i wanna get better [pike]

It was very late, or very early depending on how you looked at it, and Riley wasn't entirely sure where he was.

They were in a cab, which was funny to him seeing as all three of the boys piled into the back were wizards. This had become somewhat normal to him, though. Trying to do magic when you were out of it always ended badly. He remembered leaving the club one night to find a boy split in pieces, healers from St. Mungo's trying to put him back together. It was gruesome, and it only made Riley feel better about the fact that he never learned how to apparate.

At present his forehead was nuzzled against anothers, but for the life of him he couldn't remember his name. Mark? Matt? Malcolm? Something with an M. He was a nice guy, or at least Riley thought so. He was charming and flirtatious and had brought lots of fun things to the club for him to try. He was half-asleep, leeching off the boy's warmth and the calming rhythm of his rising and falling chest. The other boy had told them of a place, somewhere they could go to crash. Riley wasn't going to argue.

The cab stopped, the driver looking to them expectantly. They were before a row of townhouses that, to the muggle, would seem painfully ordinary. Riley's beau smiled at him and offered the fare and a meager tip, but then again the driver couldn't have expected much from them. They slithered out of the car and Riley couldn't even stand without clutching onto M. "I don't... feel good," he whined lightly, nuzzling a kiss into the boy's neck. He shrugged him off, just a bit, and Riley wondered if he was growing tired of him.

Before them, as magical beings, stood an extra townhouse. It loomed overhead, a beautiful brick exterior and large bay windows on either side of the walk up. It was a bit rundown, the windows boarded and some signs of graffiti here and there. Riley didn't care. It was their people, magical people, a place where they could actually be themselves. Riley tugged on M's sleeve, the boy giving him a sharp look. He muttered to him, fishing around in his jacket pocket. He was offering him something then, a little something, promising it would make him feel better. At this point, Riley just wanted to be able to stand up without the world spinning.

He took the pill and grinned up at M. Something in his heart told him that M was only being nice because he fancied Riley's smile. He tried to stand, then, but it was even worse. He grabbed at his temples, a pounding in his skull, the world spinning even faster around him as he began to see colors even when his eyes were tightly shut. M was shaking him, trying to stir him, but Riley felt himself fading. The other two were arguing, he couldn't make out the words. What do you mean wrong pill? Riley began to sink down, resting himself on the stairs of the walk up. It's too dark out here, I can't see anything! Riley was lost in his mind, seeing things that couldn't be true. The voices were fading. His perception was twisted.

One of them was pounding on the door then, the other yelling to stop. They were afraid, Riley knew it. He was so tired, so lightheaded, feeling hands shaking him again. He shook his head quickly, unable to focus. He couldn't even form words, not yet. It was always bad for the first half hour or so, then it would fade. He just had to hold on for a half an hour. He heard M's voice then, echoing in his mind. We have to go. He's a mess. They're gonna ask questions. Riley blinked, trying to look up at him, glaring, but it was pointless. He heard frantic footsteps, the boys were running. They were leaving him here. They were probably afraid they'd get into trouble. Riley curled up. Whatever they'd given him, it wasn't legal.

It felt very cold to him then, his limbs tightening as he shivered. He felt cold sweat on the back of his neck and he hated it, he hated feeling like this. So why didn't he stop the madness? Why did he get into cars with people like M and his friend? Riley's hands slithered up to his ears, covering them. He was trying to block out the sounds. He heard footsteps again, more solid. He looked towards the door and saw a shape open it, tall and imposing. He should've been frightened, probably, but he really just wanted someone to help him. His steely blue eyes, bloodshot and scared, tried to make out the form before him.

"I - I'm s-sorry," he managed before his head fell back against the steps. And he was. He really, really was.[div style="opacity:0"] @Pike  [/div]

A figure, that would have been quite ominous were it not for the cheery whistle that accompanied it, meandered slowly down the street. The quarter-moon hung in the sky, bright enough to provide a challenge to the orange streetlights, but not yet full enough to make him feel unwell. With hands dug deep in his well-worn leather jacket, Pike was on his way home from work. Home. Work. He was still getting used to having these things once again. After a year on the run and then a further two years sleeping rough and trying to avoid the ministry wherever possible, it felt nice to know that he had somewhere to sleep at the end of the day, and a stable way to put money on the table. As much as he wished he could make a living purely through his art, it just wasn't providing enough income to cover new canvas and paint, let alone food and board. London house prices were expensive, muggle or wizarding, so he'd... cheated a little. Borrowed an unwanted building on an otherwise muggle street. Sure it wasn't exactly legal, but no-one from the ministry seemed to have caught wind of it yet. But even though he didn't have the security that he craved, it was better than sleeping in doorways and on park benches, and in the meantime, after buying food and art supplies, he could save the rest of his wages from his job as a bouncer and maybe one day live in a place that was actually his. Legally.

