Tuesday rolls around, and when Nash arrives for work at the club, he’s already itching to get back home and dive into Mythic Frontiers with Aster until the early hours of the morning. He knows Aster would probably block him for good if he realised how invested Nash is. It's probably not healthy to be this fixated on someone who barely talks to him, but it doesn't feel wrong.

Tarsha, a vampire who's way more dangerous than her small frame lets on, is handling the door tonight. That frees Nash to roam around, keeping an eye on things. He prefers it this way, especially on chill nights like this one.

They turn a blind eye to a lot of stuff that's not strictly legal. A werewolf—or a vampire like Tarsha—could easily sniff out drugs, but they only step in if someone's drink is getting spiked. Same goes for prostitution; they don't interfere unless there's a consent issue.

By now, Nash knows all the regulars who sell their services. His sharp hearing means he picks up more than most, but honestly, it wouldn't be hard to figure out even without werewolf senses. Take Daisy, for instance. A woman that hot wouldn't be all over a guy with no money, charm, or looks unless she was getting paid. The dude she’s attached herself to tonight’s not hideous or anything, but his hair's a greasy mess and he's rocking cargo shorts and a baggy graphic tee. Despite all this, he somehow manages to look less interested in her than she is in him even as he leads her out of the club.

As Nash passes the bar, Aura slides him a shot glass filled with amber liquid. She rests her chin on her fist, watching as he downs it. Nash feels the whiskey burn his throat, considers the flavour, then grimaces. "Too sweet."

Aura clicks her tongue, grabbing the empty glass. "Fuck, I was worried about that. Walk it off and I'll take another crack at it."

Nash nods and continues his rounds. He's allowed to drink on the job—within reason—since his metabolism's so fast he'd have to really try to get drunk. Aura, a fairy barely over four feet tall who needs a stepstool to see over the bar, doesn't have that luxury.

Passing the bathrooms, Nash keeps an ear out for trouble. He hears rapid breathing and a groan from the men's room, but after listening closer, he concludes it's consensual and moves on.

As he approaches the back exit, something thumps loudly against the door leading to the dumpsters. Nash freezes, listening. He barely catches a sharp, fearful exhale from the other side. He bolts for the door.

The moment he opens it, a body that was pressed against it falls backward. Nash barely catches Daisy under her arm before she hits the ground. That split-second distraction costs him—a blade slashes at him, cutting through his shirt from chest to shoulder.

Nash drops Daisy harder than he'd like, but manages to grab his attacker's wrist before he can strike again. Shit—it's the guy she left with just a few minutes ago. He should've known something was off about him.

As Nash wrenches the man's wrist to make him drop the knife, he feels the urge to shift ripple under his skin. Too late for that now. Fights don't exactly pause while you strip down and change forms.

This shouldn't be a tough fight anyway. The guy seems completely ordinary. He smells human, dresses plainly, and there's nothing memorable about him at all. When he backs further into the alley, Nash follows.

Nash is already planning how to restrain the guy as they circle each other. As much as he deserves a beating, Nash knows it's smarter to avoid unnecessary damage. Especially since Daisy, his only witness, will be long gone before any cops show up.

The guy makes a break for the club door as soon as Nash isn't blocking it. Nash isn't worried; the hallway's empty, and he'll have the guy pinned before he clears it. Nash lunges, fingers just brushing the back of the guy's shirt. But as the guy crosses the threshold, he vanishes in a crackle of electricity.

"Fuck," Nash sighs in frustration. Apparently he’s a little more magical than he looked.

Nash's shoulder throbs, his shirt torn and sticky with blood. He bends to pick up the knife, frowning as he examines the curved, ornate dagger. Tilting it in the light from the club, he spots unfamiliar runes carved into the blade. Nash doesn't know shit about this kind of magic, but it definitely doesn't look like the runes Niko uses.

What follows is a mess of explaining to everyone that he just got stabbed—well, cut, a little bit. It's not a huge deal for a werewolf, but it's still stinging like a bitch. Maybe it's a little worse than he first thought.

At first, everyone's all for calling the cops, but they gradually talk themselves out of it. Daisy won't want to deal with them, and neither does Nash. When he was eight, a cop told him not to trust the police. That advice has served him well ever since.

"Niko's out of town, but I want to send him some pics of the knife—see what he thinks," Nash says as Aida, the club manager, nods along. "You know how cops are. Put them on it, and it'll be weeks before we hear anything, if ever."

Aida shrugs their slim shoulders, raking their long hair around the rams horns that curl atop their head. “If you’re fine with that, then I’m happy not having the cops sniffing around here. You go get that knife looked into now, though. I don’t like the look of that thing.”

“It’s just a small cut, but Niko’s taught me to be cautious. I’ll see you Friday.”

Nash tries calling Niko on his way to his car, but it goes straight to voicemail. No surprise there. Niko never says much about the time he spends with his family, but he always comes back exhausted. Nash snaps a few pics of the knife and sends them over for Niko to look at later.

