It faded away slowly this time. The seconds ticking away as his vision came back. A sound like a clock but there was none here in this room. His breathing noisy in his own ears and he just couldn't see. Only hear.
Drip, drip.
All blurry. The red creeping back into the corners of his eyes where it had come from. Too slow.
Drip, drip.
Bent over he saw something glittering. Tears falling from his eyes, but that was not the sound, easier to hear now that his breathing got softer.
Drip, drip, and the red was still there, between his tears, but different.
The sound of blood dripping on the old carpet.
For a moment he couldn't remember. Short-circuit, that must have been it. A thought so scary he winced. He could never let it happen again. Forget. Forgetting had brought him here. Forgetting caused all this pain. Forgetting, even if it was for a split second was nothing he could afford, ever again. But his brain had just short-circuited. His control. His awareness.
He turned his right hand, the hand where the blood came from, falling in little crimson pearls, forming small red spots on the carpet. There was a wound at the side of his hand and now that he had turned it, the red ran towards his wrist, then falling from the raising of the bone there. It tickled on his skin and he wondered why it didn't hurt yet. Why didn't it hurt? Or did he just not feel it, because something else hurt so much more, his heart, it hurt. It hurt, it hurt. So. Much.
He wrapped the fingers of his left hand around the wound so it would maybe stop bleeding, or maybe not, he didn't care. Looking up he saw the desk lamp, hanging from the side of the table, the cable still in the socket and keeping it from crashing on the ground, where the shards were, thick green glass shards, green and broken.
Green and broken.
He sat down on the chair when he noticed that he must have gotten up at some point. Gotten up, his vision all red and in his anger and fear and pain had smashed the lamp with his hand, just because it was too much to keep it inside.
The letter sat on the desk like nothing had happened. Taunting. Like Otabek's life hadn't just ended. For the second time already.
He collapsed onto the desk crying and he cried until there were no tears left in him, until he was drained of all feeling he had left inside of him. The ink on the paper blurred under his tears, taking in all the anger and fear and pain until he was empty. Hollow. A husk.
You WOuLD HAVE BETTER STAYED DEAD, it read and there was some truth in it, because now he felt it. Nothing. Like it didn't make any difference if he was alive or dead. Like there was no need for Otabek Altin in this world. Not now, not after Yuri had dealt him this literal death blow.
He read the letter again. And again. Until the words didn't make sense to him anymore. Until it was nothing but black ink on crinkled paper, just words, characters, unconnected and meaningless, unconnected from any feeling.
The blood seeped through his fingers, but slower now.
Drip.
Drip.
It was sticky but he didn't feel disgust. He felt nothing.
He looked at the glass shards, so green and the color meant something. Green was the color of Yuri's eyes, he remembered.
Green and broken - Yuri and Otabek.
He stared at the shards and they shimmered, lowly in the fading light of the late Russian afternoon. They shimmered green and it reminded Otabek of something, something important, something vital.
(Yuri looks at him. His eyes shimmer in the fading light of the late Spanish afternoon. There's a tiny blush on the tip of his nose and Otabek can't help but think that it's adorable. Yuri looks away too fast, but then with his beautiful voice repeats: "Soldier? Me?", and Otabek doesn't know why he questions it, because he thinks that this is what Yuri is all about. Strength. Determination. Passion. Hope. Because this is what he unknowingly taught Otabek, this is what-)
he made Otabek feel: strong, determined, passionate, hopeful. It shot through him like a lightning bolt. He was not dead. He had never been. He was here, he was alive and he had everything that Yuri had given him, all these feelings that had made him stand up no matter how many times he had fallen. All these things that had made him suffer through his mother's drill, that had brought him through the sadness and loneliness that had been his childhood, that had made him fight his way to the top and to Yuri's side, and that had made him wake up and come back to life. He was here and he was alive and time had changed a lot of things, but it had not changed one thing: His love.
"And I will not give up so easily", he heard himself hiss through his teeth as he stood from the chair. And there was something else in his chest now. Something strong.
He left the letter behind on the desk, crinkled and blurry like the hope in his heart.
р
"What happened to your hand?", Boris asked when he saw the bandages. A cigarette hung from his lips, the old cassette radio playing half music half static.
"Had some trouble", Otabek said with a shrug as he got on the car and slammed the door shut.
"Haha, hope you showed those losers who's the boss!" With a rough laugh and not even waiting for his passenger to get his seatbelt on Boris pulled out and joined the stream of traffic. "We gotta go change cars, my old ride is not very appropriate for- Hey! Watch your ass, fucking son of a horse!" He punched the middle of the steering wheel to honk at the car that had almost crashed into them and the car honked back. Otabek could make out the middle finger of the other driver but tried not to think about if he'd survive another ride with Boris. He had noticed this morning already that the streets in Moscow were a battle field on their own when you were not on a motorcycle that could easily dodge the cars and it had been relatively calm this morning. Lighting a cigarette he figured where the scratches and dents on Boris' old Lada came from.
