It would be their sanctuary, this small empty rundown flat above the Turkish hauling company. It was bleak and plain, nothing but gray. But Yuri's presence filled the room with gold and ivory, berries and the faint scent of tobacco, tourmaline and rose petals and a deep, raspy laugh.

Otabek drove him home eventually. Yuri was tired and he was as well. The boy's clothes had dried on the heater and they both changed, Otabek in jeans and a sweater. He noticed that Yuri kept his shirt on under his silky blouse, but he didn't comment on it. He didn't understand most of what had been happening in the past few hours and exhausted as he was he decided to think about everything after a good night's sleep.

He steered the R8 back into the car park underneath Yuri's apartment and cut the engine, pondering for a moment. Yuri had been quiet, half asleep leaning into the seat all the way here and Otabek couldn't think of something to say that wasn't foolish. So in the end they sat in silence for a moment, before Otabek unbuckled the seatbelt and leaned over. He had never initiated anything with Yuri since that day when he had asked Yuri to become his friend so many years ago. And even then he had asked for permission first. Now he couldn't. He didn't seem to be able to come up with a single word, because no word could express the turmoil in his chest and his head and his stomach. So he just leaned over and wrapped his arms around Yuri, carefully first so that Yuri could break the embrace if it was unwanted, but pulling him closer as the blonde leaned into it.

"Otabek", he murmured, then hugged him back.

"Take care", Otabek whispered, voice sounding desperate and by God, he was desperate! "Please. Take care. You are the most important. You are everything that counts. If something happens to you, it's all over. Please, keep that in mind. And whenever you need me, call me, write me, whatever. I'll be there for you. No matter what time it is or where you are or what is wrong, even if you think it's nothing, call me and I'll be there. I came here for you after all. Let me do what I couldn't do before. Let me be there for you. That's all I wish for."

Yuri nodded. "If there's something… I want to be there for you, too, okay? That's what friends do after all, right?"

"You did more than enough already", Otabek objected.

It made Yuri push him away at arm's length and look at him upset. "Don't say that", he scowled. "I did what was necessary and I'd do it again anytime if it would keep you with me, Otabek. As long as we are friends I'd do anything for you. And we'll be friends forever, won't we?" Suddenly he looked hurt. "Won't we, Otabek?"

"Of course", he replied as softly as his hurting heart allowed him to.

"Best friends?"

"Best friends."

He took a taxi home and tried not to cry. The words stuck to his skin, wrapped around his throat, making it hard to breathe. Best friends. Ten years ago he would have given his right hand to hear those words from Yuri. Five years ago too. But now it hurt. It wasn't enough. It would never be and he knew that as he tried to convince himself that it was more than he could have hoped for. He wanted so much more. He was so greedy.

He laid down on his bed in the darkness again, stared into the black. He imagined that the sheets had Yuri's scent now. He started crying.

д

In the following weeks something like a routine came to Otabek's life. Yuri sent him texts occasionally but didn't dare to come see him because Orlov had him with him a lot these days. All that was left for Otabek was hoping that Yuri was alright and think of him when he laid down in his blank room at night, hoping to see Yuri again soon.

Boris somehow managed to find work for him to do almost on a daily basis: deliveries of goods no one knew more about other than the fact that they were valuable and/or dangerous, collecting money from some bigger companies that were allowed to pick a date for the payment themselves (and all did on point). Most of the time Boris was with him, but three times Aljosha accompanied him because he was the contact person of the 'client'.

On this thursday Boris had them drive over to the airport to pick up a guest called Jessenin who had arrived all the way from Israel because Sergej, the regular driver, didn't pick up his phone. Otabek learned that it was easy for Russians to get papers in Israel for a certain amount of money if the federal police was hot on their trail and that once you had a foreign passport the Russian police had no warrant to take you into custody. That way even big players in the Russian mafia could shake the police hounds off, the police in Israel was bribed and Interpol rarely acted when it came to requests from the Russian police if European or American authorities didn't benefit from it. It was an expensive but relatively easy way to start a new life without paying the debts from the old one.

They brought Orlov's guest to the Kompaniya's office where Orlov himself waited next to the elevator.

"Vanya!", the man exclaimed and pulled Jessenin in a rough embrace. Boris had said that they had worked together under Orlov's uncle Tarassov back in the days so Otabek understood why the greeting was so intimate. "It's only been two years but time has made a bunch of old dicks out of us, hasn't it?", he laughed, letting his friend go and looking him up and down.

