A week passed before they went back to the bar.

They stayed in that weekend, watching crappy action movies (Kit's choice), old literary adaptations (Charlie's preference), and ordering take-out, eating it on the couch as if Kit was recovering from a cold and not...whatever had actually happened. 

On Monday, the werewolf went back to school, sat through his lecture about being absent, and collected a big pile of homework he'd missed. 

Yeesh, you're think I was gone two weeks instead of two days. 

At homeroom, Kit noticed Tyson and Corey arguing in whispers and glanced at them only to spot a purple bruise spreading over Corey's jaw and cheekbone. Tyson had a fading black eye, and Oliver was nowhere to be found. 

He thought about it, then shrugged and turned away.

Not my problem, he told himself. 

But at lunch, Oliver caught up with him just outside the cafeteria. He looked...determined. 

"Kit. Hey," he said, catching his wrist in a tight grip. The shorter boy glanced up, surprised, and resisted the urge to wrench free. 

"Hey yourself. What's up?" 

He looked pointedly down at his wrist, but the blond kept his grip, steering them to the side, away from the other students. 

"What are you doing this weekend?" 

"Why?"

"I got invited to a party." Oliver chewed his bottom lip, looking down, and Kit's eyebrows shot up. 

"Yeah? You going?"

"I want to...if you'll come with me."

"Me?"

"Please, I don't know anyone. I never get invited. I'd like to go - I don't want to pass through all of high school not having gone to a single party! But only if there's someone there that I can talk to."

"A house party?"

Oliver nodded.

"Far from here?"

He shook his head.

It was tempting, Kit had to admit. It had been months - holy shit, like six months - since he'd been to a house party. It had been before everything.

They were always good fun - free booze, loud music, and drunk, handsy people - and Kit was curious to see if a crowd from such a fancy school partied any differently than the kids he had used to hang out with. Anything could happen.

But...something had been up with Oliver lately. 

He acted differently -  avoiding Kit's questions and looking at him sideways. Granted, the wolf hadn't know him long enough to be sure about it, but he was wary. Something was up.

And Kit had started making a habit of hanging out with on Charlie on weekends. Looking out for his uncle didn't seem like such a chore anymore. 

"I don't know," he told Oliver. "I'll think about it."

"Please?"

"I gotta go, have a meeting." He pried his wrist free.  "I'll think about it, 'kay, Oliver?"

Walking away, he spun around to call out,

"Text me the time and address, okay? Text me!"

And his friend nodded, hands hanging limp at his sides, face cast in shadow from the bright cafeteria lights behind him.

Kit pushed his dejected expression out of his mind. He had an appointment in Mr. Dawson's office that he didn't want to miss.

Halfway there, his phone buzzed. Checking it casually, he stopped in his tracks.

Before his mother had passed away, Kit had been used to getting missed calls from unknown numbers and text that were all a variation on the same theme.

Your payment is due...

This is your last warning...

Interest and overdue fees...

We'll find out where you live...

And yeah, that had been a problem. But Kitty's condition was a more immediate problem. And after he lost her, their possessions, and the crappy space they rented, he had been taken in by the state and thrown away his cheap, plastic burner phone.

He'd then promptly exchanged his scratched, outdated smartphone with another teenager in transit and thrown away his old sim card. Now he lived in another state. And he'd never given anyone his real name.

So he saw no reason to care about those old messages.

Until, as he walked away from Oliver and towards his teacher's office, this text from an unknown number lit had up his phone.

Callaghan, it read.

Pay up.

That Friday, they returned to the bar like they'd agreed. 

Charles had gotten through the week with only the small emergency bottle he kept in his car, but he was starting to get headaches and cravings, temper shortening.

On the other hand, his work was going great. He could feel a breakthrough approaching, working long hours, absorbed in it. If only he could sort out this one little kink...

He ordinarily made calculations and some initial tests that he then handed over to the supporting test and research teams, but sometimes it was fun to make a trial batch himself, play around with it. 

