glass table. As it stands however, Isaac is losing quick. One sock left before he's declared an official loser.

As fucking annoying as that is it bodes well for him in the long run. He glances impatiently at the clock every few seconds, the longer he stays out the harder it is to get back in time. He's got money to make, and after he loses he'll be out about five hundred until he can scrape it all back on the return games.



Nadia packs a real punch when she wins, throwing her cards down with more force than necessary as she scoops the cash in. Melina watches from the couch, where she's been sulking since Isaac commented something shitty about her new haircut. Its not his fault her hair dresser decided to make her look like an alcoholic soccer mom on crack.

"Lucky." She grumbles, while Nadia pulls her shirt and jacket back on (the only clothes she lost during the game.)

"Nothing lucky about it, I'm just that fucking good." Nadia boasts.

Isaac considers punching her for all of two seconds before he realizes what a monumentally bad idea that would be for his own health. No use falling back on the same habits that got him stuck in a shrinks office once a week until he's deemed 'not as fucking crazy' as he usually is.

"Aren't you late?" Melina asks him, as if she didn't hear him bitch about it several times throughout the game. "Am I?" He asks, flipping her off as he shimmies back into his jeans. "Didn't fucking notice." He grumbles, trying his best not to be a dick, but of course failing monumentally.



"Don't spend it all in one place," He comments on his way out. One foot out the door already when Nadia pulls him back, concern, painted soft over the usually smarmy canvas of her face.

"Be careful Izzy." She warns him.

Worry appreciated but utterly useless. It isn't for him, but for the constant threat of a fit hanging over his head. Anger throbbing in his veins. Never to his beck and call but rather to the unwilling moments between clarity and the dizzying loss of momentum.

"Never." He replies, amusement sparking in the aftermath. He tugs free and heads out into the streets, the last few rays of light painting the horizon pinkish orange where blue fades into black. The light pollution wiping out any trace of stars in the sky. He hates that the most. He remembers the vast abundance that littered the country skies, back when he would spend summers with his aunt while his parents worked themselves to the bone.

He'd feel worse about it had the two of them not turned into raging douche bags at the first mention of Isaacs 'less than conventional taste in bed fellows.

A fight for another day, perhaps they'll be calling soon. Nadia is sure to mention him when she returns home with a handful of cash not earned from an honest days work. He can only imagine the outrage they'll feel when he sends them straight to voice mail. Blocking their number never could be as fun as listening to them flounder over having been ignored.



Thoughts spared towards his parents are precious minutes wasted. He hurries along the streets to a more well-lit area to hail down a cab. He wasn't restricted to the house, but he felt it best not to ask for a driver when taking personal time to visit family. One of the few reasons he had chose to live in the house itself rather than with Melina in her swanky apartment. Besides the obvious need to be without her constant watchful eye.

Cabs are easy enough to pursue, luckily it isn't a very busy night. He's sure that Hales is already busting at the seems but out in the dark of night it is devoid of that familiar packed heat. He's got an active vendetta against time, its constant flow annoying to him on principle. A rolling stone shouldn't live on any dime, whether its a cent in hand or on the clock.

He tells the cabbie to let him off a half block down, the paranoid spark in him ever present as he shifts foot to foot. Money in hand, and less of a tip than usual - but thats how the game goes. Work, and work for whatever the hell you can get. Isaac understands that message with stunning clarity, and a bit of anger at the edges.



Hales is a looming beast in the flesh. A personification of carnal euphoria in the bodies within. Isaac doesn't quite believe he lucked out when he got the job here. Its a far cry from his usual hay rolls but it beats living out of a box in the pouring rain. He's got a nice set up here, an odd amount of people that don't hate his guts, and its fun to rile up the bossmen - and woman - when their around. He's laid multiple fishing lines for Gossip, despite his distaste for the practice; its always nice to have a secret or two in the pocket.

Tito met him at the front, giving him that all knowing eye that Isaac has come to be fond of. In the short time he's been here he's bonded more with the regular staff than he has with the ones that work the course that he does. It helps to be on friendly terms with the people who are keeping you safe.

"Bit late," Tito comments.

"Nope." Isaac pops the p, flashing a smirk and thumbs up as he strolls on by. Tito sighs between a laugh and a groan. What a way to start the night.

