Chapter Text
The first thing Doppio notices upon opening his eyes is a jail cell.
This is strange, notably, because Doppio distinctly remembers having just signed his life away to some weirdo trench coat-wearing “headmaster”—who, by the way, smokes cigars like his mouth’s permanently layered in ash and talks like he walked straight off the set of a 60’s true crime movie—to get out of a prison cell.
Last he remembers, Doppio was just in the middle of following a very well-meaning girl—
(“—Student council vice president Kotoka Torahime,” the girl introduces herself, holding a hand for Doppio to shake. It’s an olive branch—an offering. A good, well-meaning and polite gesture and Doppio should not look so far into it—
—but he can’t help but notice how her eyes don’t quite glint like they should. Notice the callouses and muscles on her hands and arms that are way thicker and stronger than any quirky but otherwise normal college student should have. Notice the silent warning in her smile, telling Doppio to behave.
So he takes her hand, even if it’s just for the notion of peace for now.)
—on some sort of mini-campus tour. He keeps up, for the most part, taking note of where his classes are supposed to be and trying not to dread all the catch-up work he’s about to face for coming into class halfway through the semester already. At least he’s only got three classes, making up for dropping out of high school.
Mentally, Doppio glares at the voice that sounds suspiciously like his high school guidance counsellor to shut up. This is not karma.
As they reached the end of the tour, the girl led Doppio to the campus student union building. The instant he stepped through those giant mahogany doors and blinked, he was suddenly back to sitting on a cold concrete jail floor.
The cell is surprisingly spacious, all things considered. It’s a nice five-by-five, with a toilet in one corner and a wooden shelf-looking thing with a sheet over the top that Doppio thinks is supposed to be a bed. It’s nicer than where he was staying, at least.
The downside? He is now being stared at by a very creepy-looking guy in his late 20s or early 30s with dead-looking lilac eyes, neon yellow hair and an unnerving half-smile on his face. He’s dressed like a cop, from a bulletproof vest to a thick bomber jacket and everything.
For a moment, Doppio almost feels like he’s back in jail again, ready to be questioned about how he—a little taller than average, human and unfortunately normal guy—just punched a car into halting in its tracks.
Really, he didn’t know about his weird new super strength superpowers! If Doppio knew he could do that stuff from the beginning—well, clearly, he would be running the worlds atop a comic book villain dragon mount worthy of—
“Doppio Dropscythe,” Highlighter Cop suddenly begins, voice bored and exhausted. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Right. He’s in jail in this timeline.
Doppio raises an eyebrow, almost in a challenge. “Oh yeah?” he retorts apprehensively. Highlighter Cop sighs, dropping his head to rub his thumbs on his temples.
“Great. Another sassy one,” he mutters before turning his head to glare at something behind his desk.
“You couldn’t have chosen a single cooperative one for me? At this point, I’m starting to think you’re just doing this for attention.”
Doppio, helplessly confused, frowns. He stands up a bit, trying to get a look at what the weirdo guy is talking to—
Wait.
What the fuck?!
Splash!
Suddenly, a small, sunshine-yellow squid-looking creature jumps up from behind the desk, waving around a comically large stick of green onion in the air like a sword. On its head is a military helmet and oversized-looking goggles, which seem only to add to the enraged look on its face as it kind of—gesticulates and makes whirly, bubbly sounds at Highlighter Cop.
Highlighter Cop grumbles in response before rolling his eyes, grabbing the creature off the desk and tossing it over his shoulder like some kind of sentient plushie.
Doppio kind of just gawks at the sight, not quite sure what’s the weirdest part of this interaction: the giant, nightmare-ish jail cell he’s in, the strange squid-looking-creature in full military attire with a stick of green onion as a weapon, or the fact that this weird robocop-looking guy just tossed what could very well be an eldritch cosmic horror like it week old cabbage.
“You know we’re out of options when a literal fucking criminal is our best option at saving the worlds,” Highlighter Cop mutters, refocusing on Doppio. “You there, Fool,” the guy flicks with his nose.
“What do you know about the end of the world?”
“—pio? Hey! Have you been listening to a word I’ve been saying?!”
Doppio blinks, suddenly thrown back into the real world.
He looks down to find a very angry-looking gyaru with her hands on her hips, metaphorical steam coming out of her ears, and enough murder in her eyes to fuel a serial killer.
