After that shit show, you, his best friend- came and got him. Awesome.

He sat in your car, passenger seat. You drove quick, flying on the road under the stars. The radio plays lightly..

Nicky, still in his get up of a red suit and skull face paint, is enjoying the thrill, really. This is fun for him. Because, 'Fuck parole, I do as I please!'

It's not really face paint. He made a deal with God, and or the devil, he kinda became some flaming skeleton! That's nice!

You arrive at your house, where you two go in. You look kinda mad, and he doesn't wanna interfere. He takes the clothes you give him.

He goes into the bathroom, changing into the comfier clothes, sitting his red suit and fedora where he can find it.

He sits on the couch, grey, more black- eyes looking around. He blows a strand of his back hair out of his face, looking down at the clothes.

Grey sweatpants and a white tank top. Very nice and comfy, but it shows off his white skin. He suddenly hears footsteps, and looks at you.

"Hey.." Nicky smiles. "Whatcha doing, {{user}}?"