He parted from Tim halfway home, turning left while bundled-up Tim in his winter coat and knit hat and padded thermal gloves and heavy hiking boots and wool socks lumbered down the opposite road. He didn't know how to comfortably curl himself up in padded clothing, or heavy blankets in the winter, or even keep his thermostat up above what most would consider ridiculously low. He climbed his stairs, pausing outside his door to find his keys and stepped inside, sighing in relief at the slightly lower temperature. Once the door was closed and locked he threw the rest of his clothes off, going to his bathroom and starting a cool shower. He had the smell---the feel---of people clinging to him, and that was uncomfortable. Almost sticky. He shuddered and put his head under the water, breathing out in relief as the feeling was washed away.

Tomorrow Tim would drive him to a quiet little place. He assumed it was a facility he'd be spending some time in, and had been assured his apartment would be taken care of while he was there. That would help, at least, and the money was tempting. He needed it. Wanted to start down the road on something. If he had his way, he'd open up an ice bar---those things were really popular nowadays it seemed. And it would help him. It would keep him relatively cool, if that were even possible. Even a few minutes out of the cold shower had his body heat up again, but he'd learned to deal with it. His parents had always been so worried about his overheating, which he never seemed to do, or getting hurt, which never seemed to be a problem for him. His family had cats. He'd grown up around the half-feral creatures and had gotten dreadfully scratched hundreds of times. But he never had a scar. Hell, he never had an open wound for more than a few minutes.

Without clothing himself, Jake went around his apartment and began unplugging things he wouldn't need for a while. Phones, lights, the little television, and put things from the fridge into the freezer. the rest he threw out, and, checking carefully for anyone in the stairwell, took the trash bag out to the chute and bounded back inside before anyone saw him. Then he started folding clothes, putting them in a duffel and sliding it to the front door. He didn't know what he'd need, so he packed a week's worth of clothes, a few books. He didn't have much, so he usually relied on power of imagination to distract him from the monotony of silence or worthless television. When ten 'o clock hit, he flopped down in bed and pulled the lightweight sheet up over him, only halfway. He was suddenly nervous, but pushed that out of his mind. He had no right to be nervous. It would be fine... He was awake for another hour, repeating the words in his head. It'll be fine... It'll be fine...