"What car is it?", he asked instead and put his cigarettes and lighter away. The injury on his hand pulsed slightly under the bandages. He had wrapped his hand himself with the materials he had found in the first aid box in the cabinet under the sink. The bandages were unsurprisingly of low quality but with his practice from the kickboxing training where he had become used to taping and wrapping his ankles and wrists himself it had turned out pretty decent even with the bad bandages. He thought he might have better sewn the cut, but he didn't have time for that now and one scar more or less really didn't make a difference on him anymore anyway.
"Any of the Audis", Boris said. "I usually take a black one."
"Very precise", Otabek said with a grin and it made Boris laugh.
"I don't give a shit about cars, really", he explained and stubbed his cigarette out in the overflowing ashtray. "As long as they run more or less smoothly I am okay with anything. How 'bout you, you into rides?"
"Bikes more", Otabek replied. "But I have some favourite cars too, sure."
Boris took a corner sharply, making the rosary that hung from the rear mirror dangle violently. "Then you'll sure like Orlov's fleet. He has some nice pieces down there, even I can tell. And there's Katyusha's ride, too. A naughty little beast, that's the car and the boy." He laughed again, loudly and clueless.
Otabek didn't think about how strange it was to him to imagine Yuri driving, much less trying to imagine what Boris could have meant by 'naughty' when speaking of a car. By the time they arrived in the carpark he realized it was nothing he ever could have thought of.
Boris didn't even bother to lock his Lada when he got off, but just slammed the door shut and walked over to the cars lined up like in a museum. Otabek followed with wide eyes.
"Those are all Orlov's?"
"Only the ones he needs here in Moscow", Boris said as they walked along the shimmering paint, chrome and carbon fiber. "We go pick up the key from Aljosha in the office upstairs."
Quickly counting Otabek came to the conclusion that there were a total of 16 cars, starting from a handful of relatively casual Audi limousines with black paint and tinted windows to a burgundy Jaguar E-Type and a silver Porsche Panamera. As they walked he spotted a green Volkswagen Scirocco and a yellow Lamborghini Urus.
"He likes his cars in flashy colors", Otabek commented making Boris laugh, then nodded towards the car in the far back. "What happened here?"
"The Audi?", the other said and looked to the black car. "That's Katyusha's, what I mentioned earlier."
It wasn't just a car though. It was a matte black Audi R8 coupé V-10 and 'naughty' was not the word. Otabek looked the exquisite machine up and down and whistled lowly. Yuri had stayed true to his 15 year-old self, the car way over the top. But it was undoubtedly his, the licence plate said K 666 XA, then 177 for Moscow City. KXA for Katyusha. And the Number of the Beast so Yuri. He couldn't help but smirk.
"He doesn't look like he'd drive such a monster", Otabek said, following Boris to the door in the back.
"He doesn't most of the time actually. He has a driver who came with a car. Was a present for his birthday last year or something." Boris shrugged and pressed the electric bell next to the metal door, then held his face so that the camera in the upper left corner would get his face. "Those people have other problems than we do", he added with a shrug. The lock of the door hummed and Boris pressed the handle down.
They entered a plain vestibule, the concrete painted in stained white framing an elevator door. Boris pressed the button and a moment later the lift arrived with a ping.
"The whole building is Orlov's", Boris explained as they entered the elevator, then pressed the button for 'Business office'. "The entire block actually, but here's where he has his office and the loft on the upper floors." He pointed at the three buttons at the top. The third said 'Orlov Kompaniya', the two on top said 'Katyusha Anatoliev Orlov'.
Otabek stared at it in disbelief.
"The rest is office floors for some banks and the ministry of transport, but they have a separate entrance and don't use this elevator. We can only make it up to the business office though, if you want to go all the way up you'd need a code and visual confirmation", Boris rambled on, oblivious of Otabek's state of mood. "I've never been up there, I'm too unimportant, but at least we can get some nice cars to drive, right?" He elbowed Otabek in the side, who managed to mimic a chuckle. "I could let you drive, you'll enjoy it more than me anyway. Let's see if Aljosha has a good day today. It's still monday after all."
Nodding absentmindedly Otabek still had a hard time to process what he had just heard.
Yuri lived here, right in this building, not even a 20 minute drive from his hotel. The plate holding the buttons, only 6 in total, didn't have the number of the floor next to it, but from what Otabek had seen of the building from the outside he guessed that the three top floors must be around the thirtieth floor at least. Above the buttons sat a control panel with buttons for 10 digits and a LCD display. So this was used to type in the code that brought you to the restricted floors. Otabek spotted a camera in the corner of the elevator. He supposed that this was used for general security matters as well as the visual confirmation that as Boris had explained was necessary on top of the entrance code. He pondered a moment, then came to the conclusion that there was no way he could simply go up there and enter Yuri's apartment, not even now that he had already made it into the building itself. Trying to sneak in was just as futile as forcing a way inside with the help of violence. If you were not welcomed into the building and then the upper floors there was no way you could get in. It was bitter but he had not expected anything else from an underground boss. Orlov had not made it that far by being careless.
