The minute Holsten stepped outside, he took in a deep breath of the cold fresh air. It was a godsend in that moment and exactly what he needed. Though he was quick to taint the fresh air with a cigarette. A quick light from his wand and the rolled nicotine came to settle between his lips for a long drag. Satisfied, he started on his way without looking back. She'd deemed him a liar so why would she bother to follow?

It wasn't until he'd turned down a quiet street that he heard her. So far out of his element he hadn't picked up on the sound of her footsteps until he heard her voice saying his name in such a familiar way.

"Go home, Jo," he'd said before she had continued on, taking another deep drag of his cigarette as he turned to look at her.

"It's not the fact you left," he said pointedly, "It's how you left. But like you said, you're a runner and I'm a liar so why follow me?"

---

  

Well, if he wasn't willing to work it out she certainly wasn't going to keep chasing after him. Let him and his lies exist elsewhere. "Fine." She huffed and folded her arms tight across her chest. "You're right. Have a nice life." And with that, Jo made to shove past him and head further down the street. After all, to turn back around would add at least another twenty minutes to her walk home.

  

Taking the last drag of his cigarette, Holsten dropped it to the ground and ground it out with his heel. He should leave it at that, let her go her own way thinking whatever she wanted about him and just get on with his life. But they were both stuck in London and for who knew how long. Why not have one last taste?

With a smirk he called out to her, "Jo, you're going the wrong way." She probably knew exactly where she was going but if she did glance back and see his smirk, hopefully she'd catch on to what he was saying. And if he got shot down, well at least he'd given it one last shot.

---

  

To turn around meant to admit why she followed him in the first place. This dance was one she'd done before, so often, in fact, that the steps were more akin to muscle memory than conscious thought. And, admittedly, part of her wanted nothing more than to follow him up into his flat and fall into bed. To feel the rush of pleasure he was a master of getting from her.

Tonight, though, the other part — the wiser part knew better. Holsten had still lied to her for years. He had still slipped into shoes that weren't his to wear, and Jo wasn't prepared to further confront that tonight. "No. I don't think I am." She said confidently with no trace of a smile on her face.

  

Holsten gave her a small shrug as he reached for another cigarette. He'd tried and she hadn't told him to fuck off entirely. He could still make an attempt at it but he doubted she'd go for it.

"You are if you're headed to my flat," he said, his face now just as stoic as her own as he lit another cigarette.

---

  

Despite the fact that Jo hadn't been intimate in weeks, she still, surprisingly, avoided giving into temptation. This dry spell was one of her longest yet, and the itch was almost as strong as her itch to return to Venezuela. Still, the suggestion changed nothing. The hurt of his lies was still painfully written into her skin.

Her eyes trailed the smoke into the night sky. Smoking never grew on her the way it did so many of her peers. She didn't mind it, it just wasn't her thing. "Good night, Holsten." She said firmly.

  

Holsten gave her a quick nod before he took another drag off his cigarette. With the cigarette held between his lips, his hands went into his pockets. "Until next time then, Jo," he said before turning down a side street to head home.

---