It was quite sad, that Max had to pull this to get the other to come hang out. He knew that Hendrix was addict. He probably shouldn’t of taken a client like this. He might of been on page six cutting lines with his Platinum American Express, but surely, he wasn’t like this. Not to the same extent. He suddenly felt a chill of guilt. Biting his bottom lip, he left his pocket before nodding.
His hand now shifting for the other’s in compliance. He grasped Hendrix’s hand in his palm before squeezing tightly. “It’s at night, but let’s go do something,” he whispered, as he started out of the alley way and into the daylight.
"Let’s go to mine."
He had no conscience; Hendrix could not tell right from wrong-- nor could he see how poorly he had become-- he was simply a child; an act of fearlessness breaking down his quite fearful attitude, because, Hendrix was a coward who would do anything to get what he wanted-- though, he lacked in the effort department of things; as he had little-to-no-motivation to do anything anymore.
His fingers squirm uncomfortably, his hand tugging from the other's-- and he couldn't help it; such closeness frightened him-- so, Hendrix will stuff his cold limb into the warmth of his pocket, and turn his head elsewhere.
"--Yeah," He gulps something of his nerves, "Right on."