He's dressed alright, so instead of hitting up his room for a fresh pair of clothes he immediately heads down into the lounge. Feeding off the energy thats filtering into the room. A social high thats taking him to places he visits rarely, but loves immensely. Perks of being drug free, everything feels like sweet euphoria if its cherished enough.

When he first started out here he'd been more shy, a wall hugger. He had expectations that didn't pan out in the end, better for him, and better for all the others who work here. Nobody comes into sex work imaging it to be a cure all but lately, riding these waves has gotten him into a much different mindset.

He strides, graceful as he takes in the room. The looks of desperation, but depravity doesn't quite exist in the cards here. Theres a clean feeling to a place that takes care of its workers. A distinct separation from expectation and knowledge surrounding sex work. Isaac has already decided he enjoys it, much more than he could have ever expected himself too.

Inside knowledge tells him that he isn't the only one. He catches sight of a few co-workers, but mainly, Valentine Cervantes walking away from the bar. He's one of the few people that Isaac can't get a read on. Despite how openly - well, open, the man seems to be with most. Theres a large difference that can be seen between the Valentine that interacts and the one that stays stationary. A coil of familiarity at the base level.

But, the guys more idiot than Isaac can usually handle. Less when Max Evans is around, but bordering on psycho when he is. He's only ever experienced a moment of kinship between the two in the times where Isaac lets his anger get the best of him. It hasn't been often, and never in the lounge where clients are near enough to judge. But, he's had his fair share of misfires that have often lead to 'punishments' (oddly enough, the owners treated them more like beloved children than employees most of the time.)

No matter, he decides not to engage Val for the time being, he has no desire to spark up idle conversation while theres money to be made. Cash first, pleasantries when the clock runs down.



There had been a few weeks of being unsure at the start of this job. Being suggested to work the Boyfriend scene had seemed oddly silly, and Isaac himself had never been the best 'boyfriend' in the world. He had no experience in woo-ing, and even less capability when it came to knowing how to bait a hook. But it came naturally after observation. His confidence just enough to give him that edge over the competition.

After he realized that he wasn't required to move on the the darker deeds he had chosen to stick to Boyfriend work, if only because it meant being choosy with whom he slept with. And clientèle wise, he found more interest in the men who were curiously testing the waters, rather than those who jumped off the dock immediately.

Isaac sweeps the growing crowd with his eyes he grins, locking eyes with a jumpy looking brunette in the corner. A first timer perhaps? Or someone looking to play games. Well, either case. Isaacs more than prepared to win this one.

---

Skittish Brunette, later found out to be named Charlie spent most of his time occupying Isaacs ear with nervous babble, and the rest of the time assuring Isaac that he didn't usually come to places like this. Isaac would have been amused, really, had he not found it so damn offensive. Theres nothing wrong with a little pleasure now and again. If ecstasy is a sin, then it is a sin he will indulge in again. But things slipped into an easy rhythm by the time Isaac ordered Charlie his third shot in a row, in a vain attempt to dull the motormouth he wore with an oddly misplaced pride. He can't stand it, the more he talks the more Isaac feels like driving tacks into his eyeballs just to have a reason to leave.

But maybe it isn't so much Charlie as it is the lingering losses and self-pity thats attached itself tooth and nail to his spine. Sending all the wrong signals to a brain already got from the ever-burning coals. He'd like to say its a little of one more than the other. The strange, unfathomable anger leaving a large hole for things to be desired. Charlie isn't too bad, not when his mouths stopped moving and his eyes fall heavy lidded with the grog. He seems happier this way, a fucked up sentiment that Isaac shares for the most part. Nothing like working through a steady buzz. He's smiling shyly despite the way his hand runs horizontal the path from Isaacs knee to hip. Frisky. If not a little too - well, little to fan Isaacs internal flames of desire.

He'd much rather fuck him and get it over with - if thats what Charlie even plans on doing. Which, at this rate seems less and less likely. Heavy petting isn't exactly his forte, and yet, its a pivotal part of the job description...Sometimes he loathes doing this, despite the pay and benefits of being surrounded by so much false love. He doesn't think he likes it so much as tolerates it. Besides, sometimes the conversation is great in the lounge. Unalike now, with Charlie practically dry humping him on the couch. He tries not to look too uncomfortable, if this is heading upstairs then so be it but he wouldn't be participating in any voyeuristic fetishes. Especially in the lounge where anybody could see them.

