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Auguste was still pulling at the branches, trying to help, but all he got was a disgruntled sounding swear and then the other was dragging himself free, leaves sprinkling the ground at his feet. A hand pushed away his own, clearly not wanting any sort of assistance, which, to be perfectly honest, seemed kind of rude, though Auguste merely stepped back, brows drawing together.

Pasha’s leash was still wrapped around his leg. Auguste saw the glint of red embers and smoke and said “Wait, don - “ with his fingers outstretched, possibly to grab the other’s wrist - but too late. He’d already smashed his palm down onto the dying cigarette, effectively snuffing out the potential for a brushfire, though in a less than an ideal way.

Well, that’s one way to do it, Auguste thought, as the other turned to face him. He had dark eyes the color of pitch, dark hair dragged messily back into a bun at the back of his head, and he was looking at Auguste with something remarkably like disgust. There was blood on his face, which didn’t really help the whole livid expression, only exacerbated it.

The angry tone should have been expected, but somehow it wasn’t. Auguste felt the beginnings of a flush begin to spread across his cheeks, mouth opening in surprise. Against his leg, Pasha made a low rumbling sound, almost a growl, but not quite, her fluffy weight pressing into him, reminding him he wasn’t alone.

“This is a walking path,” said Auguste slowly. “I was walking here, like I always do. I’m not even sure you’re supposed to be skating here at all.”

“No one has ever stopped me,” and that was all the permission Matteo needed to skate on this path and be pissed off at Auguste for being here. It was possible he had a little bit of a territorial issue.

As he rose up to his full height, he brushed away the dirt that clung to his skinnies and immediately began searching for the skateboard that had been abandoned in his attempt to not run over a dog - that was growling at him now. Of course. It made his lip curl into a harsh sneer as he glanced from the walking fluff to its owner, deciding that neither of them were very appreciate of the fact that he’d just nearly given himself a concussion in order to avoid hurting one (or both) of them.

And why was the pretty boy blushing anyway? Somehow, that just made him more annoyed.

“You’re going to ******** trip.” The words were spat between them like a curse but he didn’t want the guy to fall on his face because of his dog’s leash and then try to blame him. It’s what people always did whenever he was around and he would be damned if this became his fault too. With a jutting finger, he pointed at the dog leash, then rolled his eyes as he stepped over the edge of the bush.

A few feet away, he spotted his board - thankfully, it seemed, unharmed.

The look of outrage on Auguste’s face increased. He could feel the irritating rising, and it felt like a strange and new feeling, because he wasn’t the sort of person who got irritated easily. He was used to brushing things off, used to setting them aside, used to just swallowing whatever he got as it came, because there was never any point in fighting back.

Except he knew now, after the last year or two, that there was a point. He just hadn’t seen it until he had been forced to see it.

Pasha’s ears were still upright, and she was still maintaining her distance from the skater, which Auguste appreciated. Less appreciated was the snarling scowl he was getting in return.

“I’m not sure where you get the idea that just because no one has stopped you yet, doesn’t mean that it’s not against the rules,” he said, managing to keep his voice under control. “I’m sure people don’t tell you not to go jump off a cliff, but it doesn’t mean that you should.”

The outrage increased again. Auguste’s ears were burning, and he took a defiant step forward - or tried to, at least, because damn it, the guy had been right. His leg tangled in Pasha’s leash, making him stumble, though he did at least manage to keep his balance and not faceplant onto the ground, or onto this stranger’s chest.

“Thanks for the advice,” Auguste said, voice laden with sarcasm as he half knelt to try and untangle the leash from his ankle. “How very nice of you to consider my well being now, when you nearly just ran me over.”

“And if I thought jumping off of a cliff was fun, I would do that too. What’s your point?”

Oh, he knew what kind of point Auguste was trying to make. There was no doubt. It was simply that he didn’t care because in Matteo’s mind if no one stopped him then he could do what he wanted. Graffiti, skating, shoplifting occasionally. The therapist he had been forced to see for a while told his mother that he was just acting out, that it was all a phase he would grow out of once he had gotten over everything. It wasn’t a phase, though. Not for Matteo. It was a newfound reality.

You could what you wanted until someone stopped you. Rules were made for fools.

He had stooped to grab his skateboard up in one hand and was busy rolling the wheels to make sure none of the gear had come loose or cracked when he saw Auguste stumble from the corner of his eye. A hand shot out, like he might catch him, but the stranger righted himself. So he was an a*****e, sure, but it was the second time he had tried to stop the guy from getting hurt.

“So you’re mad because I almost ran into you. I don’t know if you’ve ******** noticed but I’m bleeding from the effort of not plowing you and your pretty little dog over so why don’t you start showing me some damn gratitude?”

