The nights were always the worse. They were cold and bitter. Sometimes he was able to find a spot under a bridge or a storm drain, as the shelters were usually crowded and maxed out. The worst is when it would rain, or even snow. He only had the one set of clothes, as ratty as they were, his few pathetic belonging in a backpack and his coat. He huddled around a barrel some guy had ignited and adjusted the hood that hid his matted had started to get darker earlier, which meant it also got colder earlier. He wanted to take in all the heat he could before looking for a place to sleep and he would have liked to have eaten, but he figured he was pushing his luck with seeking both food and shelter.

There were times he would stand in the cold and just regret everything in his damn life. Regret dropping out of school, regret disappointing his grandpa, regret running away when he thought he was smarter than everyone around him. He regretted every single day of his life… but he was so far gone into this he had no way out.

It had been five years now, three of those on the streets. He and his grandpa had fought a lot in the year after he lost his mother. The older man wanted him to act a certain way, but all he saw was his grandpa trying to run his life. He had thought he knew better back then, resented his grandpa yelling at him for skipping school. In retrospect, he now realized his grandpa yelled because he cared, but that was not how he saw it back then. He saw it as a meddling old man who couldn't keep his nose out of his business; thanks to his rebellious attitude, they exchanged a lot of harsh words that only resulted in him packing his backpack and leaving.

He would stand out in the cold now, too stubborn to admit how wrong he was, not allowing himself to think about it. He had only one thing on his mind - Survival. The streets were rough, cold and deadly and he was just one forgotten boy amongst millions..

Once a day he could go by a soup kitchen and at least get something in his stomach, but that was about it. Some people would take pity on him, take one look at the now gaunt and pale face that could have at one point in his life be described as angelic, and hand him loose change. He had tried to work and get a job, but no one would hire a man who ran away from home before getting his ID at 15. He struggled to find people who would pay him cash, but the jobs never lasted more than maybe a week, tops.

Killing himself was an attractive idea. There was no point in just being miserable, cold and hungry. No point to prolong his suffering any longer than it would take for a snow storm to dispose of him. He eyed the fire and mulled over this thought, idly wondered how long it would take for him to freeze to death.

Not long enough, he decided. He wouldn't let himself die a coward's death. He would prove he was better than this. His stomach growled from under his hoodie and he sighed. It always seemed to be a battle.

It was colder than usual that night, though. He had always been afraid to lay down on nights like these. It was always a bad idea, those unlucky enough to lose consciousness on the cold streets would rarely find themselves waking up the next morning. He knew to just keep walking, no matter how slow as it would keep him awake and alive. He walked, and walked, and walked; his head bowed against the biting wind and hands tucked under his armpits. No real destination on his mind, just one thought.

Survive.

Fighting to find warmth, looking for any reason to keep going after what felt like hours of walking, he paused and looked around. Some sick irony in the world had led him to stumble into the more affluent and newly restored part of town. Everyone knew that only rich, pompous bastards bought into the recycled trash and gladly overpaid for the glamour of city living. He limped off the main road, feeling his last dreg of energy draining from his body.

Damn it , he may be homeless, dirty, broke and stupid but he had enough pride left in him to not die in the middle of the damn road like a rat. He felt a sick sense of satisfaction when his legs gave out under him and darkness engulfed him.

Warm. That single thought permeated his conscious as he stirred awake, idly wondering if his mother was cooking breakfast. He felt warm and surely this wasn't such a big deal, this was normal. He tugged a heavy blanket close under his chin and took a deep breath.

He stilled.

He kept his eyes shut and he took account of his surroundings, trying his best to not alert whomever might be watching that he was now wide awake. Last he recalled he was freezing to death, walking down main street. Then black.

Now warm. It felt like he was lying on a couch, not the rough asphalt he barely remembered hitting. He could smell something cooking and he sat up, his hunger outweighing his apprehensiveness. Rubbing his eyes, he looked around. He sat on a dark burgundy couch, a royal purple blanket now pooled around his waist. His coat was still on, his hood covering most of his face so he pulled it back to better assess his surroundings.

Panic seeped in when he noticed his shoes were gone. They were the only ones he had and he knew his feet would not make it out unscathed in this winter cold without them. He had to find them.