There were lines, and that was one that he did not cross. Charlie however seemed to have no care in the world for the people all around them.

"Shall we take this upstairs?" Isaac nudges the other away a bit, determined to get as much breathing room as possible. If anything, it seemed to worsen the situation. "No..." He could barely hear the other mumble.

He hadn't realized quite how drunken Charlie had become from three shots alone - of course the guy had to be a lightweight. Knowing that nothing good would come of this, Isaac looked up and scanned the crowd for either Felix or Elliot, knowing one or both would happen across his line of sight at some point. When Felix finally did, Isaac raised a hand to flag him down. Feeling a bit foolish as Charlie practically tried to glue himself to Isaac. Annoying, but understandable to a point. Some people just couldn't handle their drink.

"Problem?" Felix asks as he approaches. Isaac shakes his head, but points to Charlie anyways, "He's had too much, needs to get sobered up preferably somewhere alone." and away from me. Isaac didn't add, despite the truth of it. He found people like Charlie too exhausting to handle. Not his usual customer at all. Felix nodded in return, the issue clear to the both of them in that moment. For once, Isaac is glad to be the lesser capable person in this situation. Felix will take him somewhere to cool down, hopefully away from the boys in case he decides to start rubbing up on anyone else.

This night hasn't turned out so well for him, between the late start, the crap beginning with Charlie, and the continuing stream of customers leaving as the day approaches he's practically wasted his entire night. It sparks a hot coil of anger in his gut, until he remembers where he is and how monumentally bad of an idea that would be. No. He just needed to cool off and get settled in with another customer. Maybe someone who would actually pay him for an impromptu rub out on the lounge floor. God, did nobody have manners these days?

~*~

Through dumb luck and sheer skill using his words Isaac manages to at least get his shit together long enough to woo a pretty blond. While their ascent to the rooms upstairs had been short lived - he didn't think anyone could finish that fast to be honest, it must be a world record - he had at least made up for some of his lost poker money. The night had died down and the customers that had been swarming the lounge before had all cleared out. Isaac had only just come back downstairs when he caught sight of a grouping of his coworkers. Jordan....as well as Val and Max of course, when were they ever more than two feet from one another -

However this seemed different. Isaac had never seen Max touch Val like that. They were usually fighting, and being general nuisances but currently they were more wrapped up in each other than in anyone else. Isaac closed the distance, just as Val stood and told Jordan to scamper along. Isaac took the presented opportunity with grace, keeping one eye on Val as he proceeded to stalk to the bar. Looking far angrier than Isaac thought he could manage.

What the hell had pissed him off?

The source seems to be a customer. From the way Val shouts, Isaac easily gets the gist that whoever it was, they most definitely weren't welcome. Isaac had no time to entertain his curiosities though, he wants to pick the kids brain before he scampers off into the abyss.

"Hey man, whats that all about?"

Good fortune does not live in the shadow of orphaned rich kids.

Jordan tries his damnedest not to feel offended, but inebriation soaks up the partial dismissal like a leech. "Maybe later, kid." Val says. Maybe. Later. Kid.

Something born of old resentments curls tight around his vocal cords. Strangling a slurred line of incoherent noise from the pit. Something along the lines of "Seriously?" and "Fuck you." conglomerated into one spectacle of a noise. Nothing against Valentine at all, nothing against Hales or its kin, nothing against anybody but his own hollowed self. Jordan would not be so forthright, so confident as to think he could say something like that to a guy with twice his toughness.

But this isn't Jordan right now. He left the shell long ago, when the booze and the - well, whatever he took - tore him limb from shaking limb. This is Samuel, he who bides his times scratching tally marks into stone, sitting at the very edge of consciousness even with sobriety leads him to lighter places. This is a rich kid demanding the dues that he is not owed. A memory of a boy unused to working for the very drugs that roast him alive.

Jordan hates, hates, hates when that ugly monster pops its head up. But right now, Jordan is floating far above the head-space of earth. Stuck in an orbit that will only end on the painful, messy comedown. He doesn't want that, never wants that, but it is as inevitable as it is life altering.

"Fucking what?" Jordan starts to spit, though its more a whisper than anything. So low, spoken more to himself than anyone else that he doubts anyone has heard it, let alone Val. "When the fuck is later?" He tries to question louder, feeding on his final reserves of Samuel to get the annoyance and rage across in his tone of voice. It is, however all for naught as by the time he's found his words, Val has already become encumbered by his shadow; Max.

