The lady at the counter asks if he found his friend, and he confirms that he did as he orders two burgers and fries to go. Returning to the car, he's surprised to find Aster now in the front seat, casually rifling through the glove compartment. Aster accepts the food without comment, seeming utterly unconcerned about being caught snooping. He even seems to contemplate pocketing the lighter he's found, though Nash might have to object—it's Niko's, not his. But in the end, Aster returns it and focuses on the food instead.

Aster's still wrapped in Nash's jacket, but he's discarded the blanket, leaving his thighs distractingly bare. Despite the warmth of the car, Nash is surprised how quickly Aster seems to have shaken off the chill.

“Oh, uh,” Nash says around a fry. “My name’s Nash, by the way. I guess I never introduced myself properly.”

Aster nods, focused on his food. Either he assumes he's memorable enough that Nash doesn't need a reminder of his name, or he just doesn't care.

"You gonna be okay?" Nash asks. Aster raises an eyebrow, so Nash elaborates, "I mean, with the teleportation thing. If you were attacked at the boarding house, and I'm taking you back there..."

Another nod from Aster. “I’ll be ready next time.”

“Okay.”

As they eat, Aster brazenly steals fries from Nash, despite having plenty of his own. It reminds him of Silence—Aster—sending him a set of leather armour and Nash calling him his sugar daddy. Nash bites back an embarrassed smile. Seeing the real person behind the screen name casts all their previous interactions in a new light. What Nash can't figure out is why Aster kept playing with him at all. Maybe he's lonely in his own way. Maybe he needs a friend.

Nash considers offering to get more fries, but Aster's appetite seems to be waning. He doesn't even finish his own meal. When Nash reaches for one of Aster's fries, half-expecting a snippy reaction, Aster just lets him have it. Apparently, fry theft goes both ways.

"Are you actually a werewolf, then?" Aster asks suddenly, catching Nash so off guard he nearly chokes on a fry.

"Yeah, I am," Nash manages after a cough. "The name was meant to be ironic..."

Aster nods. “Which pack?”

And there it is. Maybe Aster isn't so different from everyone else after all.

“No pack. I’m just on my own.”

"You had that wizard with you," Aster counters.

“Niko, yeah. We work together. Or mostly he works and I’m the muscle in case something goes wrong. But he is a good friend too, so you’re right. I’m not alone. I just don’t have a pack.”

Aster makes a noncommittal sound and turns away, his fleeting interest apparently satisfied.

Nash wants to keep this rare moment of conversation going, to draw out whatever scraps of information Aster might offer, but Aster's body language makes it clear he's done talking. With a sigh, Nash crumples up their empty food bags and stuffs them into the cup holder before starting the car.

Aster seems more relaxed now than when Nash first arrived—still closed off, but in a weary way rather than an icy one.

"I'll give you my number," Nash offers. "That way if you need something again, you don't have to wait for me to be online."

Aster slowly turns his head, regarding Nash with disinterested eyes for a long moment. "I don't have a phone," he finally says.

Nash considers pushing the issue, suggesting Aster could find a way to call in an emergency, but he senses that wouldn't be well-received.

“Well, okay. But if I am online and you need something…” Nash offers a one-shouldered shrug.

Aster's head stays still, but his eyes flick to Nash for a split second. "Mm."

Nash feels like Aster’s a breath away from giving him a talk about how he’s being inappropriate and frankly a little weird even though, objectively, Aster is the weird one. Not that Nash minds him being strange, but the whole situation is a bit of a mindfuck. Every interaction feels like he’s doing something wrong, but when he goes back through everything that’s happened, all he’s done is be a good friend. A great one, even.

He's not angry, just bewildered. This isn't how things usually go when you help someone out. But then, would he really feel any better if Aster plastered on a smile and spat out some gratitude?

No. Despite everything, Nash likes Aster. He just wishes he understood him better, knew what Aster actually wants so that he could give it to him.

The half-hour drive back to the boarding house passes in silence, Aster pretending Nash doesn't exist. It's not surprising, but Nash still feels like he's failed some unspoken test.

"I'll walk you up," Nash says as he parks.

Aster unbuckles his seatbelt. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I want to get my jacket back without sending you out there in your underwear?”

"Hm," is Aster's only response as he tucks his laptop under his arm. He doesn't object when Nash follows him out of the car.

The boarding house is in a nondescript building on a quiet street, up a set of stairs set above and behind an old laundromat. Even with the address and instructions, it took him and Niko a bit to find the place. It just doesn’t feel like it should be there. 

Aster practically sprints up the narrow, creaky steps. Nash follows more slowly, not wanting his larger frame and shoed feet to cause a racket. He half-expects Aster to vanish into his room, jacket and all, but at the top, he finds him engaged in a hushed conversation with a young woman.

She's wearing tiny pink pyjama shorts that leave little to the imagination and a matching top that threatens to become indecent at the slightest movement. The way she leans against her doorframe, offering Aster a flirtatious smile, makes her interest clear. If Aster reciprocates, he doesn't show it.

The moment Nash reaches them, Aster breaks away, continuing down the hall as if the girl ceased to exist. She doesn't seem surprised, but her eyes follow him shamelessly. Aster has nearly as much thigh on display as she does.

At his door, Aster shrugs off Nash's jacket, revealing even more skin. Nash's eyes betray him, darting down Aster's torso. Though the glance is brief, Aster's pointed eyebrow raise suggests he noticed as he holds out the jacket.

"Your tattoos," Nash blurts, grasping for an excuse as he takes the jacket. "Are they functional?"

"Well, they're not decorative," Aster replies, as if that should be obvious.

Nash's eyes flick to the runes encircling Aster's nipple. He bites his cheek, forcing away the sudden urge to trace those lines with his tongue. He thinks the tattoos are pretty damn decorative, but the lines are a little rough. They’re clearly not the work of a professional. It probably isn’t the kind of permanent aesthetic choice most people would make.

Aster waits a beat, but Nash's brain has short-circuited at the sight of all that bare skin. With a casual wave over his shoulder, Aster says, "Drive safe," then disappears into his room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Nash blinks, dumbfounded. Drive safe. After a night of icy silence, the mundane friendliness floors him. It's almost playful, like Aster's acknowledging the precarious dance he's put Nash through. Or maybe Nash is overthinking it, desperate to find meaning in Aster's rare crumbs of interaction.

Sighing, Nash turns away. His mind swims with images of piercing blue eyes and smooth, tattooed skin. Aster's scent clings to the jacket, and it takes every ounce of Nash's willpower to wait until he reaches the stairwell before burying his face in the fabric, inhaling deeply.

This is, without a doubt, the dumbest crush he's ever had.