Chapter 11: The End [...]

Sorry about yesterday, I think I was awkward. I hope you don't think I wanted to pressure you into anything or smth… X'(

Totally out of context, but one of my friends got ill and we wanted to go to the drum and bass event at Nightshade tonight, do you want to come in his place? I don't know if it's your music taste but I bet it will be fun and he'd give the spot to you if you like. I think it would be cool if you came. :D

Otabek had returned from the gym in the morning when the message from Dima came in. He had practiced melee and knife combat since seven in the morning and was about to take a shower before heading over to Nad's where he'd pick up his papers that had been delivered earlier. She wanted to check on how his tattoo healed as well and would be at the shop at eleven waiting for him, so he had only half an hour to shower and get ready. He dropped the phone onto the mattress and went to the shower.

When he had finished he picked up the phone again. He had thought about it for a while and had decided that he really had nothing to lose. It wasn't like he had planned anything for the night, too. His day was packed with appointments and ideas on what to investigate, but it wouldn't look convincing to head over to the police station to check the police record again too late in the day, so he'd go there after he had seen Nad and picked up his papers. Afterwards he'd have lunch and then visit the shooting range once more. His plan on going through the obituary column had to wait until monday anyway. So the evening was free and to be honest it sounded enticing to go to a club after all that time. Music had played such an important role in his life before the coma and he although he had focused on his rehabilitation and his investigation now, he liked the thought of getting back into music even if it was only for a short time. So it might be a good idea to go.

Water dripped onto the screen from his wet hair as he replied: Please provide me with further information on the time you want to meet. Also send greetings to your friend. If it fits my schedule I'd gladly take the offer.

(Yuri had always complained about how awkward Otabek's texts were. He kind of saw it too, but of course the pretty Russian had put it in the most colorful words whenever he'd notice, like only Yuri Plisetsky could. "You write like a cyborg", Yuri snorts that one particular time, glancing over to Otabek's phone. He doesn't even hide the fact that he reads what the older boy is typing. It's only a text to his coach though, not that Otabek has something to hide to begin with.

"Maybe I am one", is Otabek's answer that makes Yuri lift his eyebrows.

"Actually, no, that can't be true. You heart beats so loud, I hear it every night when you already fell asleep."

"Maybe", Otabek continues, trying not to be distracted by the thought that Yuri lies awake listening to his heartbeat, "it's a sound generated by a speaker in my mechanic chest." He grins and Yuri picks it up, grins back at him.

"If you are a cyborg you have to follow those rules, right. Those laws for robots and stuff so they don't become a threat for humans…"

"Asimov's Three Laws of Robotics", Otabek says with a nod. "No threatening, absolute obedience and protection of humans."

Yuri looks at him for a second. "You'll do that then?", he asks, his voice low. His hair shines like pale gold in the sun that will soon set. "Never hurt me, obey me and protect me?"

Otabek's face becomes serious, the message he was just typing long forgotten. He'd do it. He'd do anything for Yuri. He will never hurt him, neither physically nor mentally. He'll do anything to make Yuri happy, to make him feel good, to make him feel loved, whatever it takes. And he will protect him no matter what. Even if it costs him his own life.

Yuri looks away, grinning, hunching his shoulders. "I'm fine with you being human. Even if you text like a total weirdo." There's a blush on the tip of his nose and it's true: Otabek would give his life for this boy.)

With a start Otabek was back in Moscow, waking up from a warm, golden shining daydream of Almaty, back in the cold, gray reality of the Russian capital. He touched the send arrow and put the phone down, then went to dress in a black three-piece suit. Today even the shirt was black, making the necktie and jacket blend in with it. The outfit was appropriate though; he had important business to do.

After drying his hair and slicking it back with wax he left for the tattoo shop.

"You're insane getting on the bike in that cold", Nad said when he walked up to the shop. She was standing outside, scratching a sticker from the doorframe with her long black fingernails. "I see that it's convenient though", she then added with a shrug and led Otabek inside.

Handing him a thick brown paper envelope she explained: "Keep only these from now on. Lock your real papers away somewhere safe, like a bank locker or something. Make sure that if something happens to you, the locker will be opened and the paper be sent to your family. They deserve to know if you die." The look she gave him was bitter. "You still want to do this, don't you", she asked with a sigh and when Otabek nodded shook her head in contrast. "You shouldn't, Erasyl. Really, you shouldn't. Your life is worth too much."