Something about the familiarity of it all snaps Jordan back to himself, briefly, but with the purpose of curiously watching. What, exactly is going on. The air around their party of three has gone impossibly tense, in fact, Jordan is entirely too aware that he's practically third wheeling here. Anxiety creeps into the holes that his anger has left behind. Causing an inward curl as he watches Val become progressively angrier. When the other stands, and speaks to him once more - Jordan expects biting remarks and something a tad more angry than the stumbling half formed thoughts that tumble clearly from Vals lips.

"Go get security, or Oliver - wait, fuck, no, just go entertain someone else." Jordan must have missed the memo where Val became his authority figure. Seniority or not, Jordan can't fathom having a guy like him in any position of power - or, wait, no he most definitely can. And he is not blushing, not at all.

The seriousness of the request or demand (he isn't entirely too sure which.) Does not escape his notice. Theres something heated in Vals eyes, a darkness that makes Jordan want to run the other direction. And its all leading to some guy that Jordan does not know, but who sharply tugs at his curiosity. He doesn't know how long he stands there, observing from a distance, but he does know that he's spent far too long roaming the contours of the strangers body with his eyes. Focused, but quickly losing his attention span as the floaty feeling returns to him.

Nothing is so sobering as a fight breaking out in the lounge, and that looks entirely like whats going to happen. Jordan doesn't want to be around when it happens, he'd rather go up to his room and down the rest of what he's got in his pockets. No use letting the high slip away on a bad note.

"Hey man, whats that all about?" Isaacs voice beside him is startlingly clear, cutting through his sudden drift from reality. He doesn't remove his gaze from the bar, but rather, just barely inclines his head in greeting. Isaac is an enigma, terrifying in some ways but laughable in others. Jordan, on a normal day, with a clear conscious would steer clear of him. If only because of the sudden, violent rages that Isaac goes into. Its alarming, and Jordan is no fighter. But tonight, Isaac seems clear headed in all the ways that Jordan is not.

It takes him a moment to reply, thoughts scattering like dust in the wind every time he tries to piece them together.

"Some dude upset Max I think?" Jordan is fuzzy on it all, and also the sudden thought comes to him that its a bit odd that Valentine is defending Maxs honor or something. Like, those guys fight so much they may as well be a married couple - but he's never seen either of them really stand up for the other. "I dunno man," Jordan mumbles again, trying not to feel too useless for it. But of course, being incapable of giving a clear answer gives him that acute pain, just between his ribs where his need to please exists in a constantly painful stasis.

"Debbie's going to kick their asses." He says, lastly. Thoughts shifting to the woman that he should probably stay out of sight of. At least, until the effects of the nights party have been laid to rest. "I'm gonna find Oliver," He decides, forgetting that he's not supposed to do that. But Oliver might have a heart attack if those two get blood all over the lounge floor - it'd be bad for business - which is also something that Jordan is a bit afraid of happening. If not because Oliver makes up 1/3rd of this business and what would happen after he died? Nothing good. Nothing good at all.

xx
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"You haven't lost your mind."

Max supposed he should be relieved over the fact that he hadn’t drifted into having shockingly realistic visual hallucinations, but that wasn’t exactly what he’d call this feeling. Val’s dismissal meant Grey was actually there. Maybe Max wasn’t going crazy, but he was sure there was plenty of other stuff about to come his way that would rock his loose grip on sanity.

Val’s anger is so thick it’s almost a corporeal being and Max feels smothered by it but also safe in a twisted sort of way. Enough so that when Val goes to detangle from him, fear at being left alone grips his chest. He’s a toddler with separation anxiety that’s being forced to act like a big kid and he is not a fan.

Val says something to Jordan but Max can’t hear it. The words, the music, the chatter is all spinning into nothingness and he’s pretty sure he’s standing just on the edges of a panic attack. He hasn’t had one since he was a tween and it pisses him off that one guy can send him reeling like this.

Val gets up but he holds a hand back to Max probably subconsciously and the blonde clings to his arm like it’s his lifeline as he somehow makes it to his feet and shuffles to keep up. Across the lounge, back to the bar, back to the same spot he just ran away from. Grey gives a lazy smile to whatever greeting Val opens with and Sunday mornings. Late night car rides home. The pillow next to his.