He pulled the blanket off, stood up and frantically looked around. The room was quite large and had a few oversized chairs in it. He noticed the walls were gray, adorned with a stark white trim that coordinated with the furniture dotting the room. Everything in this room matched, either as a set or with meticulously hand picked and complimenting color palettes. Much unlike his grandpa's very lived in living room, sporting aging furniture that survived several children over the years, everything around him looked expensive. He felt his feet sink into the carpet under his feet, felt mortification seep into his bones and he ogled the couch behind him. Never had he been more aware of his own filth than at this moment when he felt that his mere presence in this room somehow sullied everything beyond repair.

Sweat pooled and collected on his body, He was starting to feel too warm in his coat, but he was afraid to take it off lest it disappear like his shoes did. He walked out of the room he was in, determined to find his shoes no matter what. Sure, they were ratty old sneakers but they were his ratty, old sneakers damn it. He would beat the shit out of whoever had tried to steal them.

He crinkled his nose and stopped wandering around the never ending maze of rooms. Something smelled amazing and he found himself forgetting all about his previous mission, instead wandering towards whatever could smell that fucking good.

He came to another room, heavily decorated with black and stainless steel everything. In the center of the kitchen, stood a man with his back to him, leaning over what he could only assume was the stove.. He held a frying pan in one hand and a spatula with the other, had dark hair styled into an undercut, a strong jawline and square shoulders. He wore navy blue joggers and an oversized hoodie in the same color.

Trying to seize up the man in front of him, he came to the firm conclusion that - Yep, he'd get his ass kicked if he tried anything.

"Take your coat off and have a seat there. This will be ready in a moment." He heard a low voice say and saw black hair sway with a curt nod towards the shining black dining room table. The man must have spoken, seeing as he couldn't identify any other source for the voice. Even though he never looked up from where his hands were doing god knows what to whatever he was cooking, he had somehow sensed him come into the kitchen.

He clutched his at his coat, as if it would anchor him against the coming storm. This man had, presumably, found him unconscious on the ground, somehow dragged him to wherever the fuck he is now and is now… cooking for him? Unease settled deep in his gut.

Favors were never free and people never did anything out of charity. He had learned that the hard way. Someone always wanted something from him and he would not let himself be made a fool again.
"Seriously, you are going to burn up in that coat. If you want, by the front door are hooks - you can hang it there with your shoes." Another nod, in the opposite direction.

He darted out of the kitchen, in the direction the other man had nodded towards. His shoes were right there, lined up next to other shoes in a neat line. He saw another coat hanging, a nicer, cleaner coat in contrast to his aged and well worn one. He eyed it for a moment and figured, if the man had a coat this nice, he would not try to take his. He shrugged out the coat and hung it a few hooks down from the nicer coat- he didn't want to get the nice coat dirty and walked back to the kitchen.

The man turned around and looked up at him as he reentered the kitchen. Dark eyes and a serious face now took him in and he couldn't help but fidget under the scrutiny. "Let's get you fed then you can go clean up ok? Have a seat, I'll bring you a plate. I wasn't sure what you liked… so I just made what I like… is that ok?"

His eyebrows shot up, surprised to hear someone ask him this. It had been years since anyone asked him if anything was okay or had given him anything. No one at a shelter would bother asking if the food was okay, it was his only choice. He almost felt the need to voice all of this to the strange, dark man in front of him, to ask if he was okay because he was surely acting out of character.

No one in their right mind should take in a disheveled, homeless, blonde man off the street. Much less cover them in their expensive blanket and put them on their expensive couch on a freezing night. Much less offer him food and then ask if it was okay that he might not like what was offered?

He came to the sudden realization that the man before him must be mental. That's truly the only explanation he could call forth for this strange behavior.

He sat on a stool by the kitchen island and watched the other man place the food on two plates and walk towards him. One plate was set in front of him, and the man took the seat next to him with his own plate in front of him.

When he looked down at his plate he saw onions, peppers, what looked like sausage and some noodles. He immediately grabbed his fork and started shoveling the food in his mouth. It tasted amazing and he was so hungry. He couldn't remember when the last time he had something other than garbage or bland soup and bread was, and the flavors filling his mouth almost brought tears to his eyes.

"Whoa whoa… I have more, slow down." The man had reached out and placed a tan hand on top of his. He stared at the perfectly manicured nails, traced long fingers back to a wide hand speckled with dark hairs. Surprise and shock made him flinch, removing his hand from the touch to keep his host's own from getting dirty by touching him. He slowed down so the other man wouldn't comment again, but still kept a steady stream of food on his fork to his mouth. When he had all but cleared his plate, the man took it and added more to it, bringing it back in front of him.