His head throbs for a second, and he can feel himself suddenly losing memories of a conversation he swore he just had. Something about the end of the worlds, nefarious plots and ‘guardian devil’ over his shoulders?
Whatever that means.
Great. Doppio has been in a convergence zone for not even half a day and is already losing his marbles. Then again, that seems pretty par for the course around here.
“—oh my god, are you not listening to me again?!” the girl shouts in Doppio’s face before throwing up her hands in defeat and walking away. Doppio blinks, refocusing on reality as he realizes he’s being dragged along by the sleeve, approaching some giant-looking mahogany doors.
“Ah, wait, sor—” Doppio tries to begin and explain himself, only for the girl to instantly push the doors open and yank him inside. There really is a deceptively large amount of strength under that jacket of hers because Doppio kind of feels like he just got tossed around like a giant sack of potatoes.
“Kaichou!” the girl shouts, already halfway out the door. “You’ve got a guest!”
Doppio frowned, trying to gauge where the hell he had just entered, when the giant doors behind him suddenly slammed shut. Doppio flinches briefly, whirling his head around to find himself abandoned.
The force of the door closing shut shook the entire room, and giant hanging LED lights overhead suddenly blinked rapidly for a few seconds before turning off, drowning the room in darkness.
Huh. Is this how he dies?
Suddenly, a deep, world-weary sigh snatches Doppio’s attention. Before he can ascertain the source of the sound, a tiny, almost pinkish fireball soars past his face. A collection of small, half-melted candles ignites around the room, lighting up the room in a soft, vermillion hue and light whiff of rose-scented candles.
Doppio follows the trail of candles, taking note of all the furniture in the room. There really are candles everywhere, from atop the stack of file cabinets in one corner of the room to all around the two giant, dark velvet Victorian-looking sofas in the center.
They trail around the back of the room, even resting on the two large, rain-drenched windows along the back of the room. The skies outside flash a quick burst of white, and suddenly, Doppio makes eye contact with the figure in the middle of the room.
Well, “eye contact” is a generous way of putting it.
A guy is sitting behind a fancy-looking mahogany desk in the middle of the room that simultaneously looks impossibly massive and tiny at the same time under the mountains of papers and binders stacked atop it.
The guy sitting in the middle of it all is—kind of small-looking.
Not quite thin, but leaning towards lean. His giant black, red and gold coat looks like it’s practically drowning him. He looks sickly pale, almost cold to touch—like a vampire or something. Yet the streak of vermillion trailing down the tip of his swept bangs and glinting in his supernatural-looking irises burn with a sort of menacing, intimidating aura.
“Uh,” Doppio begins, unsure how to approach this situation. Hello? Are you my new probation officer? Nice decor—really digging the “how many fire hazard strikes can we score in a single room” aesthetic you’ve got going on around here?
“Doppio Dropscythe,” the weird-looking guy—
(Huh. That’s a weird sense of deja vu.)
—begins, not even looking up from his papers. “I hear you’re my latest nuisance.”
Well, someone’s not getting complimented on their interior design choices.
“Be a dear and turn the lights back on for me, please?” Vampire Prick hums. “As you can see, my lovely vice president Kotoka Torahime is a little —antagonistic towards my sanity.”
Huh. Was that her name? It’s kind of—weirdly normal sounding for the vice president of a school that looks like it stepped straight out of a church magazine.
With a light grumble under his breath, Doppio turns to flick the light switch on, only to find out that the apparent vampires running this student council seem to hiss in pain at the sight of light brighter than a matchstick illumination. He’s about to turn and make a snarky comment about it when—
“Jesus Christ!” Doppio yelps, jumping in surprise when a figure suddenly appears before him. A light, cavernously deep voice chuckles in light amusement, accompanied by eyes so dead Doppio thinks he can see hell right through them.
“I don’t think he’s got any jurisdiction around here,” the zombie-looking guy with the voice of a motorboat engine under five feet of snow grins at Doppio, pushing up his glasses as he gently steps around Doppio and walks towards Vampire Prick by the desk. He’s holding what looks like a file folder in one hand and, in the other, a bag of—donuts?
“Baby, how long have you been cooped up in here?” Zombie Motorboat begins, setting down the bag of donuts. “At least get up to entertain your guest.”
Vampire Prick sighs, seemingly losing fifteen years of his life on the spot as he looks up at Zombie Motorboat with—ew, are those fond eyes?