Regardless, it felt good to reach the door and let himself in, shrugging his jacket off onto the back of a chair and heading into the softly-lit main room. It was quiet at the moment, just a couple of guys painting and passing a joint between them. Pike waved, heading over to the make-shift kitchen that he'd set up in one part of the ground floor. It had none of the usual luxuries - a table, a charmed coolbox, a few things squished onto one remaining piece of counter. The house's original kitchen had obviously been ripped out, ready to be redeveloped, but then abandoned when the market crashed. Pike opened the coolbox to root out a pack of bacon, grabbed a pan from a hook on the wall and settled in front of a magical hot-plate of sorts, ready to start making himself some supper.

Then the door banged. Violently. Pike froze, set down the pan and headed swiftly through to the main room where the two guys were up and looking anxious. 'Ministry?' one of them asked quietly. Pike shrugged and signalled silently that they should apparate out if anything happened, and then he headed to the front door. He opened it, not sure what to expect. Ministry officials or someone looking for a place to crash.

What he saw was a curled up, shaking, boy on the steps, terrified eyes seeking him out. Pike's superior senses picked up the growing-distant sound of footsteps too and he could just pick out the two figures running off. But he'd ignore them for now. The boy was in obvious need of immediate attention and Pike's need to protect anything and everything in his surroundings was kicking in hard.

Crouching down, he first held up his hands to try and placate the boy, "sshhhh shhh," he murmured, "It's ok, everything'll be ok." Scooping his arms under the boy's back and legs, he carried him into the house, shoving the door shut behind him and carrying him into the main part of the room. There were cushions scattered around, and Pike crouched, setting the boy carefully down, resting the boy's back against his own chest for now. Taking in the boy's bloodshot eyes and shivering body, it didn't take a genius to work out the situation. Pike saw way too much of it since his days on the run. He'd spent the last few years mixing with the outcasts of society, the ones at rock bottom with nothing to lose and everything to escape from. "What did you take?" he asked softly, his eyes seeking out a box of first aid potions he had on the other side of the room. He nodded for one of the other guys to fetch it for him. He had a couple of 'antidote' type potions and detoxing potions on hand just in case, but without knowing what was in the boy's system he could just end up making things worse. "I'm Pike, what's your name?" he added, keeping his voice soft and hopefully calming.

Riley had no idea who he was, but he was strong. The shivering had grown more violent with each passing minute, whatever he'd taken further permeating his bloodstream. He wasn't afraid when he felt himself being lifted, just relief. He gripped the man's shoulder with force, clinging for dear life, though he had no worries that the man would drop him. He just wanted to grab something, someone, to feel tethered to reality. He probably would've cried if he hadn't already otherwise lost the ability to do so. After so many months in pain, so many days wasted, you just stopped feeling anything.

The man was pacifying him, telling him it would be okay. He wanted to believe him, and so he did. Despite himself he let out a series of low whimpers, clutching the man's shirt and nuzzling his face into his chest. He smelled earthy, like leather, and something about that comforted him. Before he knew it he was being let down against a cushion, the man holding him against his chest. He pressed back into him, his solidity and warmth, and was relieved that he hadn't left him here alone. "D-dunno," he managed, craning his neck to look at him. He hadn't gotten to look at his face, he'd been too distracted.

It was too much for him, and he gave up, letting his head fall back into place as he settled against him. His voice was low, deep, masculine. It sent a shiver down Riley's spine. "F-friend, he gave it to me," he managed. He felt so ugly, such a mess. He could see sweat on his forearms and feel it on his forehead. "Green, green pill," he added with a nod. That was all he had in him. He was weary, his eyelids heavy, but he was afraid of passing out. He was afraid of letting go like that. He didn't know what would happen if he did. He wasn't ready for it, it wasn't his time.

"Pike," he repeated aloud, turning a bit, curling against him. He reached out for him, grabbing his arm, needing to hold onto something again. "R-riley," he said with a particularly violent shudder. "My name is Riley," he said more clearly, fighting as hard as he could against himself. His breaths were coming faster now, his panic rising. He'd taken a lot of pills over the years but nothing like this, never when he was already fighting off other things in his system. He'd never lost control of his body like this, in a way he didn't want. He'd never felt sick. His throat felt dry and he was choked up, raising his chin and trying desperately to look at the man.

"I'm scared," he whispered, his voice light and weak. His tightened his grip on Pike's arm.