"Th-thanks…" he mumbled and went back to eating.

He saw the man's lips break into a small smile, parting to sip from a glass filled with what looked like wine. "Would you like some wine? I gave you water since I wasn't sure what you would like. I have soda, milk, juice… well anything you could want really to drink." The man rambled on. That was kind of endearing.

"Um… I'll have whatever you are having."

He watched the man nod and get up, getting what looked like a wine glass from one cupboard and grabbing a bottle of wine from the counter. He walked back towards the stools, poured a little into the glass and handed it to him. "Try it first, see if you like it. If not, I have many others."

He sipped the wine, letting the deep flavor settle on his tongue before swallowing. He wasn't sure just how expensive the wine was, or if this qualified as good or bad seeing as he lacked much prior drinking experience. He just nodded and the man poured more into his glass, setting the bottle down on the kitchen table before returning to his seat beside him.

The wine burned a path down and he had to clear his throat to get rid of the fuzzy feeling. The man chuckled under his breath, an amused smirk painted on his face now. Under that scrutinizing gaze, he shifted and mumbled, "So um… how did I…?"

Dark eyes stared at him, never looking away from his own blue ones. He rested his head on his tan hand and held himself up by the elbow, awkwardly twisted on the stool, leaning against the table to get a better look at the blond man. "I brought you up here. You were slumped next to a dumpster. I couldn't leave you there knowing a blizzard is coming through."

"A blizzard." He never really got to watch any news unless he got a few dollars that would buy him a cup of coffee and hours in a diner where they would leave on the television.

"Where are we?" he muttered around the food in his mouth.

"How about introductions first. I am Otabek, what is your name?"

He paused. He was not so sure how to answer the question, as simple as it seemed. No one had asked him his name in years. His brow furrowed as he dug through his memories, chewing thoughtfully on a carrot. He would tell it to himself every night along with other important information so he would not forget, but it was sometimes hard to remember things like that after a while.

"Yuri."

"Well, it is nice to meet you Yuri. Now finish up and then I'll show you where you can change and clean off."

After observing him gulp down the last bites of food, Otabek rose from his stool, picked up both dishes from the counter and walked across the kitchen to the dishwasher. Yuri couldn't help the sinking feeling that kept boiling beneath the surface, couldn't let himself enjoy the blessing this angel's presence was upon his miserable life - he kept wondering 'Why'.

Why kept bouncing around his head, invading his every thought like a swarm of angry bees. Why did otabek rescue him? Why was he in an alley, at night? Why was otabek treating him so nicely? Yuri feared pushing his lunch, so he quickly drank the wine and the water and stood from his own seat, ready to follow Otabek. He staggered a bit as he stood, reeling at the full feeling in his stomach, and took a moment to steady himself against the table.

He hadn't felt this full in such an awfully long time, it felt so good. He caught otabek's eyes on him when he looked up.

"What are you staring at?"

"Oh sorry, was I staring? Just wondering why you were by my dumpster is all."

His Dumpster? "I ugh… had been walking all night. Trying to stay awake."

"Why didn't you go to a shelter." Otabek tilted his head and Yuri had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes at his host.

"They are usually full, especially in the winter. If I can keep walking then I sleep during the day. How did I get in here?"

"I brought you up here."

"You mean… like you carried me?"

He watched Otabek nod and go get more wine. "Would you care for more?"

He held his glass out. "And no one said anything about you carrying someone in?"

"I have my own private entrance in the back." He watched Otabek shrug at this. "Did you want to shower? Maybe some clean clothes?"

He could not remember when the last time he got a proper shower and not just a restroom scrub down. He nodded and followed Otabek down a hallway then into a bedroom. "This is one of my spare bedrooms. You can leave your stuff on the desk there, There is robe on the door and slippers on the floor. Everything you should need is in there. I'll bring some clothes in for you."

He watched Otabek turn and leave, shutting the door behind him. He looked around the massive room. There was a huge four poster bed with a deep green comforter on it. The bed was extremely high up and looked even more comfortable. He had never seen so many pillows on one bed. There were two tables, one on each side of the bed, and at the other side of the room, a desk. He peeled his clothing off and tried to fold it neatly. He had not been without these garments longer than he should have. The problem with only have one set of clothes, if you took them off, someone else was willing to take them from you. He learned to quickly wash under his clothes. As he stepped into the bathroom, it was a black tiled floor and white marble countertop did he see his reflection. He was far too thin, his face had a thick layer of greyish brown dirt on it. As he looked at his hands, they looked the same, dirty under fingernails and dirt in the creases of his fingers. He knew his hair was once a golden blonde, it look matted and brown. He ran his hand on his face, seeing the thin sparse beard sticking out of his cheeks in odd places and chin.