Zombie x Vampire is a new one. Doppio’s pretty sure not even his off-world otome games have come to this level of depressing-looking couples.
“It’s just the probation kid,” Vampire Prick sighs, sparing Doppio the briefest of glances. “So long as he doesn’t cause trouble—”
A point sharpening of his eyes in warning.
“—he and I won’t have to cross paths. Now, wouldn’t that be nice for everyone?”
Wow. Alright, two can play at that game.
Zombie Motorboat frowns for a second, giving Doppio and Vampire Prick both a look. He purses his lips, not quite sure how to respond. However, before he can gather his thoughts, Doppio scoffs and crosses his arms, leaning on the door frame.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get out of your hair,” he bites back, sharpening his glare. “Does this mean I can leave now?”
Vampire Prick’s already back to his paper after a nonchalant and dismissive wave of his hands. Zombie Motorboat’s frown deepens, and he reaches out to say something.
Doppio doesn’t hear it. He’s already pushing the door open, clicking his tongue in annoyance and regretting signing that contract already.
“‘Second chance’ my ass,” Doppio grumbles. “You’re all the same.”
“You are not the first to come through these halls,” Highlighter Cop says soberly, resting his chin on his hands. “But I do hope you’ll be the last.”
Doppio raises an eyebrow. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Highlighter Cop simply shrugs. For a second, Doppio swears his eye colours flicker, light lilac bleeding into a dangerous red, before turning back.
“The Fool wears many faces,” he says casually. “Sometimes, even many all at once.”
Then, with a more serious edge to his voice.
“And sometimes,” he mutters. “You have to look a little deeper to find it.”
Eventually, Doppio starts to wander the halls of the—what was it, Institute of Inane Insects? Insolent Idiots? Whatever—school, sort of cursing out weird universe magic for making blackout during the tour because he is now helplessly lost.
The campus is massive, spanning about a twenty by twenty block area, smack downtown of Elysium City. If Doppio was paying a little more attention, he could even notice all the borders at which the campus stitches itself together on the cusp of three half-collided worlds.
The rain’s let up since earlier, but the skies are still drowned gray in rain clouds, and everyone milling about with an umbrella or raincoat in hand should be indication enough that this is just a temporary reprieve.
A group of student advocates are on the streets, holding up signs and protest billboards. Something about increasing funding on stabilizer technology for the less fortunate, their signs decorated with images of worlds colliding and entire chunks of land phasing out of existence.
Overhead, a dove from one world flies past the borders between two neighbouring worlds, glitching for a moment before transforming into a pigeon on this side.
A little trail of green, blocky-looking stabilizer essence trails behind it, residue from the stabilizing technology the school’s got around the place to keep the universe from collapsing into itself.
Doppio remembers passing by one of the less fortunate areas of Elysium on the way here. An entire residential neighbourhood was phased out of existence and replaced with what seemed to be a small lake from another world colliding into the city.
An earthquake from a neighbouring world supposedly triggered a power outage in a different part of the city. Still, the trickle effect shut down the stabilizer system and left it wide open to be consumed.
Honestly, Doppio probably should care a bit more about it. Still, it’s been at least a decade for him since the incidents started speeding up and expanding in size. ‘An apocalypse,’ they call it. ‘The universe collapsing in on itself’.
It’s all a bit pessimistic. There are some pretty cool stuff about multiple worlds all existing on the same plane and being able to travel between them. And contrary to his appearance, Doppio is a bit of a dreamer at heart.
As he steps between the border of two worlds, a light electric shock shoots up Doppio’s spine, stunning him for a second. Doppio flinches, groaning at the sensation as he gently lets the stabilizer work its magic on his body.
All around him, Doppio can spot some people looking up to stare at him as the technology envelops his body in a light layer of red light, pulling back bits of his data and body to its host. He stares at his hand, flexing and testing it a bit as he tries to get used to it.
Some people start to whisper, throwing glances Doppio’s way as they scurry away toward their classes or whatnot. Doppio resists the urge to glare at them as they pass. Besides, it’s not like this is the first time he’s been ogled at and gossiped about. It’s just—a different reason, this time.
He’s not used to it. Yeah, that’s all.