Otabek looked down on the papers. He couldn't back off. He'd lose his purpose, his aim, the reason he was still here. He had only that left. "I need to. I am sorry."

"You're not", Nad suspected and gestured towards his right arm. "Let me see the tattoo."

She checked the progress of the skin healing with raised eyebrows. "That looks really good", she stated. "Your tissue repair seems to be really fast. Actually I think you can leave out the foil, you don't need to wrap it anymore. Just lotion it and clean it carefully, then it should be good in no time."

"How about training?", Otabek asked. "Is there something to pay attention to?"

"Just work out like you usually would. Your body does the rest by itself."

With a nod Otabek put the sleeve of his shirt back down, then got into the jacket again. When he had stored the envelope away he and Nad exchanged long glances.

"You did all this for me", he said after a moment. "I can never thank you and your friends enough for that."

"It's fine, you payed a lot of money for all that." Her smile was genuine, but it vanished quickly. "Don't get yourself killed out there, you hear me? I expect to see your pretty face again when you come to have that tattoo covered up, the sooner the better." And when he nodded, she added: "Take care Erasyl. I hope you find what you are looking for."

With another nod he bid her farewell, giving the rabbits a smile when he passed by the cage on his way out.

It wasn't a farewell forever, he thought. She was right, he'd do his best and would come back to this place. And the next time he'd introduce Yuri to her and her rabbits.

е

Her eyes started shining when she recognized him. "Oh, it's you again!" She tugged on the collar of her police uniform and blushed a little. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon. Did you forget something?"

Otabek nodded. "There is some information I need to confirm."

She smiled brightly. "My colleague has lunch break", she explained. "I can go fetch the folder real fast, you can go have a seat in the reading office already if you like. What was the name again?"

Otabek stared at her for a second blankly. His name. She had never known it. How would she know if it was his real name? He could of course tell her his name, the real one, Otabek Altin, but- This was madness. But on the other hand maybe this was the one chance he'd ever get. Maybe Allah had mercy for once.

He let one corner of his mouth rise a little forming the slightest lopsided smile, as flirty as possible, noticing how she inhaled audibly. "Yuri Petrovich Plisetsky", he said, slowly, his eyes on hers intensely.

"Right", she said, like if she had known it all along, getting up from her chair. "Please, over there, I'll be there in a moment."

It was too easy. Otabek frowned, full of doubt, as he walked over to the next room. It couldn't be so easy! Wasn't there strict regulation to at all times check the papers of a person who requested insight in police reports? How could she be so irresponsible? Only because he seemed to meet her taste in men? Could it, for once, really be that easy?

"Sorry, took a little", her voice came from the door.

He turned around from where he stood, pitying the potted plant, to see her at the door, a thin folder in her hand. "You really should water the plant", he said with the fake smile again as he took the file from her. "If you'd excuse me now…"

She nodded and left.

Otabek stood for a moment, petrified, then sat down and opened the file.

Yuri Petrovich Plisetsky, born March 1st 2001 in Moscow. Sex male, height 1,73 m, color of eyes blue-green, attached a mugshot of a young man with long blonde hair, pale skin, eyes of a soldier. Otabek checked the timestamp of the photo: First of May 2020.

Last year. The photo was from last year.

Blood rushed in Otabek's ears. Almost exactly 10 months ago this photo had been taken, Yuri's file updated, here, in Moscow. He had been here, less than a year ago.

Breathing heavily Otabek read through the file. The first paragraph was almost identical to the one in Otabek's file, describing the attack in few details but focusing on Yuri as the victim of course.

But there was a second one. One that described how Yuri had been taken in by a police patrol on that first of May last year, a tuesday, at 3:48 in the morning, dressed inappropriate, drunk and in the possession of 4 grams of cannabis. After thorough admonition the substance had been confiscated and the suspect released. The report mentioned that the suspect had stated to have been in a nightclub until recently and on his way home and that the cannabis was not his and that he had no idea how it had gotten in his coat. With that the case was closed.

Otabek's heart had stopped beating a long time ago. He read the file again. And again. Looking at the photo of Yuri, his hair long and golden and messy, his face so pale and tired, but his eyes, his soldiers eyes, were as fair and unmistakable as always.