But even as he raced towards this new formulae - it would be a good patent, he was sure of it - doubts crept into his mind for the first time since Hunter had offered him this job.

He wished he had someone to talk to about it - about his job, about Hunter, about what he owed him, about whether he should - 

Should I confide in Kit?

A few months ago the notion of asking for life advice from a 16-year-old stranger - his half-nephew who he'd never even met before - would have seemed ludicrous, but now...it suddenly seemed like a viable option. 

Who else could he ask?

Charles shook his head. Maybe tonight, if they got through their first visit to the bar since his mistake -

Since I slept with Amos 

- Maybe then he would talk to him. 

They had chosen a Friday night because they knew it would be busy, easier to blend in with the crowd. Charles spotted Amos alone at his table.

Didn't he used to stay in his office on busy nights, before?

Kit steered Charles towards two seats at the bar that just emptied, and winked at Zach, grinning at his surprised expression.

"Doc, blondie - long time no see."

"Not that long, Zach."

"It is when you used to be here all the time. I was getting worried my boss had gobbled you up."

Kit's smile was all teeth. "I'm not that easy to devour." 

"Maybe, but you left that one all alone, and he's a morsel if I ever saw one. Did'ya get home alright then, blondie?" he asked, nodding to Charles.

Kit glanced sideways at him. 

"Yeah," he answered when his uncle only blushed, "He got home fine."

"My boss wasn't too rough on you?"

"Your boss was what now?"

"He was working late, so he let your sweet uncle stay here for a bit - you know, we couldn't get him home. No-one to call..."

He turned his dark, dancing eyes on the blond again.

"Did he get you a taxi?"

"Yes," Charles answered, voice faint. He couldn't meet their eyes. "Er - I took a nap, then got a taxi. That's all."

"You came home at ten in the morning," Kit noted, examining his cuticles. 

"I - was tired. He had a - a lot of work to do. No mystery."

"Uh-huh. Hard at work..."

Zach snorted, placing Charles's usual drink down in front of him. When he reached for it, Kit placed a hand on top of his, catching his eyes. He looked...concerned?

"When you're vulnerable..." he said carefully, "Like you are, well - some people will be nicer. Look after you. Others will use it."

Kit looked at him, jerking his head in Amos's direction.

"So - is this guy one of them? Did he, Charlie? Pressure you into something?"

"No, of course not," Charles replied immediately, pulling free and gulping down the first drink before raising his hand for another.

Oh, he thought as the bitter, stinging, cold sweetness hit the back of his throat, eyes slipping closed. Finally.

He didn't hear what his nephew said next, too busy savouring the drink, trying to make it last instead of just continuing to gulp until his lips and tongue were numb and it hurt more than it felt good.

Kit turned his gaze on the man in the corner. 

He looked stern and imposing, shoulders broad under his dark suit. The man was built more like a bouncer than a manager.

And his aura didn't exactly scream 'small local business owner.'

Truth was, Kit had no reason to be upset or jealous over Charlie breaking their promise. It had been his uncle's idea from the start, and Kit had broken his promise too - just not in the way he'd told the other man.

So if Charlie had slept with that surly guy - if he wanted to do it again - it was really none of Kit's business. 

But the other question was, had that man taken advantage of his - no, not his - of Charlie, when he was drunk and vulnerable?

When Kit had refused to come pick him up?

Because that pissed him off. 

It didn't matter that Charlie had enjoyed it, if he hadn't been sober enough to agree to it.

And it didn't matter that he was eight years older than the little werewolf - he was still his responsibility now, goddammit. 

Turning back to Zach, he quirked an eyebrow.

"What's his name?"

The bartender met his eyes. "Amos."

"Right."

Kit slid off of the barstool, pulling his hoodie up as he went.

"I'll be right back."

Then he sauntered straight up to the table in the dark corner that no-one but the owner ever sat at - that even the patrons only paused at, to offer a muted greeting before moving on - and plopped down at it, slinging an arm over the back of his chair. 

"Hey there, Amos,"  he said casually. "What's up?"