Doppio walks around aimlessly for a bit, not quite sure where he’s going. He opens his phone for a map, only to forget that he still hasn’t gotten a chance to go and get a World Shift-compatible SIM card. Only two worlds occupied the same space where he grew up, so unless he regularly took trips to the suburbs, Doppio didn’t need to get the newfangled-looking one.
Yet another thing to adjust to. Damn multi-world cities.
“Hey, punk,” a gruff voice calls out, loud and taunting. Doppio blinks, looking up to find himself stuck halfway between an old-looking building and a rundown park. There’s a small ring of about six-ish punkish-looking guys in front of him, looking like a wannabe hip-hop dance crew or something.
“Who are you calling punk?” Doppio scoffs, straightening up and crossing his arms defensively to look down at the group. The guy in the center—a tall, buff-looking bastard with the ugliest nose ring Doppio’s ever seen that makes him look like a congested bull—scoffs, looking at his friends.
“Look at that, fuckin’ leaker thinks he’s all cool and tough,” Congested Bull laughs, and his friends chuckle in echo. Doppio’s skin crawls in annoyance.
“What did you just call me?” Doppio scowls, trying to figure out what the hell kind of insult is ‘leaker.’ “The only damn thing leaking around here are my eyes looking at your sorry state.”
Congested Bull stops in his tracks, suddenly scowling at the dig at his look.
Damn, off-world punks really are pathetic. That was barely an insult.
“Leaker thinks he’s shit, doesn’t he?” Congested Bull spits, stepping up on his tippy toes to try—and pathetically fail—to get to Doppio’s height. “Bad enough, your kind walk around the student union like you own the place. You know—”
Congested Bull jabs a finger at Doppio’s chest, and Doppio thinks he should have staggered backwards from the hit.
“—Just because the headmaster’s got you doing mad sus shit in the back doesn’t mean we don’t know what you’re doing to us, leaker.”
Doppio stares at him, helplessly lost.
“Alright, now you’re just making shit up. What the fuck are you talking about?” Doppio retorts, furrowing his brows. Congested Bull scoffs.
“Playing dumb now?” he grits his teeth. Without warning, he suddenly pushes Doppio back with all his strength, and it’s enough to make Doppio take a step back out of surprise. Before Doppio can register what’s going on, his reflexes kick in as he raises his right arm to block his head and—
Smack!
“Come on, you call that a punch?!”
“Send his sorry defect ass home, boss!”
“Yeah! How do you like that, damn leaker!”
Before Doppio can even properly react, a flurry of punches and knees fly at him. Caught off guard, Doppio instinctively curls in on himself, barely blocking the hits with his longer limbs.
“Aw, leaker’s getting scared, is he?!”
“Teach him a lesson!”
“Go hang out with the freaks in Iluna or something!”
“Get out of our city, you glitch!”
Smack!
Doppio growls, catching the bastard’s fist on the last punch. Without thinking, he hardens his grip, crumbling Congested Bull’s stupid, tiny baby hands. The guy screams in pain, trying to pull away. It doubles Doppio’s annoyance as he tightens his grip, starting to feel bones and joints crack under his hands.
Oh, how he would love to shove this moron’s fist up his nose and show him what a real leaker looks li—
“Stop,” a low, threatening voice cuts in, accompanying a palm on Doppio’s shoulder. Suddenly, acute phantom pain shoots up Doppio’s side, almost mimicking the sensation of getting a bad papercut or something. He yells in pain, loosening his grip in the process out of shock as he staggers backwards and clutches his shoulder.
Congested Bull takes his chance to retreat, eyes suddenly blown wide in fear. His goons catch him, stammering and spluttering at the sight of the new person.
“H–Hex! M–My man!” Congested Bull starts, tripping over his words in nervous fear. “Wh–what are you doing on th–this side of campus?!”
Doppio peels one eye open, spotting Zombie Motorboat from earlier standing in front of him. He’s got his hands in his pockets, an overcoat hanging off his shoulders like it’s nailed to his collarbones or something. Doppio finally notices the guy’s weird, blueish-gray and black hair, styled like a raccoon's nest, as it frames his face and gets all over his thick-rimmed glasses.
Really? They’re scared of this nerd-looking beanpole? Xsoleil really is filled with nothing but a bunch of wusses if this is who they’re afraid of.
“—harassing a new student, hm?” Zombie Motorboat drawls, eyes sharpening into a glare. Congested Bull kind of flinches out of fear, scrambling to get up.