The dark man made a ‘tch’ under his breath and tucked his skateboard under one arm long enough to dig around for his smokes. When he pulled the package out, though, it was dented and smashed - along with every cigarette inside. Great. When he looked back up at Auguste, he was glowering.

“Are you going to leave or do I need to untangle you too? Just let me know whatever it takes to get you the hell out of my hair.”

That was not the answer he had wanted to hear, especially because it was practically dripping with sarcasm. Auguste was starting to realize that whatever he said wasn’t getting through to this guy, what with his dark hair and dark eyes and striking good looks that were definitely marred by the fact that he couldn’t seem to say a nice thing about anything.

He’d maybe tried to catch him as Auguste fell. That was about the most decent thing he’d done since almost crashing into him, though truth be told, Auguste wasn’t entirely sure it hadn’t just been a reflex. Maybe he just didn’t want to have an actual injury on his conscience, who knew?

“I’m not mad because you almost ran into me,” Auguste said heatedly, as slender fingers yanked at the leash around his ankle. “I’m annoyed because you don’t seem to have any sort of regard for anyone else around you. What if I’d had a baby with me or you’d run into Pasha? You didn’t do us any favors by veering off the side of the walkway - “ There was a definite emphasis on the word walk - “just because you didn’t hit us. If you hadn’t been skating in the first place on the walkway, then this wouldn’t have even happened.”

He eyed the box of cigarettes in the other’s hand, Auguste’s fingers stilling on the leash.

“Those can kill you, you know,” he said bluntly.

Annoying.

That was the only word that came to mind as the other continued to prattle on and on about the technicalities of a pathway versus a walkway and the only thing that was obvious to Matteo in the moment was that he wasn’t going to drop this bullshit so long as he was forced to stand there.

“You’re ******** fine though, so just drop it.”

Matteo wasn’t in the mood today, or really any day, to argue with or be chastised by someone he didn’t know. He barely tolerated it from the people he did. He was busy plucking his lighter free from the box when he heard Auguste’s words and it made him laugh, short and cold, before he crossed the pathway and chunked the damaged pack into the trash bin.

“Yeahp, that’s the plan.” Matteo wasn’t afraid of death and he certainly didn’t give much of a ******** at all about living. The words he used for Auguste were clipped and distant, no more familiar or kind than if he had been talking to an automated answering service. “Everyone’s gotta go some how.”

He turned back to him with one hand plunged into his pocket, curled around his lighter, and the other toting his board underneath an arm; he was ready to get the hell out of here and away from pretty mcglitterface. The guy still hadn’t gotten any closer to unwinding the leash that was locking his ankles together though - it was both amusing and irritating. If he left him here like this, would he be one of those assholes that reported him to the park authority?

Probably.

“Look last chance, dude, do you want my help with that or not?”

Auguste gave the other man an irritated look, blue eyes narrowing. Whether or not he was fine was beside the point, which seemed to be in a glaringly different direction than wherever this guy was looking. Clearly he wasn’t going to listen to a word that Auguste was saying, and he wasn’t even sure why he was trying in the first place, since doubtless it wouldn’t make a difference.

The cold and distant tone of his voice, however, made his brow furrow even further, some of the iciness leaving Auguste’s face. He pressed his lips together, gaze flickering from the cigarettes, to the lighter in the other’s hand, to the remote expression on his face, dark eyes unreadable. It was not the sort of answer that he had expected, nor a particularly easygoing one. There was something too flat about the way he spoke.

“Why not go later, then?” Auguste asked. “Instead of cutting, oh, I don’t know, a decade or two off of your lifespan?”

Pasha had sat down beside him, her fluffy tail resting on the pavement. Auguste reached out a hand absently and stroked fingers through her soft fur, grounding himself with the familiarity of her presence, her warmth, her solid presence that reminded him he wasn’t alone. Sunlight was across his face, emphasizing the thinner, sharper line of his jaw, the dark circles beneath his eyes that hadn’t been there a year ago.

There was another biting comment that dragged him back to reality. Auguste felt his face flush with something like embarrassment, which felt frustrating, because he wasn’t the sort to get embarrassed under normal circumstances. But his year away and his subsequent losses had changed things, whether he liked them or not.

“You’re the one who got me into this,” said Auguste tightly. “So yes, come here and help me, if you please.”

“Why does it matter?” And when Matteo said it, he didn’t mean why does it matter to you - he meant precisely what he said. Why did it matter at all? What point was there? In this, in life, in existing to suffer? Matteo had accepted a long time ago that he probably had a death wish, that he was probably depressed and angry and never coming back from it because he had no one and didn’t know how to let knew people in anymore. He’d accepted all of it but he was still here because he knew what his mother’s face looked like when Arturo had gone missing on a mission the great U S of A marine corp refused to explain to them. It was enough for him to hold on even if he wasn’t happy while he was doing it. “A decade or two doesn’t mean a thing to me.”

