The wind whips cold and damp, and it feels like home.
You're high up, crouched at the corner of the highest building on the skyline, and the world is yours for the taking. It's your city down there, your playground, and no one knows how to climb its branches better than you. Off the ground, you're unstoppable, and you haven't know real fear since a pimp dragged you off a sidewalk when you were twelve and sold you into things you intentionally don't remember anymore. No, this is freedom. No one owns you, and you want no one, and you care about no one. You don't even have a fence just then, because the last one was an ass, so it's just you, and the take that's glimmering around your wrist, and the city that you find beauty in while everyone else just sees filth. But you're like that with people, so why not with your city too? Not that you'd ever admit a fondness for anything, including this place. But you're alone, and there's no need to pretend just then.
You take the scenic route, because you're in no rush to head over to the dive you're currently calling home, and you play a game, touching the corner of each building with your heavily booted feet as you head into darker places and more danger corners. You're small and lightly, and speed is definitely your best asset, and you're not expecting anyone to be tailing you. No one's quick enough, not in this town.
But someone is, and a glance over your shoulder tells you who, and you feel a thrill chase along your spine. You've never actually met him, but you've heard of him (Who hasn't?), and you're impressed he's actually taken an interest in little old you. You don't slow down. You only go faster, higher, crawl into windows, wind through hallways and back out into the night again. It's hide-and-go-seek with tenements, and you're secretly hoping to get caught. Hey, you're young. It's just fine to live a little. And anyway, what girl doesn't like being chased?
He catches you with a free-fall that you didn't think he could do (No one told you he could fly), and you're precariously perched on the railing of a balcony when he lands heavily beside you. Oh, he's big, and even though you can't see his face, you can sure appreciate those moves. But that's not what makes you stay where you are. No, it's something in his eyes, something familiar, something you recognize. But that's too tender a moment, and you don't do tender, so you slide off the railing, and he watches you like he doesn't quite know what to do with you.
"Shut up," you tell him, and it's all purr, and you kiss him when he starts to argue that he didn't say anything. He stiffens, and he shoves, but you come right back at him, because you know what need looks like, you know what that itch looks like, and it's in his eyes. When he turns the tables, you purr, and what happens next is rough and dirty. You'll have bruises, and you'll have bite marks, but so will he, and you know this isn't a one-time thing. You've gotten hooked on things before, and you know what it feels like, and it feels like this.
"Did I hurt you?" is the first thing he asks, after, awkwardness and guilt replacing the need in his eyes, and you fall- hook, line and sinker. You expect him to take the bracelet (It's why he followed you, isn't it?), but he doesn't. "You're better than that," he tells you instead, and he motions to the jewels on your wrist.
"Maybe, but they look good on me," you tell him, and when you slide off the balcony, he doesn't follow. But you know you'll see him again. You've never been so sure of anything in your life, somehow. Maybe you'll keep the bracelet as a memento. You don't need the money that badly, not tonight.