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Back in the day, the black leather was like a new skin. Ripper's skin, still a bit stiff, but Giles was wearing it in. Armour, against everything.
He'd had plans, back then. Get a bike. Get a gang. Except he'd spent all his savings getting the look, and the gang thing... happened, in a way. But the worst crowd that would have him turned out to be as much a bunch of fakes as him.
Which is to say, by the end, the real thing. Living the dream, dark as they wanted to be.
Sleepwalking, unarmoured. Demon under their skins.