Jag's shoulders hunched under the contact; he was prickly about everything, when talking about something like this, and that included touch. He wanted to answer something to Val's first words, but then he followed his gaze towards the open door, and nodded before creeping forward silently.

He risked a glance through the door, and froze. This was the squat he'd lived in with Victor, and before he'd made any conscious decision to, he'd walked inside, looking around the abandoned room they had claimed as their. Their stuff was still all over it, as if they'd never left. As if he'd never left. Victor's guitar, their respective heaps of clothes, sleeping bags and a camping stove.