"Time has nothing to do with that, you have always been a dick", Jessenin said with a smirk and they both erupted in laughter.

"Boris, would you and your friend take my guest's luggage to the Tverskaya Street, if you please. Come on, Vanya, let us sit for a moment, you must be tired from the flight."

A few minutes later, getting into the car Otabek looked over to Boris on the passenger seat. "What's in Tverskaya street?", he asked and Boris shrugged.

"The Ritz-Carlton", he explained, "Orlov has all his guests stay in the president suite. Which is two floors full of gold and marble." He laughed. "Not that I have ever seen the place, but there's rumours. I heard the thing costs three hundred thousand roubles a night."

Otabek whistled lowly then started the car. He had expected Orlov to own a guesthouse or something, but it was most likely more convenient to just book a hotel and not have to worry about staff and service or about the maintenance when the guest house was empty.

"Well, of course Orlov doesn't have to pay in his own hotel", Boris added chuckling and Otabek felt like steering the car into a nearby wall, but somehow managed to not let his surprise show. So Orlov owned the most expensive hotel in all Moscow, too. It should not have surprised him really. But every time he thought he knew as much about the vor as he'd ever get to know he learned new astounding things about the man. Considering he was not even really part of the bratva he had gotten to know a lot by now. Looked like it was about time he started to expect some new surprising fact about Orlov behind every corner. Right now it would hardly surprise him if Orlov had made Putin president by financing his election and in the end gifting him his horse...

They dropped off the luggage at the impressive hotel. The staff nodded knowingly as Otabek mentioned that the suitcase belonged to "the guest of the boss" and took over in all eagerness.

When he returned to the car he caught Boris with a cigarette and a scowl.

"I don't know what's wrong with Sergej, but it's starting to piss me off how the bastard just doesn't pick up his phone", he hissed, shoving his mobile into his pocket. Otabek had never seen Boris that angry before. "Bet he's drunk and stoned between some cheap whore's legs. Asshole."

"He does that often?", Otabek inquired, fastening his seat belt.

"Yeah, hell of a lot actually. Even driving plastered half of the time."

"But,", Otabek couldn't keep his voice from having a worried ring to it, "isn't he supposed to be Katyusha's driver?"

Boris hummed. "Kind of. He drives Orlov too occasionally, when his usual driver is not available. The boy just doesn't drive himself when he's partying so he makes use of Sergej's services the most. I mean, I really appreciate that the boy doesn't try and go home by himself after two bottles of vodka or whatever the kids chug nowadays, plus the drugs, so it's really a good idea to have someone available to take care of him. Just that Sergej isn't fucking available to do his job even in the middle of the day…" He sighed, clearly annoyed. "If I had kids I wouldn't let Sergej drive them to begin with, but that's prolly just me."

"He has Sergej drive his daughters too?", Otabek asked, a weight on his chest making it harder to breathe every second.

"No, of course not. Artjom, Orlov's regular driver does that. He's been working for him for two decades by now and he's definitely a guy you can trust with your wife and children. Took a bullet for Orlov once. Not that kind of carouser and whoremonger we are talking about here."

"So Sergej isn't good enough for his family but it's okay when it's Katyusha", Otabek suggested, rage rising in his throat.

Boris looked at him bewildered for a second, then shrugged one shoulder. "He prolly doesn't even realize what an irresponsible son of a bitch Sergej is. We are the ones having all the trouble after all. Like, Aljosha calling us back from collecting when the boy needs a ride and stuff, right?" He scrutinized Otabek for another moment. "You're mad."

With a frown Otabek stared at the steering wheel and tried to unclench his hands. They had balled into fists without him noticing. "It's nothing personal. I just don't get how you can be so reckless and put the life of innocent people on the line because you have no control over your life", he murmured. He had to try and calm down so Boris didn't suspect that it was indeed something personal that upset him so much. But he was so angry! How could this bastard risk Yuri's fragile, precious life by driving him drunk or stoned or both? How could Orlov not be careful about something like that if he said that he loved Yuri so much?

"It's funny how you call the kitten innocent, but I see your point", Boris said, taking a drag of his cigarette. "Maybe you should drive the boy instead. You don't drink at all, do you?"

Otabek frowned. "Never." He looked at Boris sternly but on the inside the thoughts were running wild. Boris was right. He could drive Yuri. He could take care of him. He could protect him. He could be there for him no matter when, no matter what happened. And he could be with Yuri much more often than he could now.

