The club bounded and rebounded with noise and rhythm, thumping through his body as Caleb sat at the bar - back stiff, knees locked tight, long fingers flickering around his drink. He breathed in deeply, tried to settle his nerves. He waited, against his will, but he waited. All part of the contract, his trick - he was to wait, and be forever ready. Sometimes he would only have to wait a few moments, sometimes - like now, hours would pass. It was part of the vindictive small print that was never written - always be ready. Why did he sign a contract he had never really seen? Everyone has needs, and Caleb's - well his were singular.He looked up from his fidgeting fingers, glowered at an approaching figure, one that side-stepped him, pretending that Caleb wasn't his magnet. He had already told more bodies than he cared to count, those that had shuffled crab-like towards him - to fuck off, he was waiting. He didn't blame them, he was young and mildly broken - an attraction to some, but he wasn't in the mood, wasn't in the right dimension, the right circular cosmos. Gods don't need tricks, so he would wait, just as he always did - contracts don't lie.