Max is well aware he’s hiding. He’s just enough smaller than Val to keep out of sight behind him, a literal human shield. He can see over him just barely if he stands on his tiptoes, but he doesn’t want to. He wants this all to go away.

“Came back to check on old friends, wanted to make sure you guys survived without me.” Survived. Max wasn’t sure if that was what he’d call his Post-Grey era. The man’s complete and unexpected disappearance had done a real number on his psyche. Max had never handled death well. There’d been many nights spent in Grey’s bed until the scent had faded, many more spent in Val’s - either from a rare moment the older man caved to Max’s neediness, or a good, old fashioned, frustrated fuck. It’d been the only time during his life that he’d missed the drugs of his teenage years. The only time he’d been put on probation at work. He felt things too deeply. It’d been a problem.

Until eventually Val made him snap the fuck out of it and move on. ”He’s gone, Max. He’s not coming back.”

Yet here he was.

More than anything though, Grey speaking rocked Max back, because his voice snapped the audible world back into clarity. He tightened his hold on Val a little, wondered why he didn’t feel just as pissed. He didn’t know what he was feeling though. Surprise? Interest? He was just ...conflicted. Like he couldn’t decide if he was hurt or happy.

Old friends.

That didn’t feel good, and he cringed.

Grey was alive.

He was also a dick for doing what he’d done. And not the good kind of dick. An old, shriveled up, small, gray, too-hairy, disproportioned dick.

”Maybe I’m not here for you?” No, Max thinks, don’t do it, but Grey’s hand gestures towards him anyway. “Alright back there, Max? Thought you’d at least be happy to see me”

Max’s I am gets stuck in his throat and he remembers what it felt like that morning. Tumbling into Grey’s room, still hungover, with a smile on his face and a plan for greasy bacon and probably a blowjob. Only to find it empty. And the next morning, and the next, and the next.

No. This hurts, this definitely hurts. Grey disappeared without a trace. No letters, no phone calls, nothing. For three fucking years. How could he? Max grips Val tighter, like the man is the only thing keeping him from falling to pieces. Literally and figuratively. Because it feels like if he steps away from Val, he’ll forget everything. And that the only thing that will matter is that Grey’s alive.

“I thought you were dead.” His voice shakes and it’s only then that he realizes how close he is to fucking crying. Grey leans forward, but Val is like a brick wall between them, and Max has never been so damn thankful for Valentine Cervantes in his whole life.

“Really think I’d go off and do something stupid like dying? Nah, I just got bored, wanted to try something new”.

Bored. There was the anger finally, snapping up at him the way he saw it do Isaac all the time, but just before he could burst Grey’s smile was like cold water dumping over his head. 0-100 real fast, but Max faltered. “Missed you though.”

No one ever missed Max. He was like that annoying kid brother that people claimed to love but not ‘like’. The one that sent their older siblings running for college without a look back.The kind that moms posted about in secret groups online, questioning their decision to have more than one child. He knew this. He was aware of this. He shouldn’t let Grey make him feel special because it simply wasn’t true. ”- so I came back for my job. I seem to remember Oliver saying Hale’s had an open door policy if we ever wanted back in” That was true. That was true and it made him feel sick. “And you can lay off. No drugs, I promise. I’m clean. Figured it out all on my own”

Max tilted his head up towards Val, but unsurprisingly the brunette wasn’t buying a word of this, which reminded him that he didn’t need to be either. Bullshit. It was all bullshit. And Open-Door Policy or no, there was absolutely no way the Hale’s would let Grey back in. No way.

As if the universe had a sense of humor, Oliver Hale flew down those same stairs Max himself had appeared on just moments ago. His eyes were wide and worried and then he just... Barreled into Grey’s arms. Like a father seeing his druggie son for the first time in years. Which, undoubtedly, Ollie saw himself as. He was the caretaker for all the wayward boys. He loved them.

He loved Grey.

Max tore his eyes from the little reunion because he couldn’t bare to watch it. Instead he glanced at the bar, and wondered for the first time where the fuck Debbie was. Then he seemed to remember the time. She was out front, helping too-drunk men into their cabs. For the first time she wasn’t arms length away, and he blamed her a little for whatever was about to happen. Because they needed her, here and now.

Grey laughed.