The elevator came to a halt and with another ping the doors slid open. Stepping out behind Boris Otabek found himself in a spacy office with a reception desk much like in the police archive he had been at before. The man behind the counter looked up in what seemed to be a very bad mood.
"Morning Aljosha", Boris greeted, but the man made a face.
"'Morning' you say", he huffed, "like I haven't been here for nine hours already. Only because you lazy ass bouncer fuckers sleep all day doesn't make it morning for the rest of us at fucking quarter to six." He looked over to Otabek. "That the new guy Iosif talked about? The Korean?"
Otabek managed not to frown at that when Boris already jumped in: "Yeah, started beating up some fags at 'shade tonight", he laughed. "Had to save the poor guy before Erasyl here shreddered him."
Aljosha laughed like a horse and held out his hand. "Understandable. Welcome back in Moscow, brother." Otabek shook his hand, not moving a muscle of his face as Aljosha pressed his thick fingers in the cut under the bandages accidentally. "Let me guess, you came for the car?"
Boris nodded. "Put Erasyl here on the roster, I'm in no mood to drive today."
Aljosha frowned, then typed something into his computer. "Which one do you want? A3 sportback and A4 estate are available. Need to keep the Q7 here for Katyusha's guest. They're still at it up there."
"An A3 is fine", Otabek answered, his voice a little shaky. By 'guest' Aljosha must have referred to Alexej Zavgorodniy. So he was still here, up there with Yuri. Inhaling deeply Otabek kept his emotions under control.
"Alright", the man said, then opened a desk drawer and took out a key with a tag, handing it to Otabek. "There you go. And now get out of here and leave me alone."
"Thanks Aljosha, see you tomorrow!", Boris said with a wave of his hand and Otabek nodded then followed Boris into the elevator again. When the door had closed behind them Boris chuckled. "Usually he's all bitchy and starts yelling rules for handling the cars at new guys, like 'Don't smoke in the fucking cars, shithead' and stuff. But he seems to like you." He gave Otabek a wink.
'Go collecting' as Boris had called it was really not much trouble as Otabek found out in the following hours. They drove from shop to shop and from office to office, were greeted politely and handed envelopes (which without a doubt contained larger amounts of money by the weight of them) without any complaints. In one of the shops, a small printery and copy shop, the daughter of the owner served them vodka (for Boris) and tea (for Otabek) while the grand child, a brightly smiling five year-old girl with wavy chocolate brown hair, demonstrated Otabek how good she was at drawing in a dog-eared coloring book. Otabek murmured affirmatively at the chaos of colorful lines in thick crayons appearing on the paper, until the mother shooed the girl away to her room. "I'm sorry", she said a little embarrassed as she closed the book, "she likes men with deep, smooth voices."
"It's fine, she did not bother me", Otabek said and helped her collecting the crayons that had splayed out on the tea table.
"Please", she said, "no need to help me, it's Tasja's mess", but of course Otabek didn't stop until the crayons were in the box again.
"Thank you", she said with a light blush and hurried to take the book and box after her daughter.
"The father died two years ago", Boris explained later as they were in the car again. "Had cancer, but they diagnosed too late."
Otabek hummed as he waited for the light to turn green.
"We stopped the charges for the krusha for that time and helped out with the funeral a little, I guess that's why the mother feels like she's in our debt."
The light switched and Otabek sped up. "Must be hard bringing up the girl by herself", he murmured. "Even if the grandfather is there." He knew it was hard. Yuri had told him many times how it had been for him and his grandfather, just that he had not even had a mother who loved him and who cared for him. "At least she still has that part of the family", he added eventually and Boris nodded.
"Family is the most important. How 'bout you, do you have children?"
"No."
"A girl?", Boris kept probing with a smirk. "Or a guy? Didn't hang out at the 'shade for women I guess? C'mon, you're such a pretty boy, I guess you have one in every part of the city!"
Otabek smiled almost unnoticeable under his frown. "I'm afraid I don't. I'm a little… old fashioned, I guess."
"Hmmm", Boris pursed his lips. "So one true love that you'll recognize when you see it and that will last forever?" He leaned back and stared out of the window, before in an unusual low voice concluding: "Yeah, I guess something like that really exists."