The dark, blank man rolled his shoulders at Auguste. All he saw when he looked at him was a pretty braid, neat clothes, and a dog that looked like it got better grooming than Matteo did. He was blind to the little bits and pieces that suggested a lack of sleep or anxiety. Blind because he just didn’t care.

“Got you into this, sure, sure,” it was an aggravated mumble under his breath as he took a few steps forward and dropped to one knee before the pale man. The skateboard was settled in the grass so it wouldn’t roll and then he was leaning forward, reaching out for the leash that was twisted around a pair of pretty ankles. As he worked, the blood on his forehead pooled and dripped, dropping splatters of crimson on the back of his dark hand. He needed to clean that up soon.

“How the ******** did you even manage this?”

A hand slid the end of the leash through a complex twist, threading it and uncurling sections. It felt like he was trying to solve one of those damn brain teaser puzzles his Uncle Vito always liked.

“It should,” said Auguste.

Something in the man’s voice was...dead. Cold and flat, as though every word was said without emotion, with nothing to hide behind except the absolute truth. And the absolute truth was enough to make Auguste stare at him, lips slightly parted, trying to figure out what sort of person had gotten to that point in their life where it didn’t matter anymore.

Except...except he could recall a time, a year ago, when he had almost been there too. When he had been there, on his knees on Thrymr, screaming into a shapeless space where no one could hear him, and where he was so sure that there was nothing else out there for him. And yet he was here, now, because he’d fought his way back to the surface, so why was this man just brushing things off so easily as though it didn’t matter?

Something in his throat felt unexpectedly tight; a hot swooping anger mixing with the embarrassment that was already present. Auguste swallowed it back, lips pressing together, watching as the other man stooped down, a look of unhappy aggravation on his tanned face as he reached for Auguste’s ankles.

Auguste shifted, trying to balance while still crouching, overshot, and ended up sitting back on his a** on the walkway. Pasha nudged his head with her nose, but Auguste pushed himself forward, hands scraping gravel.

“I was trying to get out of someone’s way, if I recall,” he said flatly. Something wet and red hit the ground. Auguste glanced at it, then up at the other’s head, feeling out of sorts and annoyed. His bag was still slung around his shoulder; Auguste reached under the flap and dug around until he could pull out a small packet of tissues. He tugged one out and stretched a hand forward towards the other’s head.

“Here, let me - “

Hands paused as Auguste fell, flatly, onto his a**- there was some snide remark sitting on his tongue when he looked up to him sprawled against the cobbled pathway but then he saw the drop of blood settle between them and knew what Auguste was doing even before he did.

His first instinct was to pull away because, really, ******** this guy. He didn’t though, he just sighed and leaned forward enough that Auguste could dab at the cut across his forehead. It made him wince and knew that it was probably deeper than he had expected; maybe it would scar. He would have to make up a much better story than this if it did.

Pushing it to the back of his mind, he tried to ignore the other man’s careful hand as he went back to pulling and threading the leash that he had tangled himself in. It was easier, now, with him sitting down like this but he wasn’t going to say as much. In a matter of a couple of minutes, he finally shoved the leash end through a particularly bizarre knot and felt it come loose in his hands. One grabbed his shoe and lifted it up, slipping the leash free, then dropped it back unceremoniously to the pathway.

He held up the end between them, offering it back to the guy where he sat crouched in front of him.

“Here. Try not to trip over yourself next time.”

Auguste dabbed the tissue gingerly against the cut on the other’s forehead, trying not to push too hard, though it probably still stung. He caught sight of the small wince and almost thought good, if only because this entire situation had been rotten from the start, and it would serve him right, in all honesty.

But he still couldn’t do that, because try as he might, it just went against everything he knew. Auguste wiped away the excess droplets, trying to touch as little as possible, and finally drew his hand away. At almost the same moment, he felt the leash around his ankles come loose, and then a hand was grabbing his foot in an unceremonious lift that allowed him to drag the band free, though Auguste was still staring at him, a startled expression on his face.

At least the circulation was coming back to his legs. Auguste felt a scowl tug at his lips, pink suffusing his cheeks.

“Thank you,” he said, with as much dignity as he could muster under the circumstances. He scrambled to his feet, snatching up Pasha’s leash. “I’ll make sure to remember that the next time someone almost knocks me over. Come on, Pasha.”

And then he was turning, stalking away, before the other could see the burn of embarrassment on his face.