Max closed his eyes tightly against the memories and buried his face into Val’s back. He couldn’t deal with this. Why had he come back tonight? Why hadn’t he stayed with Sebastian for just one more day?

”you are always welcome to use the guest room till we figure it out. I’ll vouch for you for now”. Max looks up again out of shock because seriously? At this point he was surprised he wasn’t fucking floating because it seemed like the world had dropped out from under him for good.

He’s too shocked to say anything but Val isn’t, and he’s nodding along until Oliver turns around. They so rarely get scolded, beyond the slight slap on the wrist for their fighting, but Oliver’s face then is enough to shut Val up and make Max want to take a step back again. He doesn’t even have to say anything and Max feels like he’s in trouble.

He didn’t fucking do anything wrong! He feels angry and scattered and betrayed. And as Oliver leaves, Max’s heart sinks.

He wants to run, which isn’t something he’s felt since he was fourteen and itchy to get out from under his grandparents and his therapy bills. He wants to push himself until he can’t go any farther and then pass out and not have to deal with anything ever again.

Val’s saddled with getting Grey the room and Max shakes his head a little, because Val’s either going to kill him or fuck him, and either are probably an option right until the winning blow is upon him. No matter how much Max wants to drown himself in a bathtub full of vodka, he can’t make himself leave. He’s rooted in his spot next to Val, and silently he slides his hand down to tangle their fingers together again. He’s not letting go until Val cuts him off at the goddamn wrist.

His sanity is on a string.

“Come on,” he mutters softly, giving Val a tug. He can see Oliver sending the other boys upstairs. Dalton, Isaac, David. The bartenders and security will stay, clean up. Where’s Em? Still in the rent rooms maybe? Jordan...

Max turns towards the Lounge doorway, and there’s the blonde, undoubtedly the source of Oliver’s oh so perfect appearance. Traitor Max thinks, but it’s not like Jordan knew any better.

Walking out feels a little like walking into hell.

And he’s not sure if he’s excited or afraid.

Isaacs lost interest before Jordans even gotten his mouth around the syllables. Words going in one ear and out the other. Boring.

"Some dude upset Max I think?" Jordan informs. Isaac doesn't care if his disinterest is showing in the slight hum he gives. Acknowledgment without furthering the topic. But apparently, the kid doesn't care that Isaac couldn't give two fucks. Studying the other with a critical eye, Isaac can tell theres more than that. Kids practically got his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Drug brain, the quickest way to loosen up a quivering tongue.

"I dunno man," Jordan mumbles but Isaac doesn't strain to catch his words. "Debbie's going to kick their asses."

"Debbie's not here." Isaac reminds quietly, pressing his tongue against the backs of his teeth in contemplation, knowing that this time of night is usually devoid of the queens tepid stare. But amused still at the prospect of her returning early and wiping the floor with the fighting fish stacked up by the bar. Theres too much riding on chance. Reminds him of Russian Roulette, a sensation like shock tickling up his spine. If a fight does break out Isaac wants to be witness to it. Like a junkie begging for a hit, its been a quiet few weeks since Violence has shouldered into his life with its heavy handed sweetness.

"I'm gonna find Oliver," Jordans voice just barely slips past the sudden, solid wall of dizzying blood lust thats stuck its claws back into the folds of his brain tissue. A memory of bones cracking under the pressure of a closed fist satisfying for but a moment. His bloods up, a reaction to the rooms tension and he wants to see fists flying against the odds. After a moment, he realizes though what Jordan has said. Off to find Oliver, who will most certainly break up the fight before its even hit a crescendo.

And just like that he's been doused. Flame gone but wick withstanding as he turns away from the raised voices. Long before they can consider him an eavesdropper. He can't even be bothered to turn back once Oliver rushes past him, looking harried as he goes. Its no shock that the voices subside, leaving a singular thought to swim over the backs of his eyelids each time he blinks; Lame. A missed opportunity to see if anyone here is really worth their salt. Isaac tempers the thoughts of how wrong it is that he had been practically wishing for a fight. How he's slipping back into that dangerous beast of a mindset.

Jordan is no longer in sight, likely floundering out in a riptide. Too far out to throw a Kisbee Ring. Isaac gets the fleeting thought to find him and show him what its really like to taste insanity. But he's not that motivated, has too many things to do and most of all is too weary to go on much longer. The nights here are long and wrought with writhing bodies. Isaac's on the easy side of things, doesn't have to deal with nightly showers and messy rooms. Not that he minds, rather, he prefers working the personable route.

