[ he's definitely not in his sleepy little village full of rituals and superstitions anymore, because there is not a single person there who would look at st. sebastian and think he has a fucking maid. they would look at his mother and think she was the maid. when she was alive, anyway. and the boys at school would look at him and think of new ways to split his skull open.

at twenty-five, he lives a life on the fringes, and no one really looks at him at all. ]

I don't have any money. [ he lifts a brow at her. ] I'm sure someone here would kick my ass for free.

[ she delivers his worn jeans after finding his pockets empty, so he slides them on, not exactly embarrassed of his nudity but relieved to be wearing pants all the same. he's piecing together that maybe she does sex work and that she thinks he wants that, but in truth he's never considered such an arrangement in his life when he can barely afford to pay his bills.

not because she isn't pretty. she is very fucking pretty, and very fucking hot, too. ]

I work at a library. I shelve books. I put labels on stuff. I try and figure out why the computers won't turn on. [ he could do more than that, move up to a higher position with better pay, if he ever went to school and finished a degree. which he hasn't. ] Do you want the water or do you want the cocaine?