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Pretty Boy waited until Micky had caught up with him before he continued walking, an arm coming down to take one last drag of his cigarette before he quickly swiped the tip against the cold concrete of a streetlight to put it out and flicked the butt off into the street.

The smoke rolled from his lips as he contemplated where to take Micky, his eyes staring off into the distance, at the lights of the city. But nothing felt quite right. Not for what he wanted to do. He felt frustration rear its head, not normally so uncertain. He usually could just point himself in a direction and find something interesting to get into. But everything he came up with lost momentum the minute he tried to suggest it, dying before it had a chance.

But one idea kept nagging him. The club. Maybe they could just head there. It was quiet. There was booze. They could just talk. He somehow felt like that's what needed to happen. Yeah, they could party and get drunk, and who knows where the night could lead... but there was something unspoken and heavy still lingering between them, and he was tired of carrying it around.

"What about The Sin Bin? It's not open yet, but I could give you a grand tour of the new-old haunt." He chuckled, his smoky laugh good-natured as he slid his gaze to the male beside him and felt that tightness again. Something was wrong. He could feel it. Still, he wasn't going to press him to talk about the past.

They wouldn't have far to walk. Taking the alleys you could reach The Sin Bin from here pretty quickly, especially avoiding the main drag of Hemlock where the majority of the nightlife surged. Kats trying to reach clubs, find friends, find trouble. It was usually a gaggle. The further they walked the more drastically different the atmosphere began to feel. Slipping through side streets, alleys, and some smaller districts to reach the familiar turf of the alley/side street where the club was hidden. It felt almost surreal standing here with Micky after all this time. Pretty Boy quickly slipped the code into the panel at the door and it unlocked. A head shot up from the side counter and the gruff looking clanless Baddie behind it gave a grunt, ignoring them completely once they'd entered.

The long hallway was lit by that clinical, but at the same time, ethereal, blue neon light as PB led him down the stairs. The door at the end opened onto the main floor which was was quiet, devoid of any of the usual noise and energy the club exuded when it was open to patrons. He flipped a couple switches and some of the lights turned on, the stage and the bar, otherwise he left everything else off. The light from both was enough to see the area well enough so that he could show him around a little.

"The place needed a face-lift pretty badly but we managed. The b***h of it was getting all this done without any mortals becoming suspicious. Construction tends to draw eyes. Luckily we managed. New Vip and event rooms, renovated patio, bar, booths, dance floor, apartments, soundbooth... it's pretty much loaded to the teeth." He looked around, his expression almost smugly satisfied. He'd pulled off a lot of s**t on his own and then more with the band and staffs help. He'd rebuilt and was about to reawaken what had always more or less been a second home. If not a first. His eyes turned to look at Micky and he felt that pang of longing again, devouring him. He could just say ******** it and drag him upstairs but he couldn't actually do it for some reason. It wasn't time. ******** he hated this feeling.

Pretty Boy didn't know what he thought was going to happen. Maybe that Micky would be impressed and not really care that the place had changed so much. Or maybe that he'd just be excited to party here when it opened again. But when he looked at his face as it scanned the club he knew something was wrong immediately. The expression troubling the other male wasn't one he expected at all. He looked... sad? No. Disappointed. He was disappointed.

The realization crushed him. PB didn't know what to do, frozen to the spot. It hurt him to see that look in Micky's eyes. He didn't care about the lack of excitement for the renovated club, the only thing he saw in that moment was Micky and that was the only thing he gave a s**t about. When the Brujah spoke again the words stung, hitting him in the gut. He felt himself recoil a little inwardly at having not even considered this could be a lot. Why did he think Micky wouldn't be just as emotionally invested in this place?

He hadn't even considered that it could have opened old wounds even further because, for some reason, he hadn't believed that Micky had held onto the memories of how things used to be. He seemed to let things go so easily. But this apparently wasn't one of those things. PB had been too excited to share the moment with him and instead he'd just hurt him again. ********... look. I'm sorry." He started, his eyes not straying from the Elders, the sincerity in them absolute. "I pushed you away and hurt you because I was ******** stupid. I couldn't watch what was happening to you. It scared the s**t out of me to think that one night you'd walk out of here and never come back. So I let it all build up instead of telling you what was going on, that's why the fight started. Which was bullshit. It was all bullshit."