Got too much pent up aggressions to take it as far as the bedrooms most nights, but sometimes, sometimes its okay to live a little. So long as he's got his mind out of the void.

After a long moment of staring at nothing at all he marches his way up the stairs, back to the penthouse. Bone weary when he slips past the security into the suite, and drags towards his room with no real purpose at all.

By the time he's standing within a feet of Oliver he's already forgotten that Val asked him not to. Memory shot, an effect of too long spent with his head underwater. Drowning out the brain cells that he doesn't use anyways. All at once, the nerves get to him. He's not used to Oliver, not in the way that he's used to Debbie. He almost forgets what he's doing there altogether.

"Jordan?" Oliver prompts, as if they had been holding a conversation - and maybe they had been. Theres something like delight in the mans voice, and Jordan assumes its due to the fact that this is one of a handful of times they've ever talked face to face, without the buffer of the other boys between them. Jordan needs to reign in those stray side effects before they get out of hand, can't be outwardly showing his hands, not with the threat of his toys being taken away.

Jordan shakes from his thoughts before the silence can stretch out into concern. Its dangerous, this line he's standing on. A tightrope over the gaping maw of a canyon. Any moment he could fall, shattering into shards of glass at the bottom. "Oh uh," Jordan stumbles over his tongue, whats he to say anyhow. Theres some weirdo, make him leave. Sounds childish in a way, too much like a fear of nothing at all. But really, what more is there to expect from a neurotic mess.

"Val said to come get you?" He didn't, but Jordan doesn't remember that bit of the speech. It had been too many words strung together, leaking into an incoherent head. "Theres some guy - " Oliver is already standing, but he doesn't look overly concerned yet. Jordan reels in the desperate need to stumble away, out of arms reach. "Anything more specific?" Oliver teases, in good nature, but it makes the fluttering of anxiety spark in Jordan. His stance widens, defensive.

"Tall, Tattoo'd, intense." Jordan shrugs, chewing on his lip. The more he spoke the more interested Oliver looked. "Looked like Val was gonna pick a fight." He doesn't know him personally enough to say for sure, but it seemed that way at least. "Probably should have led with that kiddo," Oliver doesn't quite drop the smile but theres a sharper look to his face now, and Jordan knows that isn't his fault but it still feels that way. He's the one who delivered the news after all.

"By the bar," Jordan mutters but he's already on his way, clapping a hand on Jordans shoulder as he goes. And Jordan for the life of him does not let himself follow, wants nothing to do with whatever the hell is going on out there. But he does linger, even as guests trickle out in a steady stream and his coworkers begin to file their way up the stairs. Back to the penthouse for a rest before the next nights activities can resume. He waits until he knows that he can't anymore.

The smoke from his joint sent a plume out the window that mimicked the never-ending greyness above. It was dawn, the first light of day illuminating the scattering of snow across this ruined portion of the city. The nightlife had settled only an hour ago, leaving a discomforting stillness across a usually tumultuous neighborhood.

He wasn’t sure at what point it had snowed, he’d been nose deep in his own white powder as soon as he’d shut the door on Max and Val. He’d immediately needed to slip into the haze of drug and memory- his back against the musky box spring and head collapsed against the old mattress. There was a crack running across the ceiling that had descended along the wall and he was having a hard time remembering if it had existed when he was a resident of this room. All that was left was his bed and an old overturned box. He’d abandoned everything when he’d left three years ago, but obviously someone had not wanted his things lingering. There had been posters and photos on the wall that he could tell had been ripped down- scraps of color were still tacked up by pushpins. Everything had a layer of dust, so he knew that Hale’s didn’t even use this as a guest room… the abandoned space amongst a house filled with life sent a creeping shiver down his back. He'd assumed himself forgotten, but there was still a dusty space left for him here.

With thoughts still circling that crack creeping along the ceiling, he rose from his prone position as the sun pulled itself above the silhouetted buildings and ended up on the windowsill. Joint smoldering in hand, bare back and feet locking him against the molding wood, a position that was once so habitual to him he had moved without thinking.