He resisted the urge to tut when the boy said that a friend had given him whatever mysterious green pill he'd consumed. It wasn't that Pike was completely anti-drug, he dabbled himself sometimes, using potions and muggle drugs alike to chill out or stir up the muse. But he was very careful to be a sometimes-user and not an addict... and his absolute firm rule was to always know 100% what he was taking. He didn't judge Riley though... the kid looked scared and so vulnerable... and Pike just wanted to take away the pain and sickness and make him better again. Of course the correct course of action would be to take him to St Mungo's pronto, but there they'd ask questions and Pike didn't need any attention drawn to himself or the kid. If things got bad, he could apparate them both there... but until then, they'd have to deal with things themselves.

"It's ok, Riley, I'm here," he murmured, stroking through the boy's hair with one hand and rummaging through his box of potions with the other. His hand lingered over a couple as he mentally narrowed down a list of what the green pill might have been, being somewhat familiar with the types of recreational potions and drugs currently making the rounds in the wizarding community. Although he had some stronger detoxing potions, he really didn't want to risk them without being 100% certain, so he settled on a lighter one, pulling the bottle out of the box and setting it down next to him. "Ok, I have a potion here which will help a little... it won't completely take away the effects of the pill, but it'll prevent it from doing anything worse," well hopefully at least, but Riley didn't need to hear any doubts right now, "You might feel the urge to be sick... if you do, don't try to hold it in or worry about making a mess or anything, just let it all out, ok?... and I'll stay with you. You let me know if you start feeling worse too."

He uncorked the bottle, starting to bring it to Riley's lips. But he wasn't going to force it on him. Only if he said yes would he help tip the yellowy-green contents of the potion vial into the boy's mouth.

There was something about the way Pike was reassuring him that felt so good. He knew he'd regret every second of this in the morning, when he was sober, when he remember how much of a pile of need he'd been. But now? Now he needed him, he needed Pike to get him through this. He didn't have anybody else. He nuzzled into his palm as the man stroked his hair, amazed at the fact he was so caring and gentle to someone whom he'd not only never met, but was also a sweaty, sick mess.

He shook his head as Pike spoke to him, finding his words. "It's okay, I trust you," he said lightly, his thumb sliding along the skin of the man's forearm. He did, it was true. Something about the way he felt, the way he spoke, it made Riley believe him. He'd been around enough people who wanted him for selfish reasons to know when someone was actually acting in his best interests. He worried his brows when the man spoke about him not holding back. Riley refused to get sick in front of him, he wouldn't allow it. "I'll be fine," he asserted, though he had no idea if that would be true.

He nodded and drank the liquid, the fluid bubbling and sour in his mouth. He coughed, shivering, the taste bitter and making him gag. He felt like his insides were full of air, like the carbonated fizz of a soda. "Feels weird," he said, his stomach churning. He realized what was happening. It was a potion designed to make him purge. It was cleaning his bloodstream. His eyes went wide. There was only one way for the drugs to get out of his system. "No," he said then, pushing away from Pike and trying desperately to get his distance. Get it together, Riley. Keep it down, Riley. His eyes were searching for somewhere to go, some place he could get sick without making a mess.

He knew Pike had told him not to be like this, but he was as stubborn as they came. It didn't matter if he was blazed out his mind, he wasn't going to act like that around someone who had been so kind to him. It was insulting. It was irreverent. Merlin, if his mother could see him now. The thought of her broke him and he found himself struggling face-first on the floor. His limbs didn't work, his body wasn't in his control. He felt the tears burning before he could understand that he was crying, something he hadn't done in ages. He was fighting so hard, and before it happened he knew he was going to lose.

His sickness was quick but uncomfortable, the boy succumbing to his body and purging. It was on the floor, at least, not all over Pike. He still hated himself. He rolled onto his back, immediately feeling better now that most of the drugs were out of him. He rubbed his eyes with his palms, hiding behind them, shaking his head. "I'm so sorry," he said, his voice cracking. He was humiliated and ashamed. The shivers had subsided to minor trembles, though those could've easily been from his crying and not any sort of chemical. "My wand," he said, reaching for his pockets, "I'll clean it up," he said, sniffling, his voice weakened by the emotion.

He set the bottle aside once it was emptied, one hand settling at Riley's waist to try and reassure him. But then Riley started to gag and instead of doing what Pike had said and letting it out, he fought to hold it back. That was exactly what Pike didn't want. He didn't want the risk of the kid choking on his own vomit - something that was actually quite a large danger in this situation. "Don't hold it back... let it out!" he insisted, knowing that he could simply clean up whatever mess followed with a charm or two. He was no stranger to mess, not even this kind of situation.