"Yuri", Otabek murmured, his fingertips stroking the picture. He had been here, just then, not so long ago. Hope unfolded its light wings in his chest, opening like a bud, fragile, vulnerable and beautiful.

Staring at the picture Otabek fought the tears back. Yuri had grown. 1,73, that's what the document said, as tall as Yuuri now. The photo most likely didn't do him justice, but even in the crappy police mug shot Yuri was stunningly beautiful. His hair cascaded over his shoulders in a light gold, like honey, playful waves around his still angelic but more mature face. His skin was so white it made the slender elegant eyebrows stand out, emphasizing the light red of his lips. His eyelids shimmered in a light red as well like he had been awake a little too long. Around his neck Otabek spotted a black leather collar with two silver rings at the front, and it looked to tight that the mere view of it made Otabek swallow. Yuri wore what seemed to be a black lace shirt with a neckline so low and wide it showed his prominent collarbones. He was so beautiful it hurt in Otabek's chest.

He'd find him. Even if it was the last thing he did in his life. He'd find him and tell him how much he loved him, Otabek promised to himself.

He took a photo of the file with his phone camera, then a close up of the photo in the file and closed it. After taking a deep breath he stepped out towards the counter.

The police lady gave him another bright smile. "Are you finished already? I had hoped that you'd be around until my colleagues lunch break was over and I could go get a coffee for the both of us."

Otabek stared down at her. There was no need to act anymore. She was nice, sure, but the way she so obviously hit on him although she was an officer on duty disgusted him. Like he'd ever let her come closer. Like there was space for anyone in his life but Yuri. It was always only Yuri. It had always been Yuri. And it would be Yuri, forever. He'd not let anyone close but Yuri.

"That will not be necessary", he said, his voice steady, calm, low. Cold. "Thank you for your cooperation." He put the file on the wooden surface of the counter and left.

He didn't even remember that he rode the bike to the hotel, nor that he got some takeout from an Indian restaurant for lunch. At one point he felt like waking up from some kind of trance, sitting at the desk in his room a half-eaten dish of mutton curry in front of him. For a moment he stared at the brownish-orange sauce and yellow rice, then pushed the styrofoam container away.

He went over to lie down on the bed and opened the gallery scroll on his phone. Yuri stared at him with tired eyes.

He tried to put together when Yuri had disappeared. His last letter held only vague information. It's been almost a year now, one line said, so Yuri must have written it before end of October 2018. The letter had not only been the last one in the box, but also it had sounded a lot like a farewell letter. There were so many lines in it that seemed like they were meant as last words before Yuri disappeared.

I can't take it anymore… i want you to remember that wherever you are that i am with you… remember me… remember Yuri as well, because he has always been yours

Otabek was sure that at the time Yuri had written this letter he had already known that he would leave. That he would leave his old life behind, starting anew somewhere, somehow, trying to forget the pain that his old life had made him go through, this hell of seeing everyone around him dying, leaving only this broken and lonely boy behind.

So, if Yuri had left the apartment of his grandfather somewhen around late October or early November 2018, because he had most likely not spent a very long time in the abandoned flat, it had been over one and a half year until the police patrol had taken him in. That meant that he either had not left Moscow by that time or had come back after 19 months at most. He had been to a club like a normal 19 year old, even having a small amount of weed with him, what although it had worried Otabek for a moment was a more or less normal part of any teenage phase he had heard of. He had tried it as well, back then with JJ, and he knew that at least Leo and Seung Gil had made this experience as well without trying it for a second time. It was not good, sure, but it was not something life threatening or highly addictive, so Otabek didn't give it much thought. It bothered him a lot though, that Yuri had been by himself when he had drawn the attention of the police patrol. According to the report he had been drunk, alone and "dressed inappropriate", what could only be a reference to the black collar and lace shirt and whatever he had worn else. Scrutinizing the photo Otabek had to confess that Yuri looked kind of feminine with the low neckline and long hair and some people might think of that as lewd or, like the description said, inappropriate for a young man. Otabek could only admire Yuri's beauty.

He startled when the phone vibrated violently with an incoming message.

That's cool! Dima had written. We meet at 10 for preloading at our usual pub and then leave for the club. The party starts at 11. I'll send you the location, it'd be so cool if you'd join :D

It took only seconds for the two links to the club and a bar closeby to drop in.

Otabek closed the message after sending a brief Okay, thank you, I will be there and rolled over to lie on his back. He didn't even look forward to the club like he had this morning. All he could think about was Yuri.