The gaze the businessman gave him when he raised his eyes from the laptop screen could have frozen vodka. It conveyed exactly what he thought of rude interruptions from cheeky teenagers.

"Nothing I can imagine would concern you."

"Really? How about a certain blond someone you've been fucking?"

His eyes narrowed imperceptibly. "Are you asking me what my intentions are? Get lost, kid."

"Actually, it's Kit. Callaghan. Not at your service. And you're the one who should get lost if you're planning to mess with my uncle."

"Callaghan. How old are you exactly?"

"Not that old. Old enough. Too old."

"Which is it?"

"The three are not mutually exclusive. It doesn't matter how old I am. What matters is matters between you and my uncle."

"Which matters are you referring to exactly?"

"The matter of whether you took advantage of him while he was blackout drunk, or not."

"Is that what he told you?"

"He isn't a reliable narrator - I'd like to hear it from you."

Amos leaned forward, looming over the teenager, who refused to back down, glaring at him.

"The one who ran out without a word, without leaving his number, and without showing his face once before tonight wasn't me, Mr. Callaghan. It was him. So kindly refrain from taking that tone with me."

"Or what?"

"Or I will lose my patience with this conversation. With all due respect - " his tone perfectly conveyed how little respect he thought that was, 

"What's between your - relative - and I is none of your concern."

"Oh yes it is. I'm the one who's going to have to deal with the fallout when you chew him up and spit him out. When you break his heart."

Amos looked surprised. Kit propped his elbows up on the tabletop, leaning forward to stare into the other man's eyes. 

They made a strange pair - the other man looked at least twice Kit's age, and three times his size. Formidable and strong, as opposed to the skinny, pretty teenager. But the boy wasn't budging an inch before his severe frown. 

"So if you're just looking for someone to take advantage of and treat like shit, then with no due respect at all - kindly piss off. And leave my relative - alone."

He tipped the brim of his hoodie at him and scraped the chair back, standing to leave.

"And if I don't intend to take advantage of him?" 

That made Kit pause. "Prove it."

He put extra swagger into his step as he criss-crossed back to his seat next to Charlie.

Swiftly getting back to his homework, so absorbed in an equation that it wasn't until he felt his uncle shift beside him that he looked up and spotted Amos.

Who was walking slowly towards them, laptop folded under one arm.

He didn't look at either of the two, but walked up diagonally behind them, exchanging a look with Zach.

Then he leaned forward over Charlie's shoulder, voice quiet by his ear.

"Hello again, Charlie."

Kit heard the blond gulp, throat working. A small shudder ran through him and he leaned back as if on instinct, closer to the older man. 

He calls him Charlie.

The young man watched them through narrowed eyes, raising his drink.

What the - 

"Have dinner with me."

Kit swallowed a gulp of soda so quickly that the bubbles fizzed up into his sinuses, making him wince.

"I - w-what?" Charlie stammered, fiddling his his shirt sleeve.

Amos still looked imposing and remained unsmiling, but his eyes looked softer somehow, fixed on the tall, slender blond. 

"Have. Dinner. With. Me."

"But - you said I was terrible, despicable - "

Kit ground his molars but it was no more than what he himself might have said less than a week ago - so why did he hate the idea of someone else speaking to Charlie that way?

Then Amos looked over and pinned Kit with his gaze.

"You were right."

"I was - what now?"

"I should have made myself clear from the start."

He turned back to Charlie, who was swaying slightly in his seat, not drunk, just - 

"Charlie. I said some inappropriate things to you. I was judgemental about your habits and - " his eyes flickered over to Kit, who was watching them both intently.

" - Other things."

"It - It's okay - "

"It's not!" Kit bit out. 

"No, it's not," Amos said calmly. "But I believe owning up to my mistakes and righting wrongs with action. So, dove - "

He placed a black, shining business card onto the polished marble in front of the blond, sliding it forward with his index finger and leaning even closer to speak into his ear.

"During our interactions in the future, whatever they may be - that's up to you - I will endeavour to make it up to you."