He saw on the counter a razor and cream. First thing he did was shave his face. The water was warm and he spent a few minutes just washing his hands with the soap on the side of the sink. There was a brush and he was able to get under his nails clean. He could see the line where he had stopped washing at his wrist. It was a clear drawn 'dirt' line. The paleness of his skin showed on his hands, and the dirt gave him a darker complexion.

Splashing his face with water, he watched the water run down his face and drip to his chest. There were tracks the water had made through the grime on his skin. He grabbed the cream he shook the can and then pressed the button as it spilled out onto his palm. The thick cream had a spicy smell to it. He had never really shaved before so he was going off of what he remembers his grandpa doing a few times when he was younger.

He spread the cream on his cheeks and chin and wet the razor. He scratched it over his face, and felt the cool glide of the blade over his skin, each swipe revealing pale, clean skin. He rinsed the razor and did another swipe. He skin was coming out smooth, no nicks or bleeding. He had figured it was a good blade. He looked back at the mirror, he saw a face he had not seen in a long time. He still had those dark purplish marks under his eyes, but his face was smooth again. He hated the beard, It never grew in properly and it was terrible feeling.

Seeing the large glass doors, he walked over and opened them, it was huge inside. Different shower heads at different heights up and down the wall. Stepping in he shut the door as was not sure what to do as there were many nozzles. He stepped as far to the side as he could and started to spin the nozzles. Once he figured out what they all did, he adjusted the water and stepped under the spray. He looked down and could see where the water running off of him was a brownish color. He had made the water hot and could feel it almost burning his skin. He did not care. He wanted everything washed off of him and to feel warm.

When he turned and tilted his hair under the water, it was almost just as bad. His hair was so matted he had to let the water run through it for a few minutes to loosen it back up. There were bottles almost the side of the shower and he found the shampoo and put a huge glob in his hand. He lathered his hair and scrubbed his scalp. Whatever this shampoo was, it smelled amazing. He thought he was picking up a green apple smell and decided to shampoo his hair a second time. It never hurt when you have been this dirty for this long.

He could feel his hair fell past his shoulders now, he had not cut it in years. He found a bottle of conditioner and figured it couldn't hurt. It had the same green apple smell. There were a lot of bottles in the shower. He saw a scrub, body wash, shower lotion… what the hell was all this? He knew what the wash was and got the cloth and started to scrub down. He probably stayed in the shower a lot longer than he should have, but was enjoying the feel of the water, the smells of the soup, and just being clean.

When he stepped out, there was a warm cup of tea on the counter and a note:

Figured you might want some tea, I left you clothes on the desk and will send yours for cleaning – I'll be in the sitting room when you are done.

He groaned as he had a feeling he knew what this meant. He had heard stories on the street. Someone takes you in, you get a meal, you give a blowjob and place to sleep. He knew it was all too good to be true. He walked out to the bedroom again and found a pair of joggers in a deep green color on the desk, some briefs and a tshirt. The clothes still all had tags on them and he whistled when he saw the price tags on them. Why the hell would someone spend this kind of money on some clothes? He shrugged and slipped them on.

Going back into the bathroom he decided was best to comb his hair and tie it back. It was long enough now and he noticed just how golden it still was, now that he had cleaned it. Looking back at himself, the joggers were a bit too big, but he was able to tie them at the wait and the shirt hung from his body a bit. He figured if he put on about ten more pounds they would fit nicely. He looked in the mirror and figured he better go pay his debt for his meal and bed.

When he reached the sitting room, he saw Otabek sitting staring out over the city. The back wall he had lifted the blinds and it was dark and starting to snow. He had a glass in his hand with dark liquid and ice cubes. As he stood there observing this man, he thought he could have done worse. The man was obviously stupid rich and very good looking. Oh who was he kidding, this man was hot. He cleared his throat and saw the man turn and look at him.

"My, a hot shower sure did do you wonders. I almost don't even recognize you." Otabek stood up and walked over to him as he set his glass down and grabbed his arm turning it over. Then he did the same to his other arm.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he growled out as he flinched out of his touch.

