It couldn't be a good life.
More and more, Blair became convinced that explained a lot about why Nikita was the way he was. Maybe he had just always been an asshole, but his restless, caged-wolf feeling couldn't be helping things.
"Why do you offer this?" Nikita asked, winding his headphone cord around a finger.
Blair hadn't worked out the full reasoning why. Self-interest?
Compulsion to comfort others?
He settled on, "Because we're friends."
…
And that was how Blair found himself standing at a trailhead in the middle of the night, bundled up against a characteristic Minnesota November. His breath coming out in cool, vaporous puffs, he passed an empty backpack to Nikita, who stood opposite him.
"You can put your stuff in here," he offered. "So that way you don't.
Y'know." He mimed shredding his shirt off like The Hulk.
Nikita laughed, though he tightened down the volume of it.