в

He hadn't missed a shot. Vlad had watched him with one raised eyebrow. "You're a phenomenon", he had said when checking out the sheet. The three inner circles were the only ones that had been pinched by the bullets. "I've rarely seen someone with that much determination. You progress really fast, it's awesome." He had suggested that Otabek started playing airsoft to practice scenarios with opponents and handed Otabek a pamphlet of a club not too far from the range.

It had made Otabek swallow that he was so good at shooting a gun. He had held it with only one hand instead of steadying it with the second hand for the first time today and still had hit close to the bull's eye with all shots fired. He was just glad that Vlad had given up on convincing him to go hunting. Playing airsoft was a much better option in Otabek's opinion.

At half past 9 he had showered for the second time today, his hair styled as usual, but there was a problem now: He didn't know what to wear. Squatting next to his suitcase he stared down on the mass of black and white clothes helplessly. He had been to clubs before, of course. He had been a DJ after all. But now things were different: He could not just wear any tank top or t-shirt like he used to. Looking at the tattoo he sighed. Sure, it was convenient to have it in a spot where it was easy to be noticed, but not tonight, not here, not like that. He really didn't want to rub in Dima's face that he was member of a bratva, especially not as long as he really wasn't a part of it yet.

Something with long sleeves then. The button-down shirts he wore on a daily basis would look way too formal and therefore really awkward in a club and Otabek went through the pieces of clothing with a frown when he suddenly came across one of the pieces that Khaligaz had insisted he bought when they had been shopping. It was made of thin, soft cotton, black, with a small stand-up collar, buttoned halfway down. He put it on, as well as black jeans and looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He couldn't help but grin as he understood why Khaligaz had made him buy it: he looked very Kazakh.

"You look good", she had said and that was exactly what Dima said when Otabek had joined him in the bar a little more than half an hour later.

"You… look good", the ginger Russian said, blushing, then lowly added: "To say the least."

Otabek nodded a thanks then sat down next to Dima on the bench of the run-down bar. There were three of Dima's friends who introduced themselves to Otabek: Evgenia, the skinny feminist with very short brown hair, Katcha, her girlfriend who was a little chubby but charismatic and was a fellow-student of Dima and Oleg, a tall, pale law-student with a nose ring who had hit on Dima in the first semester but had turned out to be not his type so they had become friends instead. Otabek nodded again, introducing himself as Erasyl who had business in Moscow but originally came from Kazakhstan. A waitress came and he ordered water, earning a look from Dima and his friends.

"We're here to have fun, you know", Evgenia said smirking, but apologized when Otabek explained that he was muslim.

"You come here often?", Otabek asked looking around. It was still early, but the bar was buzzing with people, voiced and lounge-electro adding up to an enthusiastic background music. The fact that the bar itself was pretty run-down, dust collecting on the motionless fans at the ceiling and cracks in the fake snake leather of the seats didn't seem to bother anyone. The wall in the far back had been painted in a 70's wallpaper design in bright orange, yellow and brown and the lamps hanging from the low ceiling were different above each table.

"Every weekend", Katcha smiled. "Well, at least when we are not broke."

Oleg tilted his head. "The cocktails here are the best and for a reasonable price. Not that you'd benefit from it, but if you ever decide on giving booze a try, this is the place to be. The music's usually shit though."

"Only because your taste in music is total crap!", Evgenia cut in.

Dima smiled over the table. "They are always like that", he explained with his low voice. "But they are best friends actually."

Otabek nodded. His water came and he gave the waitress a nice tip what made her smile.

"How was your day?", Dima asked, ignoring his friends who were discussing the playlists in different bars in the area.

"Exhausting", Otabek confessed and took the straw out of his sparkling water to place it on a coaster. "I advanced a lot though, so it is fine. I discovered some very valuable information that might be the key to further progress."

Dima sighed. "All that sounds so super secret."

"It is", Otabek replied. "I am sorry that I have to leave you in the dark about that."

"It's okay. I'm just glad it works out nicely for you. Sounds like you can afford to have a little fun tonight, right?"

"Exactly."