Raising one straight dark eyebrow slightly at Kit, Amos picked up Charlie's hand where it was resting on the marble and pressed a brief, chaste kiss to his knuckles.

The effect on the blond was instant. His entire body seemed to flush, even the tips of his ears turing bright red.

"Take my card. Think about dinner."

And he whispered something more into his ear - something Kit didn't catch - before walking away, through the door to his office, leaving the room feeling a few degrees colder, the tension releasing like a broken vacuum seal.

Charlie glanced at the card and over at Kit, looking almost forlorn, then wistful, then - 

"I - Wait!"

He picked it up and rushed over after the bar owner.

Kit looked back at his soda glass, sticky, half-empty, and with most of the bubbles gone. Sighing, he drained the rest of Charlie's glass before Zach could clear it away.

"Well shit." He rolled his eyes. "Not how I was expecting that to go."

The bartender snorted. "How did you see it going down? He's the silent type but trust me, Amos tends to get his way. Don't worry - you'll get used to it."

Zach started filling crushed ice into his cocktail shaker, winking at him when he saw Kit watching his muscles flex.

"What's so great about him, anyway?" Kit muttered, sipping his drink. Soda. Stupid soda.

Damn, what he wouldn't do for something stronger just about now.

"Oooh, you jelly?"

"Fuck no."

"Sometimes, the people you love have other people that they love - "

"I don't love that idiot - "

Kit narrowed his eyes, feeling annoyed. He smiled, slow, lazy, matching the older boy.

"Zach, what'd take to make you angry?"

"...Whatcha mean?"

"Everything is a joke to you, isn't that right? Nothing matters...you don't give a shit about anything. I think I'd like to see you angry."

"I don't think you would."

Kit raised his eyebrows. "You suuure about that?"

He twirled a straw between his quick, nimble fingers.

"From what you've seen of me?"

Zach leaned forward over the counter, close enough that his breath ghosted over Kit's face when he spoke.

"I guess you'll never know."

He plucked the straw from the younger man's fingers and flicked it into the trash.

We'll see.

"One might take that as a challenge."

Zach only smirked at him.

"What do you think they're doing in there?" he asked, swiftly decorating four glasses with mint sprigs and fresh berries.

"I don't want to know."

The bartender laughed. "You could tell they were into each other, though."

"'Course."

"How'd you know? You always seem to guess these things - who's gay or not, who's into who."

"Whom," Kit muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing, fuck, I've been studying too much lately. It's making my brain go funny."

He shook his head. 

"Part of it is just sounding sure. Act confident enough and no-one will question you."

"True. But if you were just bullshitting, how come you're right? You can just tell by looking at them?"

"I'm not bullshitting. And no. You can't tell what someone likes - who or what they're into - by what the look like. It's more about what they look at."

He leaned forward too, closer to the older boy.

"Who do their eyes follow, where does their gaze snag. What are their hands and feet doing, where is their centre of gravity pointing. Those micro expressions that flit across a face for a second before the person tries to cover them up. When you look for that stuff, you see it, and when you understand it well enough, you don't even have to look for it."

Zach cocked his head to the side, leaning forward and resting his elbows on top of the bar. The movement made his black T-shirt shift over his deltoids, riding up his arms.

"Tone of voice might tell you something too," Kit continued, licking the sweetness from the soda off his lips, watching the bartender watch him. 

"Maybe their choice of words. But what they're saying with those words tends to be absolutely meaningless."

"You sound pretty sure about that, Doc. Are you always right?"

"Usually - but I miss things too. I'm wrong sometimes."

It tends to cost me.

Zach chucked another soda down in front of him with a wry smile - as if he could guess just how much the younger boy loathed it - and left Kit in order to deliver his cocktails and collect some more drink orders.

A moment later, a handsome young man slid into the empty seat next to the teen.

"Hi there - "

"I'm busy, fuck off."

Thankfully, he took the hint, and soon the anonymous crowd pressed in to fill the gap where he'd been. 

Scowling, Kit turned back to his pile of homework.