"Making sure I did not have a junkie in the house. I went through your stuff. I did not find any drugs." he smirked then walked over to his bar at the far corner of the room. "Care for a drink Yuri?"

"You went through my shit? Why didn't you just fucking ask me?" He was appalled at the idea this man would even bring him in thinking he might be a junkie.

"Well let's say you were a junkie, you probably wouldn't have told me." Otabek shrugged and was pouring more liquid in his glass.

"So you bring home junkies a lot then?"

"So far I've never brought a junkie home." he winked at him. "So what do you want to drink?"

He walked over to him at the bar and sat down on the stool next to it. "Sure, I ugh… don't know what I like, really don't drink so… just what ever you are having."

"I doubt you'll like this. Let me make you something… something simple."

He watched Otabek get a glass and clink ice in it, then pour in some clear liquid and add more clear liquid. He threw in a cherry and handed the glass to him.

"Try this."

He sipped it and it was decent. It did not burn. The bottles he would share with others in the street always burned. "This is good."

"Simple vodka tonic." He watched Otabek come from behind the bar and walk back to the couch facing the window that overlooked the city.

He picked up his glass and followed. There was a table in front of the couch and he set his glass down. He saw Otabek watching him and he took the glass out of his hand and set on the table. He figured he might as well get this over with, Otabek seemed like the type that would rather get down the business than chat the night away.

He looked down at the dark haired man who was looking up at him. He placed his hands on his shoulders and slowly straddled his lap and he heard Otabek gasp.

"What are you doing Yuri?" Otabek said through clenched teeth.

Yuri leaned down and kissed at Otabek's neck. "Isn't this why you brought me here? Thought I would pay you back for your generosity."

He felt Otabek's hands reach up his sides, then he felt the dark haired man push him off. He landed next to Otabek on the couch.

"What the fuck do you think you are doing Yuri?"

He knew his face had turned red. "I ugh… well… I thought… Oh wait… You don't like guys… that's it?"

Otabek shook his head and stood up and walked to the glass overlooking the city. He watched Otabek stare off as the snow was getting heavier now.

He felt confused, not knowing what was going on. The guys in the street always told him how these things went down. He got up and walked over to Otabek, he put his hand on his shoulder and watched Otabek flinch away.

"That is not what I want from you. Why don't you just go to bed Yuri." Otabek would not look at him.

"I disgust you don't I? Some dirty homeless guy from the streets… why didn't you just leave me out there to die then?" He turned and went to walk away when he felt Otabek's hand grab his wrist hard and turn him.

"No Yuri, you do not disgust me, what you are offering as payment does. I didn't leave you out there to die because despite everything I fucking care about people." Otabek let go of his wrist and turned back to the window.

He stood there with his mouth wide open. Did this really just happen? He did not know what to do so he sat back down on the couch.

"I'm… I'm sorry Otabek… I've never… well... " he did not know what to say.

Otabek turned back to him and gave him a hard look. "If I wanted a whore I could get one that I did not have to feed and clean up first. Is that how you get by? Get a meal, give a blowjob?"

Shame. He felt shame. He flinched at that. Now he looked cheap and he felt low. He shook his head and almost started crying. He tried to hold his face tight, but he knew it was being given away. He had gotten hard on the streets, but not for this. He leaned over and put his head in his hands, tried to hide his face. He felt the couch dip next to him and a hand gently on his shoulder.

"Yuri, this is not what I want from you. I saw a guy down on his luck passed out next to my dumpster… I ugh… knew we had a bad blizzard coming through, I could not in good conscious go back up here and leave you down there… knowing you would die." the hand left his shoulder and he felt the couch move again but he could not look up. He knew Otabek had walked off. "You should finish your drink then go lay down. You can stay here till the storm passes through."

"Thank you… for everything."

He picked his glass up and sipped it. He finally went and stood over by the window, the snow was really coming down and he could not help but feel thankful he was not out there in all of that. When he finished his drink, Otabek took the glass and he headed back to the guest room. He just stood there and stared at the giant bed in front of him. Even when he had roof over his head, he had nothing like this. He could not remember the last time he slept in a real bed. Once he curled in, he took in a long deep breath, he wanted to remember the smell of the bed. He felt as if he sunk into the mattress just right, and the pillows cradled his head perfectly. He was not awake long.