Riley has somehow crawled onto all fours and Pike rested a hand on the small of his back, trying to be a reassuring presence as the boy gagged and eventually gave in to his body's demands, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the rug-covered wooden floor. The boy rolled over onto his back and Pike was already reaching for his own wand. "Don't worry, kid, I got it," he murmured, casting a spell that cleaned up the majority of the mess and then a second to take up the last of it.

"Don't lie on your back... if you're sick again, you don't want to risk choking. You need to just let it out." He wasn't going to chastise the boy for disobeying him, and he certainly understood the stubborn pride in Riley - Pike was the same. He hated putting people out. Hated having to rely on others. "Should feel a bit better now anyway, mmh?"

He paused, eyes surveying the boy for a moment before he spoke again, his voice still soft and calm, "Is there... anyone I can contact for you? Or anywhere you want me to take you?" He had to ask, even though he already had his suspicions that the answer was no. "No worries if not, kid, you're welcome to stay here as long as you need. I have an open doors policy." His lips curled into something halfway between a smirk and a smile. No matter what Riley's answer was, he certainly wasn't going to leave the boy by himself. He needed someone to watch him until the effects truly wore off.

Riley frowned, shaking his head. Pike was already cleaning it. He wasn't sure he could look at him just then. He did as he was told, something commanding about the man's voice that made him instinctively obey. He rolled away from him, onto his side, the hard wooden floors pressing against his body as he curled up. His stomach was still bubbling, still twisting inside of him. He knew he was going to be sick again. It felt different, this time, now that he'd already made a fool of himself. The worst of it was done.

He coughed and got sick again, though it was much less this time. He felt a lot better, he felt like it was working. He wiped at his mouth and frowned, disgusted by himself. He nodded in response, he did feel better. "I think I've finished," he said lightly, his tears subsiding, his whole mood leveling out as the bubbling in his veins ceased. The room wasn't spinning anymore, at least not as bad. He still felt a buzz, either from the drinks he'd had earlier or the drugs he'd taken at the club. Pike's potion had done wonders, but there was simply too much inside of him to be rid of all at once. He wondered if his body could even function without a little something extra anymore.

He tried to sit up, but it was still too fast. He shook his head and went back down, wincing against the unforgiving floor beneath him. He thought for a moment, blinking languidly. "There's no one," he replied calmly, leaving it at that. His mother was gone. His grandfather was gone. Even the boys who'd brought him here were gone. "And I don't have anywhere to go," he added even more softly, his fingertips gently sliding against the solid floor. The thought was sad to him, and even though he was uncomfortable he had half a mind to close his eyes and sleep there. This day was taxing on him. The pills were taxing on him. It was all so much for him. He just wanted it to be done.

"Pike?," he said gently, the words slow and careful. He glanced over his shoulder. "Thank you, for helping me," he said quietly. With that he settled back onto the floor and went quiet. He didn't want to burden him anymore.

Riley's words confirmed Pike's fears and he felt a twist in his gut. How did someone get into this situation with nowhere to turn? What had happened in Riley's life that left him alone? Even when Pike had been on the run, he'd known there were those that cared for him. Sure he hadn't been able to go back home to his muggle family, but he'd known they cared about him deeply. And there had been Frey... and Ether... and other friends too, all willing to help or provide a shoulder to lean on. Even though Pike had lost so much in his life, he'd never been truly alone. Not even that night, when the werewolf had ripped him to shreds and he'd thought it was the end... Frey had been there for him. Frey had saved his life.

"Well you have here now, Riley," Pike said firmly, casting the charm again to clear up the rest of the mess. "Like I said, my door's always open." Quite literally really. Pike didn't bother locking the place up, people came and went all the time. If anyone decided to steal his stuff... he'd lose a few paintings, sure, but he carried his treasured possessions with him - the ring that he never took off, a couple of beloved sketchbooks, his address book, a few photographs... Pike's worldly possessions were few, but that was how he liked it. He cared far more about people than things. Providing a place where people could seek shelter was far more important to him than locking things away behind closed doors.

"You're welcome," he said with a soft smile, once again stroking through the kid's hair. He couldn't deny that it felt good to be able to help. Pike's nurturing and protecting instinct was strong. He placed himself somewhere between an alpha wolf and a mama bear, wanting to look out for those he considered pack - feed them, provide a safe place for them and defend them to the end. He'd already fought off one dealer who was showing a little too much interest in one of the young graffiti artists that sometimes crashed at Pike's. Those guys could be like wild dogs, sniffing out the vulnerable for their prey and sinking in their teeth and claws. Pike had no qualms with running them out and breaking a few noses if he had to.

