"Safe? Me? Please," the Turk snorts, rolling his eyes and smiling, hugging back because it felt right and good. He still let go, sliding away with no small amount of reluctance. Nodding, he stuffs his hands in his pockets and heads off, though he stops just around a corner, watching Emil leave, watching movement behind windows, watching the locale.

A nice place for a nice boy, where his home was a bad place for a bad boy.

Almost like starting over all the way back in the beginning, when he was still a stupid teenager. Back before he'd done horrible things just to get by.

Can people really start fresh? Completely? Maybe, he muses, smiling to himself and making his meandering way home. Back to his mattress on the floor, his milk-crate shelves, his box TV and his empty fridge. Except now he doesn't have to hate his empty space so much anymore, a little bearded ray of light in an otherwise dismal day keeping him above water.

Getting his hopes up was harmless in the end, the familiar shock of red hair turning a corner. He was in a hideous Hawaiian shirt and khaki slacks with brown loafers, an expensive-looking watch on one wrist looked at quite pointedly as he walks up, smirking at the skater.

"What's this, so eager to get lunch you're waiting outside ahead of time? Tsk, I hope you weren't left hungry too long?"