Chapter 1: Wolfgang & Nomi

In which Wolfgang meets Nomi

"Hi," is the first thing she says to him. Then: "My name's Nomi."

It's just past 3 AM. Wolfgang is leaning against a lamppost, freezing his ass off in a thin jacket and a pair of skinny jeans, and she's the first person to walk by in over an hour.

"Hello, Nomi," he says, straightening up slightly.

She lifts a hand in greeting. "Hi," she says again, stepping closer, into the glow of the street lamp. She's about his age, he thinks, sixteen or seventeen. Blonde. Well-off, judging by her coat — fuck, Wolfgang would kill for a coat like that — and she's gripping the straps of her backpack with a naïve sort of eagerness.

"You interested?" he asks lightly.

"Interested?"

"Yeah," says Wolfgang. He raises his eyebrows. "Interested."

She gapes at him for a moment. Then she squeezes her eyes shut. "Oh, god, of course," she breathes. "You're a— a prostitute, aren't you?"

Wolfgang feels his jaw clench, but there's no use arguing, so he just lifts his chin and straightens his back and says, "Yes, I am. Are you interested or not?"

She offers an apologetic smile, and he knows her answer before she gives it. "I'm sorry. I'm, uh. No. I'm not. Interested. In that."

He shrugs. "Okay."

"I'm really sorry."

"It's fine." He looks her up and down. Wonders where she's off to at this time of night. Wonders how much money she's got in her backpack, how many wool coats and blankets and decent meals she could buy if she wanted to.

She seems uncomfortable under his gaze. "I'm a girl," she says. "If you were wondering." She clutches more tightly at the straps of her backpack, angling her elbows over her chest.

Wolfgang nods. "Okay."

"Okay?" she repeats. Then, immediately, she grimaces. "Sorry. It's just— some people don't believe me at first."

"Well some people are idiots."

"Yeah," she agrees. "They are."

They stand there in silence for a moment, until finally Nomi lowers her eyes and says, "Could I ask you something?"

Because of course she does. Of course she wants something, everyone wants something, no one ever fucking talks to him unless they want something.

He quirks an eyebrow in response and the girl gives an embarrassed sort of laugh. "I, um— well, I don't know if this is, like, rude. To ask. Or something," she says. "But, you wouldn't happen to know any good, um, places to sleep, would you? Like. Outside? Long-term?"

She smiles at him weakly, and just like that, a picture of her life starts to come together in Wolfgang's mind: Rich family. Shitty parents. Kicked out, probably, but possibly left of her own accord. Hasn't been on the streets long — a day or two, maybe less. No survival skills. Too nice for her own good.

"Not really, no," he tells her, crossing his arms. And it's true. It's like thirty fucking degrees; there are no good places to sleep outside.

"Oh," she says. "Okay."

Wolfgang can practically feel Felix elbowing him in the ribs for being such an asshole. Just fucking bring her back to the church, Felix would say. But Felix is a pushover who probably wouldn't be alive if it weren't for Wolfgang. And Felix isn't here right now.

So Wolfgang just sets his jaw and says, "That all? Because you standing there… it isn't really good for my business, to be honest."

The girl's eyes widen. "Oh my god, I didn't— I'm sorry— I—" Her voice breaks. "I'm so sorry, I just— But no, you're right, I'll go now. Thank you."

Wolfgang looks at her— at her clean Converse shoes and her painted black nails and her face, inexpertly schooled into something resembling bravery. She turns then, and begins to walk away, one step, two steps, three steps—

"Fuck," mutters Wolfgang. "Wait."

She glances back, looking almost frightened.

Wolfgang pushes off from the lamp post. "I know a place to sleep," he says, not quite meeting her eye. "It's this abandoned church; my friend and I stay there; it's— well there's walls at least, and a mattress and shit, so."

The girl wheels around and stands there, facing him, mouth slightly agape. "Oh god, thank you," she says after a moment. "Thank you so much."

"It's fine," Wolfgang tells her, setting his jaw. "It's nothing."

He's going to regret this, he thinks to himself. He's going to regret this so fucking much.

o - o - o

But later that night, as he lies on the cold ground next to the mattress, watching Nomi sleep under his ratty old blanket, he finds, to his surprise, that he doesn't.

He doesn't regret it at all.