"Whiskey wins," Elisha pronounced. "It always does. And as it happens, I believe I have some at home that you can pretend to have bought for me." He glanced over as Hadyn shivered slightly - he was always cold - and one-handedly tugged the scarf from around his neck. "Here," he said, awkwardly draping it on his boyfriend. "You New Yorkers have such thin blood. I don't know how you make it through February."

Well, he did. Hadyn looked like the Stay-Puft marshmallow man in his parka. Winter wasn't anyone's most stylish season in this city, to be fair.

He took the hydrocodene and dropped it in his messenger bag as they approached the station. He eyed the metal stairs leading to the platform with distinct dislike. "I hate the El," he muttered as he fumbled his ventra card out.