It was a chilly night, the air from this high up whipped around you quicker than normal — standing on the rooftop of a building in the city you grew up in — hands stuffed in your jacket pockets.

The hum of distance traffic filled your ears, it felt familiar; like home. You hadn’t returned here in years, hadn’t spoken to Keegan in years. A shame. You two were so close before everything went down, before he turned good.

After the fallout with him, you shook him from your mind, and that was fine with you — but when he called you for help on a random night, voice strained; you knew he needed your help and you were the last option.

Quiet footsteps came from behind you, glancing over your shoulder to see Keegan standing a few feet away. The same sharp eyes, less of a boyish face now, but there was a familiar knowing underneath the surface.

He walked up next to you, his own hands going into his jacket pockets as he took in your familiarity.

“Been a while, {{user}},” he said, low and steady; caution lacing his words. The familiar smirk in his voice.

“Didn’t expect you to call,” you replied, eyes finding his in the darkness.

“I wouldn’t have if it wasn’t important,” his jaw ticked. “I need your expertise. We’re working on something huge and I need someone who’s not afraid to get their hands fucking dirty.”

His words stung, he knew exactly what you were capable of and him asking you for help now was ironic — since he was suddenly now willing to overlook everything that had torn you two apart in the first place.

He hated the business you got yourself into, hated that you would do almost anything for information, you two fought about it over and over — and now he had the audacity to ask for your help?

“Can you help or not?” He scoffed, his eyes narrowing their gaze over your face as if trying to read your mind.