"Don't fall asleep, Riley," he said softly, feeling like a jerk for having to keep the kid awake, but he didn't want Riley to sleep until he was certain that he wasn't in danger. "You have to stay awake for a bit, sorry." He scooped Riley up in his arms again, carrying him through to his own portion of the room which was separated off by hanging sheets and silk scarves. It was pretty basic - a mattress with some blankets, a couple of sketchpads and pencils and a box with some clothes in it. He set Riley down on his bed, propping him up, back against the wall, with a couple of cushions.

"I'll be right back," he murmured, getting up to head back through to the kitchen where his bag had been cast aside and his uncooked bacon sandwich sat waiting to be made. Putting the bacon back in the coolbox, he grabbed some cheese instead, sandwiching it between the bread and making a little more, just in case Riley got hungry. Then he picked up a glass, filling it with water, and carried that , his bag and the sandwiches back to his bed area, picking up a couple more cushions on the way. He dropped the cushions on the floor beside the mattress, settling himself down on them, set his bag down beside him and then passed the water to Riley. It was important that the kid replaced the fluid he'd lost from vomiting, and Pike figured that Riley would probably like to wash the taste out of his mouth too. "Help yourself if you get hungry," he said, nodding to the sandwiches before tucking into one himself, although he kept an eye on the younger man as he ate. Sure cheese was a poor substitute for bacon, but he didn't want to spend time away from Riley cooking it and he didn't want to make Riley sit and watch him cook... so cheese would have to do.

"Been in London long?" he asked, figuring from the boy's northern accent that he wasn't a local. Pike's own accent, broad Somerset, also betrayed the fact he wasn't from the capital. Somerset was almost as far away from the north of England as you could get, but that was the thing about London - it became a melting pot. The place where people came to seek their dreams and fortune - and ended up with dashed hopes and penniless more times than not. "Been here about seven years, myself," he said, giving Riley a conversation point if he didn't fancy talking about himself. "Give or take a couple years in the middle where I... eh... moved around a lot, let's say." The war had displaced many. His wasn't an unusual tale. "Had this place only since the spring though," he added, gesturing proudly to the room around him. The squat wasn't much, but it was a hell of a lot more homely than the stinking-of-piss, full-of-junk shell of a building he'd first found.

Riley let out a light sigh as Pike brushed through his hair. His fingers were warm and gentle, soft against his scalp. His mother used to do that when he was very little, when he had nightmares and couldn't sleep. It had been a long time since someone had really taken care of him, not just ensured he was well enough to satisfy whatever desires they had for him. The world had kept him alive all this time, but it hadn't nurtured him. It hadn't been kind. He didn't know how to respond to Pike's invitation of sorts, his assertion that Riley could stay. He'd never really stayed in a place that long, not unless he was involved with the proprietor in some way. He didn't usually use money to pay for the things he wanted.

The boy's eyes were already drifting when Pike stirred him, earning a light scowl and a confused glance. "I'm tired," he protested, to which Pike explained that he had to ensure his safety. Riley couldn't really argue with that, and Pike had kept him alive thus far. "Fine," he conceded quietly, though his face betrayed his dissatisfaction. And then the man was scooping him up again, Riley letting out a little sound of surprise. Pike could lift him so easily, carry him around like he was nothing. He didn't allow himself to think about how strong he was for very long. It made him blush. He carried him behind a curtain into what must have been his space. It was cozy, minimal, but more comfortable than that big room outside. Riley liked to be in private, in smaller places. It made him feel safer.

The man set him onto the bed, which was soft and comforting. There were cushions all around, Riley quick to snuggle into them. It was much better than the hardwood floors he'd been on before. He looked to Pike, getting his first real glance at him. He was very handsome, rugged, long-haired and masculine. Riley felt himself reaching for a blanket to pull up over him, blinking as he stared at the protective creature. "Okay," he said lightly as Pike wandered out. He felt odd then, being alone in his space. Peeking forward, he saw that the man had gone into another room. He began to rummage lightly, carefully, just peeking at his belongings. His clothes, they smelled like him, they made Riley smile. He found some books, flipping them open. They were sketches, beautiful sketches, buildings, people, things that not everyone would notice. So he's an artist, then Riley discovered.

He heard Pike approaching and quickly went into panic mode, shuffling things back into place and turning onto his side. He tried to look as innocent as possible, and thankfully Pike had brought food to distract him. He was still just a bit on edge around him, not because Pike had given him reason to be, but because Pike had seen him at his worst. That was always a bit unnerving to a person. He took the water and nodded, drinking an impressive amount in a single gulp. "Sorry," he said with a smile, wiping his lip. He'd drank about three-quarters of the glass. "I guess I was thirsty," he said, obviously, setting the glass down beside Pike. He pulled his legs up closer to him, knees against his chest, and stared at the man. "You can sit on the mattress, if you want to," he said simply. "I won't mind," he assured. "It's your bed, anyway," he reminded with a little grin.

