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Pretty Boy’s arms lowered, crossing over his chest as he regarded the Brujah with an indecipherable look, his gaze calm. It was hard to describe exactly what he was feeling, s**t, he didn’t even know. Not weird, he guessed. Mostly just surprised, definitely in need of a smoke now. He hadn’t seen Micky in, what, forever? Yeah, forever sounded about right. Not since he’d left. When the other male said his name, it triggered something inside of him and he felt his guard raise just a little, tempering the emotion that had decided to rear its head. Whatever that was, he wasn’t going there.

The next words out of his mouth however made Pretty Boy laugh quietly under his breath. Holy s**t… he had to be joking. “Does it look like I work here, Micky?” He cocked a brow, smirking, and held his arms out to the sides, exposing his array of piercings and obviously underground club scene attire. “No, I don’t ******** work here. What the hell are you doing here?” Pretty Boy’s voice was smooth, smoky. Like velvet, with just a hint or bite of a growl. He would have left the elevator, but Micky was in the way. So he stood there, staring at him. Maybe he’d get the hint and get out of the way. Then again…

Pretty Boy was still waiting for him to move, his mismatched eyes taking a moment to really see him now that he didn’t feel like he’d been punched in the face by the past. He looked great, he always looked great though, that was the b***h of it. Sure, things had changed. Something was different. But it was still Micky.

He felt a stab of regret as he remembered the last time he’d seen him. The fight hadn’t been a good one, in fact, it had been pretty ******** brutal. He’d been so pissed that he’d let him go too, his pride slamming a brick wall between them. He’d just let him walk out of the club and out of his life. That was the last time he’d laid eyes on him, until now.

As the doors began to slide shut Pretty Boy jolted forward, ready to stop them, but Micky was faster. The sound of the metal as it met the force of the Brujah’s grip was impressive, reverberating loudly throughout the small space. He’d forgotten how strong he was. More memories he wasn’t digging into right now.

“s**t, Micky.” He breathed, looking at the indent. He’d really forgotten how strong he was. His gaze slid from the door to the male blocking his way, wondering if he’d ever get to leave while the other collected his thoughts. But no sooner had the question formed than he’d stepped aside to make room. “Oh yeah? I didn’t take you for an office jockey.”

Pretty Boy was moving forward to leave the elevator when it came. A nickname he hadn’t heard in a long time. Peebs. <******** PEEBS?! The brightly colored male stopped abruptly in front of him, his expression shifting to a rather flustered frown, trying to process, his gaze not shying away from the other vampire's as he did.

He felt his face flush in response to the pet-name, but his expression was so indignant it was hard to tell if he was embarrassed or pissed off. But if he was pissed it all melted away the second Micky smiled at him. He felt his fists clench at his sides involuntarily, torn between wanting to punch him in the face and kiss him. Both would probably feel about right. “I came to see the Prince about the club. I need a ********’ smoke…”

That ethereal glow, the shimmer in those Lilac eyes, neither were lost on Pretty Boy. Had he shimmered like that before? He couldn't remember. Maybe, but maybe that was just something he'd imagined when s**t had gotten complicated. To PB he looked exactly the way he remembered, save for the whole aura business. The way he laughed was definitely the same and the sound took him right back. He hated to admit that he'd missed it, but he had.

He saw Micky's hands go up and looked away suddenly, breaking eye contact, fists relaxing as he did. s**t. He hadn’t meant to react that strongly; the pet name had just caught him off guard. It was too intimate too soon and opened the door to a lot of memories he’d been shoving down for a long time. It was a point of pride that so little really got to him and for Micky to just flip that on its ******** head immediately, well, he wasn’t prepared.

As the Brujah agreed to a cigarette, he felt a hint of relief overtake him. The promise of a smoke a siren song. Old vices and all that s**t. “Sheriff huh. How’d you get roped into that gig?” He was making conversation; he really didn’t give a ******** about the clans motivations. He knew why they’d chosen him, killer looks aside. If you wanted something handled Micky was a good choice. Even at the club he’d had a knack for settling s**t. One way or the other. Sometimes on accident. Pretty Boy wasn't always entirely certain how he'd managed to pull off some of the s**t he had in the past, however, the point was that he did it.