Val had been quick to deposit him in this vacant space, so clearly provoked by his appearance and irritated by Oliver’s immediate acceptance. “I assume you still know where everything is”. Pissy for sure, Val’s voice had been calm but edged with a sort of malice Grey had once attempted to avoid. But he now found that contempt interested… and felt the need to see how far he could push the man before he lost this summoned control. Maybe a bad idea, in retrospect, as he needed the least amount of resistance on his return.

He probably should have just shut the door, but Val's anger had begged him to push just a tad further, “I mean” He’d sent a pitying look at the musky room and faked a cough, “It's pretty sad looking in there. And since they’re closing up downstairs, you two have nowhere else to be? I definitely still know where your rooms are”

"We have plenty of places to be, all of which are not here, with you. And If you show up at either if our rooms I’ll gut you" Val hadn’t even finished his sentence before Grey had shifted enough that he could see Max’s hidden form.

Max had always been easy for Grey. He was like a golden retriever- at some point he traded brain cells for pure excited friendliness. Their first meeting Grey had found him amusing instead of annoying… and that was really all Max needed. Most people (Val included) could handle tiny doses of this kid, but Grey found that naivety and pliability intoxicating. So he kept him around, sought out his attention- and he might have been the first person to ever to that for Max.

Grey exhaled smoke out the window and pictured Max's quivering form, barely hidden behind Val but momentarily safe from Greys icy eyes. Max was refusing to meet his gaze- he probably knew he couldn’t handle it. So Grey had settled for a small, gentle smile...a look that had earned him unwavering devotion three years ago.

<b>”Ah, no… but he’s right”</b>. Max’s voice had been a shaking mess, his tone tight as he tried to hide his discomfort. Grey'd decided to take pity on him- he'd needed another fix anyway and Val’s glare was threatening to set the hallway on fire.

“Well sleep tight boys. I’ll see you guys for pancakes in the morning” He'd managed to catch Max’s eyes with that comment, a little light flickering in there from their old routine. That was really all Grey needed to reaffirm how easy this would be.

God damn.

His joint was almost burning his fingertips by the time he stubbed it out and closed the window. The room was cold, a chilly sort of cold that only came from these snow-covered mornings. He pulled a sweatshirt out of his bag and kept the hood over his head before exiting for the warmth of the hallway.

The house was dead, the nocturnal routine of Hale’s ensuring that the early morning hours were reserved for returning sex workers and dead-to-the-world drunks. He assumed it was around 7 or 8am, but time seemed to slip away from him here.

Val was right. He knew where everything is, so much so that the Bisquik was still in the same place in the kitchen. Pans, measuring cups, spatula- everything still in its rightful spot, like Hales had stood still while he was gone. The only thing missing was maple syrup... and Grey had to convince himself that the missing ingredient wasn’t intentional. The syrup had been a <i>thing</i> back in the day and after seeing Max’s reaction, Grey was beginning to see that his ghost was a taboo subject here.

He made a stack, overloading a plate to fulfill their old ritual. The kitchen was a warm, buttery, pancake filled glow and Grey couldn’t help but feel a little sense of ‘home’. He usually wasn’t awake for this kind of breakfast anymore and rarely cooked for himself, choosing to either order in or skip eating entirely. This was all for appearances- to soothe the grumbling Hale house at his return. Grey was only slightly annoyed to find he was also comforted by the meal.

Pancakes safe in a warming-up oven for the rest of the house, he took his over to the table. A few beer cans and ash tray lay out on a table that looked sticky to the touch. Grey ignored it, avoided putting his elbows on the dirty surface, and pulled another joint out of his pocket.

The house was still as he ate slightly, cindering weed in one hand and fork in the other. Grey anticipated someone would rise early- none of the routines here were ever entirely synchronized- he was damn excited to see who it would be. Maybe that little white-haired fuckable thing he’d seen eyeing him like the last drop of water last night? Hopefully, it wouldn’t bee the Queen Bitch, as he needed a little more coke in his system before he dealt with her. Oliver would be easy... but he was really hoping he'd hear the hurried footsteps of his old golden shadow. The pancakes were really for him, and Val, and appeasement for the years gone. He knew it would take more then that to eradicate the shadow of his ghost, but it was a start. He certainly didn't need curious eyes following his every move once he started pushing.

Max would be a fun addition to an already nostalgic morning and Grey decided that if he didn't show up soon, he'd have to bring a few pancakes to his room.

Grey took a drag, smiled, and exhaled, mingling the striking smell of marijuana with the warmth of the pancakes.