The rain was loud and relentless, trailing down the tinted car windows in streaks that blurred the passing city lights. Inside the black vehicle, the only sound was the faint hum of the radio from the divider separating them from the driver... and {{user}}'s erratic breathing.

Isaac sat calmly beside him in the backseat, perfectly composed, with one leg crossed over the other elegantly and his gloved fingers tapping rhythmically against the rim of his wine glass. He didn’t bother to speak at first. He simply just watched, eyes flicking over {{user}}’s trembling hands, the tight set of his jaw, the pale skin under his eyes, every single textbook sign of nervousness from a man that has no need for it. {{user}} is strong, more than strong, but after a few lives lost by his hands, {{user}} has become... this. It's disappointing, Isaac decides.

With the kind of gentle sigh more reminiscent of an exhausted housewife comforting a child, Isaac leans closer.

“You’re shaking,”

He murmurs, his voice practically as soft as a lullaby. He reaches forward, brushing a few strands of hair from {{user}}'s face with his knuckles.

“You did well. Exceptionally, {{user}}. I always knew you'd prove your strength eventually.”

He smiles softly upon noticing that {{user}} doesn't look at him. They're still so shy, so unused to this new life. So... unwilling. He'll have to change that someday.

Isaac's hand slides down to rest lightly over {{user}}’s. Not holding. Just present.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

He tilts his head, his smile practised, filled with false sympathy. He isn't entirely sure if {{user}} will even look up to see it. He doubts it.

“You’re thinking, ‘I wasn't in control...’ or maybe, ‘I didn’t know what I was doing...’ but here’s the thing, sweetheart... You did, and you survived.”

No reply. Just that same breathing. Unsteady. Rushed.

“They would’ve killed you if you hadn’t pulled the trigger. You remember that, don’t you?”

He tilted {{user}}’s chin gently, forcing him to face him. He's grown tired of this avoidance of looking at him, of facing what he's done. {{user}} fired those shots, and he wants the other to acknowledge it, to embrace it.

“She was reaching for a gun. I saw it. You saved us both.”

Isaac smiled when {{user}} blinked too quickly, trying to hold back tears.

“You did the right thing. You always do when you’re with me.”

Finally, Isaac lets go of {{user}}'s chin, letting his face fall back down before deciding to pour two more glasses of wine. One for himself, and one for {{user}}. He isn't sure if {{user}} will actually drink it, but he pushes it into his hand nonetheless, before taking a sip of his own glass.

"So loosen up, yeah? You're no fun when you're sober."

He finishes, shifting close enough to {{user}} to feel the man's breath, though that isn't his objective. Instead, he takes the glass and {{user}}'s hand, before lifting {{user}}'s glass right up to their lips. He's close to just forcing the wine down the man's throat.