He eyed the sandwich, but it made his stomach churn. He was still a bit queasy from the potion and the last thing he wanted was to get sick again. He shook his head. "You can have mine if you want," he said simply, "I'll need to sleep this out of my system," he decided. His relaxed posture tightened when Pike began to ask him questions. "I've been around a while," he said simply, directly, his tone somewhat pointed and dismissive. He saw the opening Pike had given him, and he took it. "Since Spring?" he said lightly, "I like what you've done with the place," he said, the words honest. "It's cozy," he added, resting his head on his knees. He was just looking at him then, his face, those handsome features. Perhaps it was the promise of events that M had offered him in the club, the whispers in his ears, that made him think of such things. That had to be it. He shouldn't be thinking about anything like that now, not with everything that had transpired.

"So," he said gently, "is it just you?" he asked coyly. He was trying to figure something out in a roundabout way. He wondered if Pike would notice, and if he did, whether or not he would care. "Here, I mean," he offered, casting a wider net. He didn't want to be too obvious.

Pike had never been very good at catching or spotting deception in others. He was painfully honest and took most things at face value. So he didn't even suspect that Riley had been looking through his things, although he wouldn't have minded even if he had known. Pike had very few secrets and there was no evidence of the main one here. There was a locked door beneath the house's staircase though and the stairs beyond it led down into the dark basement, where a large heavy-duty cage sat, currently empty. Thankfully none of Pike's guests had ever gone exploring down that way, although if they did, Pike doubted any of them would suspect that the cage was there to hold him. As for the rest of his life - Pike was an open book. He'd hated having to hide during the war. Secrets and enforced privacy just wore him out.

He shifted over to sit on the mattress, in the space that Riley had made and nodded as the boy turned down the offer of food. Pike had expected that. He finished off his sandwich and reached for another. Not even Riley's vomit could damage Pike's appetite. He'd always had a healthy appetite, but since he'd gained the wolf, he seemed to need to eat double as much.

He noticed the evasive way that Riley answered his question, but he didn't want to pry. He was perfectly happy to talk about himself instead if Riley didn't care for questions. Pike was used to that with some of the people that came and went here. People who had been hurt. People who were maybe still hiding from things. He might have disliked secrets generally, but he respected other people's desire to keep them.

"What, living here?" he asked, not quite catching Riley's tone, "Well, technically, although others come and go all the time." He gestured to the space beyond the curtain where he could still hear the other two artists. They'd returned to their drawings, knowing that Pike had the situation handled. They might leave before dawn, or they might spend the night. Pike never knew or asked. He made sure everyone knew they were welcome to stay if they wanted to and then just left them to it. Sometimes people ate his food, but other times food and beer would show up in his kitchen as an unspoken thank you, so it worked out quite well. "Oh or did you mean...?" he added, his brain finally catching up to Riley's coy tone, "Yeah, just me."

Riley watched as the man ate another sandwich. He was impressed at his appetite, though relieved that his little stunt hadn't put him off. In fact, he was surprised all around that Pike had been so nice to him. People weren't usually nice just for the sake of being nice, Riley had learned. Not in this type of lifestyle. His big blue eyes watched him as he spoke, waiting, waiting for him to catch up. And he did. And he was alone. Just me. Riley nodded. "I understand," he offered.

Now, he was connecting the dots. Pike had been helping him, brought him back to this room, made sure he was alright. Nobody else to share his bed. He could be wrong, it wouldn't be the first time, but something about Pike made him think that he preferred men, just as Riley did. That would make the most sense in this situation. While Pike had told him he needed to stay awake to be sure the drugs were out of his system, that didn't necessarily mean it was the only reason. Riley didn't mind, actually, he understood that fairness was important in this matter. Pike scratched his back, he'd scratch his.

Riley wasn't sharp, not yet, soberness close but not fully in his grasp. His mind was still fuzzy, mostly from the alcohol. He was good, though, good enough for this. He sat forward a bit, gently pulling his shirt over his head and revealing his chest. He didn't feel particularly sexy, not after his little display, but he could fake it. He'd gotten rather good at that over the last months. He sat back then, into the cushions, looking at Pike expectantly. He ran a hand down his body, over his stomach muscles, waiting. "It's alright," he said, nodding. Pike was a good enough guy, or so he seemed. Riley wasn't afraid of him.