“N–No! I swear we weren’t! We were just—having a little chat! Yeah! Right, boys?!”
Congested Bull’s groupies all nod along, mumbling together like a bunch of cornered mice. Zombie Motorboat’s glare sharpens.
“Really, now?” he asks, turning to shoot Doppio a look out of the corner of his eyes. “Then why does Doppi over here look like he’s just been jumped on by a feral fox?”
Doppio frowned, retorting on the tip of his tongue. He was holding his own!
Zombie Motorboat shoots him a look. For some reason, Doppio gets the sense that this is the ‘I’m your probation officer, and I am trying to bail you out right now’ look and wisely shuts his mouth. Zombie Motorboat’s expression relaxes, nodding in approval.
“That’s what I thought,” Zombie Motorboat hums, turning around to glare at Doppio’s assailants. “Now, are you going to scram, or do I have to drag you back to Ver again and get you all suspended for the—what, fifth harassment incident of the month? Honestly, it’s only Tuesday.”
Ver? What the hell kind of Twilight vampire ass name is that?
Congested Bull and his groupies all squeak, shrinking in fear at the mention of Timmy’s First OC. Hex nods before waving them off.
“Get out of my face.”
Doppio has never seen punks run with their tails between their legs that fast in his life.
As if perfectly on cue, the rain begins to pour again, slowly pulling Doppio out of his shock-induced trance as he registers the fact that he is, in fact, currently sitting on the ground. Wait, when did he get on the floor?!
“Are you alright?” Zombie Motorboat suddenly says, and a dark shadow looms over Doppio, blocking out the rain. He looks up, finally making proper eye contact with Zombie Motorboat and—
Huh. His eyes are—orange–green? Weird combo, but it suits him. Makes him look softer. Gentler. Kind—
“What do you want?” Doppio snaps, scowling before he can think about it. In his head, Doppio smacks himself for it. Come on! You just got saved, you idiot!
Surprisingly enough, Zombie Motorboat—Hex, was it?—only chuckles in response, immune to the hostility. He holds out a hand for Doppio to help him up. Somehow, the guilty look in Doppio’s eyes as he looks away and takes the hand must be apology enough for this weirdo. He promptly takes Doppio’s face in one hand and forcibly turns him around again like he didn’t even care.
His grip is firm. Stronger than Doppio expected.
“Hey! What the hell—”
“You’re hurt,” Hex mutters, frowning at what must be an invisible, 1cm wide cut or bruise somewhere up there. Now that he mentions it, Doppio can feel a little bit of it throbbing up there, but it’s not that bad.
“I’ll be fine,” Doppio mutters, awkwardly swatting Hex’s hand away. He’s got a damn boyfriend or something! The hell’s he doing going around grabbing other guys’ faces like he’s gonna kiss them or some shit?
Weirdo.
Hex sighs, giving Doppio a weird look. His eyebrows slant in concern, and his lips pull out in what Doppio guesses was supposed to be a pout.
“Let me help you,” he says, and it doesn’t sound like a suggestion. “From one leaker to another.”
Doppio raises an eyebrow, scowling in annoyance as he steps in closer under the umbrella to avoid the rain. “You too? What the hell’s a leaker, anyway?” Doppio grumbles, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets.
Hex chuckles lightly, holding the umbrella over a little more, even though Doppio can see the rain spilling onto Hex’s jacket a little.
“I’ll tell you,” Hex hums. “If you let me help you with that bruise up there.”
For a second, Doppio can almost hear the rain peel away into the background, silencing as Hex gives him that shit-eating smug smirk. It’s a good look on him, as pissed as Doppio is to admit it. He wears confidence like a second skin, and Doppio can’t quite tell if it’s just an act.
But then, he can’t help but think back on that interaction back in the council room again. His disgusting lovebird eyes at Vampire Prick, the slight hesitation to say anything to Doppio before he left, whatever the fuck motivated him to follow Doppio just in case he got into trouble.
Then again, that could be the probation officer talking. This guy seems more of the meddler type than is necessarily good for him, anyway.
But on the other, other, other hand, Doppio doesn’t exactly have many options in choosing friends around here, if that earlier interaction with Congested Bull and Vampire Prick is any indication.
So he sighs, watching in annoyance as Hex’s eyes soften like he’s watching a cornered animal turn around.