"Why is that so?", Boris asked and rolled down the window a little more to throw the cigarette stump out, then rolled it up again.

"I'm Muslim", Otabek replied but after a moment added: "But even if not I wouldn't drink I guess. I don't see the benefit in doing so. From what I have experienced the only desirable effect of consuming alcohol or any other drug is that you lose control over your thoughts and your actions. I don't want that. The thought scares me a little to be honest. To wake up in the morning and not remember what happened the night before. It's the worst."

Boris tilted his head. "That's a very pragmatic point of view."

At that Otabek nodded slowly. "I had some… bad experiences", he confessed. "Maybe you think it's a little extreme, but from what happened to me I learned that I need to remain in control of as many things as possible in whatever situation. But by all means I need to remain in control of myself. That's vital." He exhaled slowly, then repeated. "Vital."

There was a moment of silence, heavy in the compact space of the car and meaningful. Then, almost startling Otabek, Boris said: "Let's see what I can do. But for now let's head back and return the car, my butt hurts from all the sitting in the past days." He laughed and it lightened the mood up.

в

Later that day Otabek heard his ringtone when he was under the shower after returning from the gym. There was a fifty-fifty chance that it was Yuri calling, or even more because Boris usually send texts. He didn't even take the time to turn off the shower but ran out of the bathroom to get to his smartphone on the mattress. He ripped the charger cable out brutally and only then recognized Boris' name on the display. He took the call kind of relieved that it was not an emergency. At least not one that involved the blonde.

"Yes", he said.

"Erasyl…" The way Boris said his name sounded like a sigh. "Since we had the talk about Sergej earlier… Do you have time tonight for a job? That motherfucker died or something and I'll spit on his grave, I'm so pissed right now. Aljosha just called to ask me if we could pick up Jessenin later and drive him over to meet up with Orlov for dinner. I'd usually go with Sergej, but, well…" He sighed noisily.

Drops of water fell from Otabek's hair onto the floor. "Provide me with the information on time and place and I will be there."

"God bless you, Erasyl", Boris sounded very relieved. "We need to pick up the Q7 first and be at the hotel half past eight. Aljosha said the reservation at the restaurant is at nine, but it's not too far from Tverskaya, so we can take our time there. You know we need two people in case of issues, but Maksim really should stay with the kids that late at night and Egor and Iosif live too remote so I hoped you'd come. It's really a blessing that we have you, Erasyl, you're such a reliable young fellow."

"I'll be there", he said and after a thank you Boris hung up.

Otabek finished his shower, then shaved and got dressed. He had bought a holster for his MP-443 some time ago so that the gun sat under his left arm pit invisible but easy to reach. He wore a white button down shirt and black necktie, vest and suit. Combing his hair back after applying an amount of styling mousse he watched himself in the broken mirror. The gun really could not be seen but to know it was there made him feel really strange. Powerful and insecure, frightened and confident at the same time. He frowned and reached to grab the polymer handle like he had trained so often in the past days since he had gotten the holster. In the beginning he had had a hard time aiming correctly but now it wasn't much more effort to pull the gun out than frowning and he did that all the time after all. It happened almost naturally. It was scary to think that maybe at one point he'd need to perform this exact same action and eventually even pull the trigger like he used to do in the shooting range or in matches when he used his P-99 replica. Maybe at one point he'd hurt someone. Maybe even do something worse. The thought made his stomach cramp.

Putting the gun in place again he left his apartment to ride over to the car park to meet up with Boris and get the Audi.

When he arrived Boris was already there, talking to someone Otabek recognized as the driver who had picked up Orlov, Yuri and Alexey Zavgorodniy on Yuri's birthday. He parked the Ducati and walked over there leaving his helmet with the bike.

"Hey, Erasyl!", Boris greeted him cheerfully. "We were just talking about you."

Otabek grinned a little tormented. "Please, not that fairytale thing again", he pleaded, making Boris and the other driver laugh.

"Yes, exactly that", Boris said. "You just show up when we need you the most, can't be a coincidence, right?"

With a low laugh Otabek held his hand out. "Erasyl, nice to meet you."

"Artjom", the other man said, taking his hand. "I heard that name before, you're Kazakh?"

When Otabek nodded Boris seemed confused. "Wait, didn't you say you're Korean?"