He headed for the entrance, leading them out as a gust of wind brushed multicolored strands of hair across his gaze once the door opened and he stepped into the night. He found a low cement wall to plop his a** on close by, the clinical light of a streetlamp beating down on them both. “I came to make the club an Elysium spot." PB started, feeling around for his cigarettes. "As much as I’d rather keep the politics out of the club I’m not dumb enough to ignore a smart business move when it presents itself.” Finally finding them, PB snagged one and tossed the pack to Micky. His gaze fell to the cigarette as he started to light his... but the lighter wasn’t working. The wick would spark but produced no flame. He held it up to his ear, unlit cigarette perched between his lips, and shook the thing. ********, out of fluid. “Nice.” He breathed.

Yeah, that tracked. Micky had a habit of getting roped into s**t, of letting people throw him into the fray in order to be helpful, all with a smile on his face. If anything about the Brujah getting involved in clan bullshit had specifically pissed Pretty Boy off, it had been that. It threw him into a shaky balance between not being the type to tell someone how to live their unlife and having to keep his mouth shut while he watched someone he cared about be used. Or that's how he'd seen it anyway. Some of the s**t Micky had been through... If he had to guess, he was pretty sure that ended up being what started the fight that had ultimately driven them apart. Neither of them had been able to say what they wanted to say, or at least he hadn't. He didn't know about Micky.

At the time it had been harder for him to understand or relate since he himself was the exact opposite. He still was, but he'd mellowed over the years, now able to understand compromise and how to not work against his own self interest just to prove a point. But back then no one directed his life or choices, and he had historically laughed in the face of anyone who tried. Had it gotten him in deep s**t here and there? You're damn right it had. Had he sometimes made his situation harder for it? Absolutely. But he'd either fought or scraped his way out of every problem, even the ones he created for himself. He'd built his life on his own terms, with no one telling him how high to jump. Sure, it didn't afford him any safety or assurance. The clans could pick him off if they wanted, and no one would bat an eye. But he'd rather die without a collar around his neck. ******** that.

The way Micky had said the word Elysium, and the way his eyes had glazed over when the word left his mouth, PB was pretty sure he didn't have a clue what he was talking about. The vampire chuckled, letting the topic die. He didn't really think either of them were interested in going over the fine print of what had happened in the Prince's office and PB was happy to let the memory of the interaction fade the minute he'd stepped foot out of the building. "As long as they stay out of my business, I don't care what they do. If that's how Kindred want to live, go for it." Was his only response to Micky recalling his distaste for the clans and their politics.

The brightly colored male sighed and tossed the dead lighter off into the bushes, sliding one leg out in front of him while keeping the other arched, an arm draped across it as his gaze slipped to half-lidded defeat. Well, ********. But movement caught his eye and there was Micky, crouched beside him, offering his lighter. He reached across with his unsupported arm and plucked the lighter from Micky's hand, his fingers brushing the other vampires for a second, gaze lifting to meet his. "Thanks." He breathed, the corner of his lip curling in a half-smile, like it was ridiculous he'd been caught with a dud lighter to begin with. But the expression changed to something indecipherable again as he realized he couldn't stop looking at Micky's face, at his eyes. He felt that alien sensation in the pit of his stomach, like he was losing control over that iron grip he kept clamped around his personal emotions. Before he could stop himself the invitation was out of his mouth.

"Micky, do you want to get a drink?" An inward kick immediately followed the question. What the ******** was that? He sounded like a high school kid with a goddamn crush. "I mean, I was about to go for a drink anyway. You should join me." Yeah, great. Smooth as ********. He lit the cigarette, the cherry illuminating his colorful gaze as he took a deep drag and his expression shifted back to neutral. He handed Micky back his lighter, exhaling smoke through his nose, breaking the eye contact in the process as he turned his head. ******** yes. That was definitely better. His gaze focused down the street, on nothing in particular. "No pressure... if you've got important s**t to do." He lifted the cigarette up to his lips, taking another slow drag.