He debates just heading home to clean up, but there's one other person who might know something about the knife. 'Might' being the operative word—there's a lot Aster might know, given how little Nash actually knows about him. The boarding house is only a few streets from the club, though, so Nash finds himself there before he can talk himself out of it.

At least he has the sense to slip on his jacket and tuck the dagger into an inner pocket before leaving the car. Strolling into a place like this looking like you're out for blood is asking for trouble. He positions the blade carefully to avoid cutting himself again. He's starting to wonder if it might be poisoned or something. The wound still feels sticky and open, and normally he’d have started healing by now.

As Nash reaches the top of the stairs, soft music drifts from an open doorway. He glances in to see a small group playing cards on a bed. No Aster, so he continues down the hall. He’s starting to feel a little woozy, and maybe that’s because he’s hurt or maybe it’s just nerves. He probably shouldn’t be here, but it feels too late to chicken out now.

At Aster's door, Nash takes a deep breath, raises his hand, and knocks.

Aster answers the door dressed in nothing but his boxers, but Nash is ready for him this time and keeps his eyes firmly on his face. He'd expected Aster's expression to clearly show whether he was welcome or not. It doesn't.

Nash rubs the back of his neck. "I, uh. I was wondering if you could take a look at something for me?"

“Sure,” Aster says, amicable enough. Maybe a little too amicable, considering Nash just showed up uninvited when Aster's never indicated he wants to see him.

Nash pulls out the dagger. “Niko’s away and I couldn’t get hold of him. I sent him some pictures, but I haven’t heard back yet.I know these markings aren't like your runes," his eyes briefly flick down Aster's torso before he catches himself, "but, uh. Maybe you know something? I know it’s a long shot.”

Aster leans forward to examine the dagger, but when Nash tries to hand it to him, he straightens up and turns, disappearing into his room. He returns a moment later with the null-cloth he claimed from them after their first meeting in hand and uses it to take the dagger. It looks like he managed to wash the blood out of it.

"Oh, yeah, probably smart," Nash says. "Though I already got cut by the thing, so touching it can't make things much worse. Probably?"

Aster's eyes dart to the tear in Nash's shirt. He steps closer, and Nash's breath catches as Aster yanks up his shirt, sending a jolt straight to Nash's groin. Aster only lifts it enough to see half the cut before letting it fall, the examination over as abruptly as it began.

Aster hands back the dagger, still wrapped in the null-cloth. "Go to the clinic."

Nash presses his lips together around a chagrined smile. "Sorry. I shouldn't have barged over here instead of going to someone whose job it is to fix me up."

As always, Aster doesn’t spare him any words of comfort or condemnation. "Go," is all he says.

Nash nods and turns away, hearing Aster's door shut behind him. He sighs as he heads down the hall, the cut now a searing pain across his skin. At least Niko will appreciate having his null-cloth back.

As he heads back down the stairs, Nash feels all mixed up inside, and he’s not sure how much of it is the weird cut and how much of it is just embarrassment. Aster wasn't mean, but he was... curt? No, not quite. He didn't say much, but what he did say wasn't harsh. And Nash knows from their first meeting that when Aster's truly angry, he's far from quiet.

As Nash unlocks his car, he hears rapid footsteps. He turns to see Aster, now in a sweater and jeans, barefoot but clutching a worn pair of sneakers.

"I'm confused," Nash admits. "I would've waited if you'd asked. Need a ride?"

"I'm coming with you," Aster says, slightly out of breath as he rounds the car to the passenger side. "Get in."

None of this makes sense, but Nash isn't about to argue. He gets in.

"So, uh..." Nash says, watching Aster tie his shoes.

Aster just waves his hand, signalling Nash to start driving.

“Okay.”

Once they're moving, Aster asks, "Who cut you?"

Nash shrugs. “Some guy.”

“Did you know him?”

"Nah, never seen him before. He wasn't really after me. He got rough with a woman, I stepped in, and he got a swipe in before I knew what was happening."

“Where is he now?”

“He got away. I didn't peg him for a magic user, but he teleported when he reached a doorway. Is that hard to do?"

Aster shrugs, retrieving the dagger from the cup holder. He flicks on the overhead light to examine it. "Depends."

“On what?”

"On if you're good at it," Aster says like it's obvious, but Nash is sure there's more to it than that.

Nash watches Aster turn the dagger in his hands from the corner of his eye. "So, any idea what that thing is?"

Aster shrugs again.

"Well, it's nice to have the company, anyway," Nash says. "I'll admit, I don't really get you most of the time, but I want to. I'd like to know you better, if you'll let me."

"Mm," Aster says, eyes on the dagger. "But I have to assume that means you're a masochist, and I don't have the energy for all that."

Nash snorts out a laugh. "I'm not, I swear! I just—I don't know. I just wish you'd give me a chance." When Aster doesn't respond, Nash adds, "But maybe you are, right? I mean, you're here. We might be in for a long night, too. I doubt my little cut's gonna get priority treatment, so we could be waiting a while."

Aster turns to stare out the window. "Believe me, I know exactly what I'm in for."