е

The Nightshade Moscow was one of the most famous nightclubs in all Russia. There was a subsidiary club in St. Petersburg and one in Novosibirsk as well, but the one in Moscow was the original and of extraordinary fame. It wasn't even that big, but the events were legendary, and the parties infamous. There was an endless coming and going of the most popular DJs and celebrities and it was really hard to get into the club without the necessary connections. Dima's friend Sergej, the one who had become ill suddenly, was a fashion design student and had worked for the staff manager a while ago. That way he had managed to get ahold of some spots on the guest list for tonight's event (Evgenia suspected that at least a blowjob had been involved in that act of favor as she had admitted with a wink). Several DJs would play tonight of which Otabek only knew Alexey Zavgorodniy, as he had only found out when Oleg had showed him the list earlier. He was kind of excited now, not that it showed on his face.

"The owner somehow manages to sign a lot of really good people", Oleg explained as they made their way towards the bar and this time Evgenia had the same opinion, which according to Dima was a rare thing to be seen. Oleg continued: "His son is into dance music, so there are a lot of events like that. They usually hang out in the VIP-Area next to the turntables, and when the show is over they do coke with the artists backstage. At least that's what you hear." He shrugged. "Wouldn't mind hanging out there a little as well…"

"Oleg, seriously", Dima scolded him. "You're gonna be a judge, be a little more reasonable if you please."

"Only for the commemorate photos!", Oleg laughed and gestured toward the bar. "First round is my treat, make it count", he said with a wink.

The first DJ started playing and the dance floor was crowded right away. Otabek wasn't one for dancing, he was more interested in the actual DJ work and stayed behind closer to the bar while the others went to dance.

After the second set the girls came over, their cheeks red and holding hands. "You really are shy", Katcha said, obviously tipsy. "But you're cute. You could make me hetero again", she laughed and Evgenia grinned as well.

"If you ever consider a threesome…", she offered, then gestured towards the toilets and they were gone.

The third set was a little slower than the first one but the beats were heavy and made Otabek's chest vibrate with bass. It felt awesome. It was like for the first time in

months, literal years, he felt something else than pain and fear in his chest.

After the fourth set Dima came over, smiling brightly. "I'm a little drunk", he chuckled, more than just a little drunk actually. Sweat made strands of his wavy hair stick onto his forehead. He looked exhausted but cute. "It's so much fun, I'm glad we managed to get in here. Do you like it, too? I feel, like, kind of bad to leave you behind like that. I dragged you here after all." He tugged on Otabek's sleeve.

"I am enjoying it as well", Otabek confirmed, looking down on the slender ginger as Dima leaned against his arm softly. It made Otabek a little uncomfortable, but the boy was drunk, so it most likely didn't hold any deeper meaning.

When the next set started, Oleg came over to look after Dima. "There you are, flirting with your hot plus-one while I wait for you", he said with a laugh. "I thought I was your dancing partner tonight."

"I'm just trying to entertain my guest." Dima leaned his head against Otabek's shoulder in a way too intimate manner, but straightened after a second to look over to the VIP area on the opposite side of the dance floow. "Look!", he exclaimed, "Someone's dancing!"

Otabek looked over to where Dima's finger pointed at. Indeed there was something going on in the half-dark next to the stage: a skinny blonde girl in black leather pants and crop shirt had made her way onto the small podium in the roped-off area where some important looking people in black suits enjoyed champagne out of tall glasses. The girl turned around, obviously to present her dancing skills on the pole that was erected in the middle of the podium. She didn't seem to plan on stripping or something although Oleg had explained earlier that that was allowed in the club. For regular customers it cost though, 20000 roubles for women and 50000 for men, but the people in the cordoned-off area were for sure favored by the club's owner and therefore weren't charged. Otabek didn't think the girl would strip though anyway, her pants looked very tight so it was probably hard work to peel them from her long legs. And it wasn't like the shining material left anything to the imagination.

"Oh", Oleg said after a moment when he had caught a glimpse of the girl's face as she was moving gracefully but erotically to the quick-paced beats of the music, not even paying attention to the pole. Her long, slender limbs moved in the flow of the music, the pink and violet of the spotlights hectically dancing on her fair skin and her golden hair as she threw her mane back in a swift motion that made Otabek's heart stop beating. He could barely hear Oleg's voice over the blast of the music and the rushing of blood in his ears as the law student added: "It's Katyusha. The owner's son."

Just that it wasn't the owner's son.

It was Yuri.

The End [of Hopelessness]

Finally, geez! XD

Thanks for your awesome support! I hope you liked this part too. See you next week ;D