Pretty Boy chuckled as Micky began to chastise him about tossing the lighter, his mismatched gaze sliding to the garbage in question. "Oh yeah..." He breathed the word, having absolutely no intention of retrieving the offending object and depositing it in the proper receptacle. In fact, he probably still would have tossed it in the bushes even if he had realized there was a can there. Flicking his gaze up to Micky, he gave the other vampire a cocky smirk, allowing a joke about corporal punishment to die on his lips. He wasn't sure if the Brujah would take it seriously or get the innuendo. Not that he was trying to tell Micky to... Jesus.

Pretty Boy was almost relieved when the other male actually switched and began to question his own role as Sheriff. The brightly colored vampire chuckled, his tone nearly a purr, flicking the ash from the end of his cigarette and cocking a brow up at the concerned Sheriff. "I seriously doubt the Prince has time to give a s**t about litter. I think you're safe." As the words left his mouth that smirk returned, sharp white teeth glinting in the pale glow of the streetlight. "You'd turn me in, huh? Damn, Micky. That's cold, hard, dedication."

He paused for a moment, the claws of his free hand sliding through the hair at his temple as he brushed the long strands back, exposing the crook of his neck in the process. "I'm not the begging type, though, so your Prince probably wouldn't get their jollies off slapping my hand for such a minor offense, even if they did give a s**t." He exhaled smoke through his nostrils again, his teeth holding the cigarette in place as another, almost velvet, laugh rolled up from his chest. The thought especially humorous to him for one reason or another. Who knew.

He could see the light grow slightly more intense in those lilac eyes as he asked him out, the corner of Pretty Boys lips lifting in a soft smile. But that smile faded fast, nerves overtaking him the minute Micky decided to plop down at his side. Time froze suddenly for the vampire. He was so close, their bodies practically touching. Why did he feel like he wanted to crawl out of his skin and also never unfreeze this moment at the same time? The paradox confused the hell out of him. He didn't want to crawl out of his skin to get away, however. The sudden rush of emotions being this close to Micky unearthed was just too much to process too fast. They hadn't been this close in a long time.

The offer of his smokes kind of snapped him out of his catatonia and he blinked a couple times, sliding them from the others grasp and realizing he'd checked out hard while Micky mulled over his proposal. He'd lost a little time. His eyes slipped down to the leg brushing up against his, taking a long, slow drag on the smoke, realizing he found the physical sensation comforting. But before he could relax into the moment he was being shouldered. Pretty Boy coughed abruptly, choking on the smoke. Waving his free hand in front of his face the clanless vampire laughed through the haze.

"You sure, huh? Final decision?" He couldn't help but grin, his energy practically glowing as he abruptly stood. Cigarette perched in the corner of his mouth, a hand extended down to the Brujah to help him up. "All right then, let's ******** go. You're mine for the night." He looked down at the male, the light from above shadowing his features and, at the same time, enhancing every curve of his face, neck, and chest in a flattering way. The sway of his piercings catching the light and glinting in the wake of his initial motion. He felt pumped. He could celebrate with the band tomorrow night. But catching up with Micky was something he felt like he needed to do. It was time.

Pretty Boy couldn't shake the sense that tonight was turning out way better than he'd thought it was going to be. Sure, getting the Prince to agree to his terms had been awesome, he was already prepped to celebrate that win, but there was a kind of fire in his belly after Micky said yes to joining him. It was a definite high vibe he hadn't felt in a long time. His gaze had lowered to the male at his feet when he felt his chest suddenly tighten. Something unfamiliar stirred inside. It didn't quell the elation, but it sure as s**t tempered it a bit.

Flaring deep within his chest was a kind of pain he hadn't felt since the day they'd parted. Looking down at Micky, watching him brush that shock of hair out of his beautiful eyes, it was almost unbearable. Pretty Boy's throat suddenly tightened when that Lilac gaze rose to meet his own and one thing above all else suddenly hit him like a freight train. He'd missed him since the day he left. Yeah he knew he'd missed him, but he didn't realize until now that the dull ache he'd been carrying for years was because he had missed him every single night. The realization at how painful that emotion truly was caught him off guard. He'd been hurt when Micky didn't come back, but instead of trying to resolve the matter, he'd used it.

