Page 55 of Marked by the Demigod

"Only if I want them to." Iakov mutters, sticking his hands in his pockets.

The stroll in silence for a few moments, and she steals another glance at him. "It's been a bit," she says, slow.

He nods, curt and almost distracted. "Been running around everywhere." He eyes a couple as they walk by, but they pay no attention to him.

She watches him, the strange feeling of calm over her. "Well, I'm walking for an early dinner, you want to come along?"

He jerks, giving her a startled look. "Yes? I...yes." And so many expressions cross his face in such a quick amount of time that she almost gets whiplash.

She knocks shoulders with him, and he leans against her, his jaw working. "So..." she trails off. "What'cha here for?"

"Hmmm?" he says, watching a group of teenagers sharply as they walk past them. He leans in closer, away from the group.

And she's not naive enough to think that he'd stop by without a reason. "Everything going okay? You safe?"

It draws his attention enough that he looks at her, and the familiar feeling of comfort and home snaps within her. "Just thought I'd stop and say hello," he mutters. There are bags under his eyes and his skin looks ragged enough that, when they reach the next cross street, instead of following the bike trail, she pulls him down a quiet suburban street.

The moment they get outside of view of the crowds of the trail, the muscle in the middle of his shoulder unwinds. It's heartbreaking enough that she leans against him, winding her arm around his waist.

He hmmms and drapes an arm over her shoulder, and they walk in silence for a few seconds. "It's...been a bit. Since I slept," he says, his voice rough. "I didn't think too clearly, and came here instead of one of my safe houses." The arm around her tightens.

The breeze on the side streets is just as nice, and the noise is a bit further away, and every step they take he relaxes. "What makes something a safe house?" She asks, more out of a need to fill the air than anything else. Touching him feels nice. Real.

Even with all the knowledge of all the things he did.

"Inability to be tracked." A car drives by, and he watches, before continuing. "In the 1980s I got into the whole underground bunker trend, but those are...difficult to maintain."

She raises an eyebrow at him. "Underground bunker?"

He shoots her a brief, tired smile. "You know, room with no entrance? Can only get there by teleporting, they're nifty, but so tiring." The concept is so foreign to her that she can't help but crack a smile, which he matches, crooked. "Mostly now warded hotel rooms and the occasional houses in out of the way areas."

They draw close to the restaurant, and she pulls him aside on the sidewalk, looking up at him, and the attention makes him shift. "Do you want me to order something for you here?"

He raises his eyebrows at her.

"It's a small place, but it can be crowded."

"I'm okay with crowds," he says, disgruntled.

And okay she's seen him in much more crowded areas, but he still looks like he's going to jump out of his skin. "Yes, but you're tired now, and've stared at everyone who's walked by."

She doesn't know what he's searching for in her eyes, but whatever it is he finds it. "I'll be okay," he says, soft. "Didn't think I was that obvious."

She smiles at him, and he briefly looks so affected that it's hard to look at, then pulls him onto the Main Street and into the little store.

It's adorable, with a faux Western what-not store feel to it, but not crowded. They order their food to go and sit at a tiny booth to wait, pressing up against each other. Iakov keeps a clear eye on the door, when his face abruptly changes into something a little bit funny, a little bit alert, and a little bit scowling.

She pokes his side. "What?" she asks.

He drapes his arm back over her shoulder in such a clearly possessive move that she only has a brief second to wonder, before Rocky strides into view.

She tenses, feeling the familiar want to fold in on herself and doing everything she can to not do so. "Oh god." She mutters, staring hard at the little linoleum table in front of them.

He walks right by, not even giving them a glance, and Iakov presses a kiss into the crown of her head. "That's the shitty ex, right?" he whispers.

She nods, scowling at the table. Of course he'd still be going here.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him waiting at a nearby table, just like they are, and she hates this. Hates how she wants to hide and not look at him directly and not do anything to draw attention to her at all.

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