He knew it was important to be enticing, to make it seem real. You had to give them what they wanted. "You're not alone tonight," he said lightly, a tempting half smirk on his lips.

Pike didn't think much of it when Riley removed his shirt, assuming it was just a comfort thing. The important thing was that Riley was comfortable and felt safe. Although Riley wasn't opening up about himself, Pike's instinct told him that the boy had a great sense of need. Like he was searching for something without really knowing what it was. Pike understood that feeling. He'd felt like that after things had fallen apart with Frey. It was a time of celebration - the end of the war, Voldemort finally defeated - and yet things were only spiralling down for him. It had taken all of his strength of character to keep from hitting the bottom. He could easily have ended up addicted to one substance or another, or into a life of crime. Thankfully he'd managed to keep his head above the water.

But as Riley sat back to get comfortable, stroking a hand slowly down over the well-defined muscles of his abs, Pike suddenly reaslised where this was going. Or where Riley thought this was going, because Pike sure as hell wasn't taking it there. Even if this kid did happen to be extraordinarily beautiful in the vulnerable, broken way that Pike found so irresistible. But how did he handle this? Reject Riley and make him feel even more shit than he did already? Leave him feeling like he was unworthy and unattractive? And that couldn't be further from the truth... if they'd met under different circumstances, Pike would have been all over him by now. But they weren't in a bar or at a rally or any other situation in which this would be ok. Riley was here because he needed care. Pike wasn't going to take advantage of that. Besides, he probably didn't even want it. Not really. He was doing this because he thought it was owed.

"Mmmh," he murmured, thoughtfully, letting a hand shift to rest on Riley's knee although he made no move to be closer to the younger man. "Listen, kid, I'd fuck you in a heartbeat... I would. But you don't owe me this. Not tonight, not ever." But he understood the need to pay your own way. The pride that made him reject help so often. "If you really want to pay me back, you can help me transport some paintings to a show tomorrow. No pressure though." He shrugged, side-glancing at Riley's chest once more before snapping his eyes back up to the young man's face. He wasn't sure how someone remained so appealing, even having thrown up right in front of him, but Riley was managing it. Pike left out a soft groan. "Or if you're good at staying still, you could model for me..." he said it without really thinking and once it was out of his mouth it sounded a bit... creepy. "To paint, I mean.. model.. I paint you... oh for fuck's sake put your shirt back on before I lose the ability to speak completely!"

Riley's smile twisted in confusion. So, he was gay then? Pike said he wanted him, but not like this? He blinked, blue eyes searching his face, trying to understand. He frowned a little, the man's hand on his knee. He was getting mixed signals. Why would he stop, why wouldn't he close the deal? And then Pike was offering him other ideas, other options, other ways to repay him for all of this. Riley felt a little flutter in his chest. He had, in fact, misread everything. Pike was truly a decent human being. He wanted to take care of him, not advantage, and that was a bit overwhelming.

Pike was losing himself then, rambling, and Riley smiled. He reached out, grabbing the hand on his knee, stroking his thumb along Pike's knuckles. "Stop," he said gently, "It's okay, it's alright," he reassured. He grabbed his shirt and slipped it back over, although part of him didn't want to. Part of him liked the way the strong, powerful man reacted to him like that. "I will help you tomorrow," he agreed, it was the least he could do. "But, what is this show?" he said, turning back to the conversation. He'd been so prepared to get physical that he needed to refocus.

"Does this mean you're an artist?" he said, a pointless question. He'd already snooped through his sketchbook, but he wanted to hear the words from Pike's mouth. He wanted to know the rest of the story, beyond the drawings he'd peeked at. Riley grinned. "I'll let you paint me sometime, too," he said simply, "if you're any good," he finished, the last uttered in a good-natured teasing tone. His eyes were on Pike's again and Riley realized that he was feeling something. Pike had made it clear that he didn't owe him anything, but in that moment Riley wanted to give him something.

He knew it wasn't the night, he was tired and had been ill and all of that. But he reached for Pike's hand again, gently pulling on it, as though beckoning him to move closer without any words. "C'mere," he said lightly, hopeful. "I want you to tell me about your art," he said, moving to the side of the mattress to make room for the other man. He wanted to be close to him, to leech off his warmth and comfort. And, despite Pike's generosity, he wanted him to know he was still interested.

Riley put the shirt back on and Pike watched with slight disappointment as that beautiful chest was covered up. But there was no question that this was the right thing - Pike wouldn't have had it any other way. He, point blank, would never take advantage like that. He was glad that Riley wasn't offended though, his hand resting on top of Pike's in a way that sent shivers through the older man. And Riley took the opportunity that Pike had offered as a way of repayment, which was good. He wouldn't want the kid feeling like something was owed. He'd let him help out tomorrow and then perceived debts were cleared and they were even.