“Come on. We can head back to my place to wait out the rain, too.”
He pats Doppio gently on the back, fingers barely grazing Doppio’s neck, peeking out of his black undershirt turtleneck.
Weirdly enough, Doppio feels a strange, calm sensation passing over him, dulling the sharp pain of the bruise and the restlessness in his stomach.
Hex’s fingers are surprisingly veiny and calloused. Nice and warm, too, contrary to what he looks like.
For a second, Doppo wonders if he’s ever had to throw a punch to save his life, too.
“He doesn’t mean it.”
Doppio blinks, snapping out of his rain-watching session to look back at Hex. He is about to open his mouth and retort when the sharp pain of rubbing alcohol on a cut jumps up his spine.
“Sorry,” Hex mumbles. “I can’t absorb the pain that fast, unfortunately.”
“It’s fine,” Doppio mutters. He purses his lips, wondering if he should say something about Hex’s— interesting powers.
Council command, he calls it. A product of the ‘data leak,’ where certain things or beings from one world gain properties and abilities from another during the whole world superposition collision thing and all.
For Hex, that manifests in the ability to absorb other people’s physical, emotional or even subconscious pains. Supposedly, it’s pretty useful for him as a student counsellor, helping other ‘leakers’ around campus.
Honestly, it sounds more like a curse than a good thing, but Doppio has a feeling that’s way too big of a can of worms to open to someone he just met two hours ago.
“It’s fine,” Doppio says instead, steering the conversation away. Hex turns to the side to grab a bandage with a cute baby chick pattern before sticking it on Doppio’s brow with a satisfied smirk. Doppio rolls his eyes, unable to stop himself from smirking in response.
“Joke’s on you, I like cute shit,” Doppio teases. Hex smiles in return, way too fond for someone supposedly taken.
“Good. Cute shit suits you.”
Doppio scoffs. “Do you flirt with all your patients?”
Hex grins. “Only the cute ones. And only until my boyfriend starts pouting.”
Doppio raises an eyebrow. “He’s possessive, and you still do shit like this?”
Hex shrugs. “He doesn’t actually mind. Ver’s a cat, after all. Sometimes, they pout just for the sake of pouting. He just—struggles a bit with speaking his mind sometimes. He’s kind of shy like that.”
Doppio purses his lips, mulling over Hex’s words. Contrary to popular belief, Doppio’s not an idiot. He knows what Hex means. What he’s trying to apologize for. Honestly, Doppio’s kind of annoyed Hex is even trying to be subtle and beat around the bush with it.
Sensing Doppio’s growing hostility, Hex just sighs, turning to start packing up his first aid kit.
“Of course, I can’t just force you to forgive him,” Hex hums. “I’m sorry. I overstepped.”
Doppio looks away, muttering an ‘it’s fine’ that he doesn’t mean. Hex picks it up anyway if the sympathetic look he shoots Doppio is any indication.
“I really do want to help you, alright? You’re not the first leaker to come here with—complicated circumstances. Even if you don’t want to interact with us on the council out of sheer intolerance, I hope we can maintain at least— some kind of civil relationship,” Hex says in almost sober professionalism. Doppio tries not to think about his old school’s guidance counsellor and her pitiful, disappointed look when Doppio told her he was dropping out.
“I do have to report for you, at the very least,” Hex sighs. “And while a ‘he’s not making trouble’ would suffice, that’s not really the purpose of this arrangement. And I think you know that too.”
“What are you, my unpaid therapist?” Doppio scoffs, not putting any heart into the joke. Hex chuckles anyway, putting the first aid kit away before turning back to Doppio and handing him a small white card.
“Honestly, that may as well be my job at this point,” Hex chuckles. “But honestly. Don’t be afraid to come by sometimes. Or don’t; I left my number on there, too. You’re new here, and everyone will hate you just for existing. It’s nice to know someone’s in your corner.”
Doppio stares at the business card briefly before looking up at Hex. He watches the light glint off of Hex’s glasses, barely concealing his eyes underneath. Soft. Gentle. Kind.
Genuine.
“Sounds like a scam,” Doppio jokes. Hex chuckles again.
“Just keep me in mind, yeah? Even if you’re just cussing me out in there.”
Doppio grins, takes the business card, stands up, and grabs his coat to prepare to leave.
“Eh, I suppose you’re not all that bad if you can take a joke.”