"I wondered", Otabek broke the silence after some minutes, "the way everyone's addressing each other, with just the given names; where I come from you don't do that. I learned that you use both names, unless you are…"
"Brothers", Boris said smiling when Otabek didn't find a word right away. "Because that's what we are. If you wear the crest on your skin, no matter where, no matter how big or how visible, then you have found you a family. When you are in the bratva you have no worries. There might be people who don't like each other, but we are all brothers here and we treat each other like brothers. Maksim, Egor and Iosif, that son of a bitch Aljosha, they all are close to my heart. Even Orlov himself or his boy, it's as strong as blood ties." He scrutinized Otabek for a moment, then added: "I guess they didn't teach you that in Korea."
Otabek didn't have a chance to comment on any of that, when Boris' phone started ringing.
The man fished it out of his pocket and took the call with a "Speaking of the devil, Aljosha, I was just bitching to Erasyl about you. ...Yeah. Hm… yeah, I guess." He sighed, then turned to Otabek: "Turn around we have to head back to the office. Something's wrong with the ocelot."
It was probably the strangest instruction Otabek had ever received, but he didn't let his confusion show and turned at the next opportunity. While still on the phone Boris changed the destination in the navigation system, humming affirmatively into his phone once in a while. Whatever had happened, it seemed to take some time to explain it. When they were halfway back to the office Boris finally hung up.
"Fucking Goood", he said stretched. "See, this is what I mean when I say these people have different problems than we do. So obviously the ocelot ate cocaine or something and is about to bite the dust, but Sergej is away with the Q7 to take Katyusha's guest to the airport and the boy is too hysteric to drive. So Aljosha thought he'd call us to take the ocelot to the fucking doc, because we are obviously the only people reasonable enough to play driver for the critter. That or our work is the only thing that can wait right now. I'm really not sure if they think that people treat us to tea all day, but here we are and a job is a job. I hope you are ready for bloody murder cries or however that goddamn proverb was."
"I guess", Otabek said, witnessing how Boris lit a cigarette. "Hey, isn't smoking forbidden in the ca-"
"Shut up already!", Boris laughed and let down a window. "I'm too old for that kind of bullshit."
They were there in a matter of minutes and Boris only managed to throw the cigarette stump out of the window when they had passed the guard station next to the approach of the carpark. Slowing down Otabek prepared to steer the A3 next to the door in the back when he saw him.
He wore a flawlessly fitting ensemble of a long dog-tooth checked blazer with suit pants in the same pattern, a thin shimmering black sweater that looked like it was made of silk but knitted, and heavy black boots. His hair was styled in a loose braid that fell over his shoulder like woven gold. He looked harried, his eyes reddened but he was stunningly beautiful. In his arms sat - motionless - a literal ocelot, a dwarf leopard and Otabek wondered why he was even surprised.
Boris got out of the car and Yuri hurried over to him. "What the fucking hell took you so long?!", he yelled and it sent a shiver down Otabek's spine. Yes, that was his Yuri.
He heard Boris murmur something like "traffic" and turned off the engine, putting on the hand brake.
"We take the R8!", Yuri ordered and handed the key to Boris. "Every second counts, he's all weak already." The ocelot made a pitiful, moaning sound that echoed from the walls of the underground carpark like a banshee's scream. "Come on, hurry the fuck up!"
"Here", Boris said and tossed the key over to Otabek who just had gotten out of the A3, catching it effortlessly. "Erasyl drives, he's better at it than me."
Yuri looked over to him and catching sight of the familiar face he became even paler than he had been before if possible. "No!", he protested angrily. "Boris, you will drive, this is not a plea!"
"I thought every second counts", the man shrugged and Otabek, who had headed over to unlock the R8 already saw the wheels working behind Yuri's pretty forehead. He hadn't changed a bit.
"What will it be?", he asked. "Coming or not?"
"Fine." With a hiss Yuri stomped over to the car, Otabek's eyes following him. "Why are you staring at me, asshole?"
It was bizarre. Otabek watched as Yuri got into the black car, the ocelot still whimpering, his eyes so piercing and green. But there was something else. A light blush on the tip of Yuri's nose. An almost unnoticeable amount of red.
"I'll return the A3", Boris said and Otabek nodded, then got into the car as well. The sounds the cat made got louder when he started the engine.
"Get the location of the veterinarian into the navigation system, please", he asked Yuri and the blonde did it without complaining while they made their way up to the streets.
"Turn right", a female voice said and Otabek did so. The vet was only some minutes away but the ocelot really sounded like it was coming to an end and somewhere on the way Yuri started sobbing quietly.
"It will be alright", Otabek said, only to have Yuri yell back at him: "Don't talk to me!"
With a hum Otabek focused on the traffic.
He didn't have to press things now. Yuri was clearly upset enough and he didn't want to make things worse. Chances were low that he would get something useful out of Yuri like this. He'd wait until the cat was secure. He'd wait. Mere minutes didn't make a difference now.