"Yeah, I draw, paint... bit of spray paint and chalks... it doesn't pay the bills, like.. at all... but keeps me sane." He chuckled, reaching for the pile of sketchbooks and rummaging until he found a battered one at the bottom of the pile. Flicking it open, he passed it to Riley, unaware that the boy had already been snooping. The pages of this old sketchbook were full of pencil and charcoal sketches - some quick, rough but fluid and full of flamboyant character, others tightly drawn and detailed. Abandoned buildings, overgrown barns, nameless faces that caught his interest and overlooked faces filled the off-white pages. This particular sketchbook was from the time when Pike was on the run and sleeping rough. Some of the pages were dated. Some of the drawings were dark and sad... distressing even... and yet every few pages there was a spark of hope. A bright pink flower or a sketch of a young child with bubbles or a colourful hot-air balloon... things that Pike had seen that lifted his spirits. This was the sketchbook that had gotten him through some of his darkest times and although he wasn't sure that Riley would pick up on that, he wanted to somehow convey that things would get better. That Riley could get through this, just as Pike had gotten through his dark days.

He let Riley pull him closer, settling himself against the man's smaller frame, always finding himself at ease with people whether he'd known then for years or seconds. "There's a guy that's been organising some pop-up galleries of war art, specifically by muggleborn or muggleborn-sympathiser artists who were persecuted. We did one last month... and it went really well. I sold a couple of paintings even. This time I'm displaying more of my charcoal and pencil work. Like these, but larger pieces. They won't sell for as much as the oils, but hopefully that means I can shift quite a few of them." He gave a hopeful shrug. He found it hard to part with his artwork, but he really could do with the money.

Riley smiled as the man spoke, rummaging through his sketchbooks. Pike was better off than him, he decided. Riley neither paid his bills nor retained most of his sanity. He felt weak in that moment, like he'd remembered something he shouldn't have. His brows furrowed a bit as he got lost in himself, blinking as Pike handed him an old, tattered sketchbook. The man ran his hand down the cover, slowly opening it. He had the chance now to really look at it, to savor each drawing. He felt a bit of a flurry in his chest at the idea of Pike allowing him to see these things.

He reviewed each piece, the careful examination helping him to feel sharp. His mind wasn't so fuzzy like this, when he was looking at Pike's work. These came from him, from the man, his hands to the page. There was something so beautiful about that, so positive. Riley couldn't create anything, really, besides a mess. Besides trouble. Despite himself there was an aching in his chest, a longing to create like this. He thought of his fiddle, that precious instrument. It was the first time in many, many months it had even crossed his mind.

"I like this one," he said, smiling, gently running his thumb down the clean part of the page. It was a girl, blowing bubbles. She was bright and cheerful, utterly engrossed in the activity. "She looks so happy," he said fondly, "not a care in the world," he said wistfully. He remembered what it was like as a child, being with his mother, being a 'muggle.' If only he'd known then what would become of him, of her, of his life. He felt something cold and sad latching onto the memory and before he could let it take hold he shut the sketchbook. He swallowed hard, taking a breath, feeling stupid. He shouldn't let Pike see him like this.

"Sorry," he said, gently putting it back in the box. "I'm just... late," he said, dumbly. He couldn't explain it. Hopefully, Pike would understand. He settled back against him a bit more, the man pulling him closer. He was so warm, so strong. It had been a long time since a man had held him like this, the intimacy was scarce in his line of work. It was all about finishing, moving on, taking advantage. This was peaceful. He was worried, deep in his stomach, about how good it felt. He didn't want to get too attached too quickly. Even if he did like Pike, and even if Pike liked him back, Riley was bad news. He couldn't let Pike get caught up in all that. He deserved someone better.

"That sounds nice," he said, softly, running his thumb over Pike's hand. And it did. The art show sounded inspiring, and interesting, like something he'd want to do. But he couldn't make those promises. He wouldn't let himself. So, he shifted the subject. "It must be difficult," he said lightly, "to paint about such dark things." He hated himself, in that moment, drudging up that topic to avoid other things. The anxiety was already starting to take over him now, and he knew that he had to be damn near sober. This, this precisely, was the thing he'd spent all his time running from inside. This is why he'd taken those potions and pills.

He curled up then, against the man. He felt such sorrow inside. "We don't have to talk about that," he said gently, his words laced with an unspoken apology. "I'm just getting so tired," he lied. "I don't know what's gotten into me."