He used that hurt as an excuse, his reason to ignore the fact that he'd ******** up everything because he couldn't just be honest. Because he couldn't just let someone in for once. He'd been young and stupid. He'd been scared. Scared of how Micky had started to make him feel, scared that the Brujah wouldn't feel the same because they were just a casual thing, scared that the clans would send Micky out one night and he'd never come back. So, he'd pushed him away, made sure none of it could hurt him. He'd ruined everything because he'd been so ******** immature.

The light in PB's eyes dimmed a bit, but he refused to let it show in his demeanor or face. He didn't want Micky to think he wasn't happy to be spending time together. But he couldn't shake the flood of emotions that realization released. It was like someone finally turned a mirror on the mountain of excuses he provided himself, the dismissals, and finally, the refusal to see the reality of the situation. It all culminated into one hard truth. He'd been ******** wrong. And he'd apologize. He had to. They'd go for drinks, and he'd tell him the truth. Even if it meant that was it. That it was over for good. Even if he lost him again.

That thought stabbed him in the gut like a hot knife, but it would be what he deserved if it happened, he had to face that. The clanless vampire took Micky's hand in his own and pulled him to his feet while taking a step back as he did. The cold energy of purpose was driving him now. He wasn't going to let the night end unless he told him. But they could still have fun. He wanted Micky to enjoy the night without a sense of brooding hanging over their heads.

The male chuckled a little. "All mine, huh? That's dangerous." He couldn't help it. The phrase brought back memories. There were too many good ones. Too many of when Micky was his. As he got him to his feet his eyes lifted up just slightly, seeking the shimmering lilac for a moment. The two weren't much different in height, just enough that he still had to tilt his face up slightly. "Yeah, anyway. Hemlock? I know a few good spots I think you'll like. The place has really picked up lately."

Pretty Boy's mismatched eyes watched as Micky smiled but looked away, removing his hand pretty much the moment he was up on his feet again. He felt his stomach drop a little as the physical connection was lost but didn't remark, curling his fingers into his palm and lowering his hand to his side casually. They'd both been hurt by the past, and one another. He had to remember he wasn't the only one processing things. Micky was probably going through his own s**t too.

Going slow was the last thing PB wanted to do, especially when there was so much time lost already, but he wasnt the type to push people unless they wanted to be pushed. He had to know it was mutual before he amped his level of intensity. Yet the other male did something he hadn't expected, Micky gave him that look. A look he couldn't possibly have forgotten even if he tried. Even if he'd wanted to. Desire.

He felt every nerve ending in his body light up, a rush of blood sending bubbles of sensation through his skin. That look stoked a flame deep inside of him that had been dormant for so long, his body reacting in a way it hadnt in years for anyone since Micky. He wanted to kiss him so bad in that moment. It took a lot of willpower to stop himself from grabbing him and doing just that.

Pretty Boy's gaze smoldered, tilting his chin up and to the side, vibrant hair shading one of his eyes. "Yeah, I remember." He smiled charmingly, flashing those pearly white teeth and a sharp canine as he did. "Your version of fun was always a little extra exciting. We ended up in some wild s**t if I remember right." The clanless vampire reached up, brushing Mickys hair from his face. "Some of my favorite memories though."

His grin relaxed into a smirk as he turned, starting down the sidewalk towards the club district. His stomach was in knots, that look reminded him of so many nights, both in the bedroom and out of it. That feeling of loss was killer as it settled in his chest. He had to get it together or he was going to kill the ******** vibe. He thought at first he'd take Micky to The Alley which was basically a long closed off street full of food stalls and karaoke bars. The people were loud, the energy was high, and the alcohol flowed like water. But that ended up not feeling quite right.

Maybe The Silver Lounge. It felt swanky but wasn't snobbish. Great drinks, great view, the music didnt suck, and the crowd was usually entertaining. They wouldn't be bothered unless they wanted to be. He had a minute to think about it, they had a bit of a walk out of the current section of the city. He brought the cigarette up to his lips, the cherry illuminating brightly as he inhaled. Watching the smoke curl into the pale glow of the artificial lights when he exhaled. He lifted his arms again, lacing them behind his head and stretching a bit. Pretty Boy stopped to turn his torso and look over his shoulder, smiling warmly at Micky. "You comin'?"