His gaze slid to the side, his expression pained. This whole thing ******** hurt. Almost as bad as the night they'd both stood here and everything had fallen apart. "I drove you away because I was angry. Because..." He still couldn't ******** say it, he still couldn't tell him 'Because I loved you'. "I couldn't accept your choices and respect them like I should have. I should have just supported you and instead I acted like an a*****e. So I'm sorry. I was wrong. And you didn't deserve it. Any of it."

He needed a drink, a feed, anything to numb the pain that was catching like wildfire in his chest. It was so strong, like he was dying. Maybe a part of him was. The weight of needing to apologize had lifted but he felt heavy still, it had been replaced by something worse. He slowly lifted his eyes back to Micky's. Just looking at those lilac eyes, at the way the other male was looking back at him, made the whole thing so much worse.

Pretty Boy didn't say anything as Micky spoke, as he let it all out. His pained expression melted away into something mixed between indifference and earnest attention, even as it felt like his heart was being ripped slowly out of his chest. Yeah, he kinda expected he was going to get hit with this response. You didn't hurt someone you cared about, that had also cared about you, and just walk away unscathed. So he took it. He took the irritation, the frustration, the hurt, and he didn't let Micky see how much it was gutting him. He didn't want the Elder to feel bad for him or to be sorry for getting it all off his chest. It had to happen.

Pretty Boy felt anger rise in him like a hot flash, his temper flaring briefly before he chilled himself out. He'd only apologized because they'd run into each other by chance? What was he supposed to say to that? "That's not entirely fair and you know it." ******** it. Whatever. Let him think that. If he wanted to believe that was the only reason, he wasn't going to sit here and argue with him. Was it true? Partially, yes. However the intention hadn't been based in opportunity.

Another part of it was that he'd been angry for so long. It took years before he'd matured enough to realize that maybe he'd been wrong, that he'd handled the situation poorly, and by that time he figured Micky had moved on. That he wouldn't have wanted to fix it. They were also both incredibly busy and the street went two ******** ways, Pretty Boy wasnt hard to find either. Truth be told he hadn't injected himself back into Micky's life because he hadn't wanted to ******** it up. In fact he probably would have just said a polite hi to Micky and then dipped the ******** out if he hadn't sensed something in him. Something that told him maybe he'd been wrong this whole time about Micky moving on. If he was seizing any opportunity it had been that one. The one where he thought there was still a chance.

Micky was laying his life on the table now, PB already knew that he was more deeply entrenched in clan affairs. He only felt mildly agitated by the fact that Micky hadnt heard him when he said he should have respected his choices, like Micky being more invested in his clan was going to piss PB off enough to change his mind somehow about fixing things. Like he hadnt already realized all of this. "I know what that means, Micky. If that makes you happy then good. It's not my ******** business to tell you how to live your unlife and it never was."

The vibrantly hued male visibly winced when Micky said 'I guess I just missed you or thought I did.' That ******** hurt, bad. It took the energy right out of him and he felt like someone was crushing his chest. But it was fair. What had he expected from tonight? That s**t would just be fine? That they could pick up where they left off like nothing had happened? Yeah, he could sit here and fight Micky, tell him he'd been hurt too. But he wouldn't do that. It wasn't going to fix anything, and he knew he'd been more wrong. Or he felt he had been anyway. It didn't really matter.

The smoky tone of his voice was even, calm, but it took an extreme amount of discipline to keep it there. "I wasn't looking for anything from you. I don't expect you to drop your life and what you have going on just because I apologized. I don't know what I expected to happen here. Honestly? I didn't expect anything, I just..." He paused, trying to find words being slowly blocked behind a numbness that had started to creep over his senses. "I just wanted to apologize. I'm sorry if this was all a mistake." PB gave him a nod to emphasize his statement, the flicker of that overwhelming pain in his eyes for a brief moment before it was cemented behind a wall. He was done.

He wished Micky would stop using that nickname, especially right now, it was like a slap in the face every time he said it. He didn't want to tarnish good memories with more pain. "You do what you need to do. I'm not gonna stand in your way." Pretty Boy turned, making his way to the bar, leaning over the polished top to grab a bottle before he headed for the apartments upstairs.

Pausing at the door he looked back for a second. "It was nice to see you. And for the record you look good too." He'd heard him when he'd said it, when he was standing in front of the elevator and Micky had told him he'd looked good. He'd just been too overwhelmed to respond. Pretty Boy gave the Brujah a brief, though faint, smile and dissappeared into the back room, heading for his apartment. He couldn't be here anymore. He couldn't stand there looking at Micky, watching him walk out the door and out of his life again.