"I didn't say that actually", he explained, one eyebrow rising. "I was in Korea before, but somehow it seemed to have come out the wrong way and I never had the opportunity to correct that." He shrugged, stuffing his hands into the pocket of his dress pants. "I'm from Semei originally."

The two men's smiles froze on their faces. "Oh", Boris said. It was impressive how the mere mention of the place could make the air grow colder a few degrees.

"The funny thing is", Otabek went on, "that Zhenya noticed right away that I'm Kazakh. You know, Maksim's boy."

Boris and Artjom seemed very glad that he changed the topic. "Yeah, he's a smart little guy, isn't he?" The grin came back to his face.

"Apparently he could tell from my accent", Otabek explained.

"But", Artjom interjected, "you don't have an accent."

Again Otabek shrugged. "Exactly my thought. I used to talk Russian all my life, but it seems that Zhenya could tell that I'm not Russian anyway. Or Korean."

"You look Korean to me!", Boris tried to defend himself. "Tonight you look more like a model for suits though."

The two older men laughed and Otabek too, not without a little embarrassment though.

"So, shall we get going?", Boris asked checking his wristwatch and Otabek nodded.

"Nice to meet you", Artjom said and shook Otabek's hand again.

"My pleasure", he replied, then they turned to get into the car.

"He's waiting for Orlov there", Boris explained as Otabek pulled out of the parking lot, leaving Atrjom behind next to the other Q7. "It's still time but he's the type to rather be a little early." He shot Otabek a glance then focused on setting up the navigation system again. "Just like you."

Otabek hummed. Dima had said the same thing when they had met for dinner. It seemed like forever since he had been involved with the pale redhead. Today was the 18th of march, so it could only have been three weeks. Following the clear instructions of the navigation's female voice he drove down the dark streets. He felt a little sorry for how he had treated Dima. It all had been so chaotic back then. So painful. And he had only tried to keep the boy away from this dangerous business. If he had dragged Dima into all this he would have get hurt sooner or later; rather sooner considering how naive and trusting the boy had been. Still, retrospective he should have been not that harsh, not that scary. Maybe he should have avoided getting too close to Dima to begin with. He had been so thoughtless and he felt sorry about that now. And he could not even apologize for how he had broken the student's heart, acting like a creep. Frowning he decided that he'd make up for it somehow. Maybe not in a way that Dima would ever know but so that his karma was a little more in balance. He'd be very cautious from now on.

They came to a halt in the Ritz-Carlton's parking lot at 8:24.

"I'll have a smoke", Boris said after typing the new destination into the navigation system, turning to get out of the car. "Want one, too?"

"I quit", Otabek said, earning a perplexed look from Boris but the man remained silent and got out of the Audi.

Jessenin approached the car 14 minutes later. Boris opened the door for him and got back into the passenger seat.

"I don't even know the name of the restaurant", Boris joked as they were driving there, the separating pane between the driver's cab and the back seat open so that Jessenin wasn't bored all by himself back there. "It's in French and the only things I can say in French is baguette and mozzarella."

"You do know that mozzarella is Italian, don't you?", Otabek gave back and Jessenin laughed hoarsely, then coughed.

"It's the goddamn weather here in Mother Russia", he said and cleared his throat. "How can people still live here and be happy when the world is full of nice places. take Israel for example, I'm so glad I was forced to move there all those years ago, or I would have never known how wonderful this country is and how loving the people." The way he spoke about it made Otabek think that he seemed to be an okay guy although his jokes were almost as bad as Boris'. The man kept rambling on about his house and the weather in his new home until they arrived at the restaurant 8 minutes before 9.

Artjom and the other car were not to be seen anywhere so Otabek suggested that they hadn't arrived yet. It took another few minutes before Otabek recognized the black Audi coming to a halt a few meters from their Q7.

"Go open the door for them, I'll stay with our guest", Boris instructed him and Otabek obeyed getting out of the car just as Artjom opened the driver's door. He smiled at him and gestured towards the passenger side of the back door. While Artjom opened the door behind the driver's seat Otabek did so on the opposite side. He hadn't expected that someone accompanied Orlov. He didn't even recognize who it was as he opened the door. Realization seeped in like snow melting on his skin.

The scene seemed to be right from a fairytale: Like in slow motion a high heeled shoe came into view, fragile and transparent, clear like ice. Ornaments like dew drops and petals decorated a slender, beautiful foot, the tendons and bones prominent under the porcelain white skin and Otabek would have recognized this foot anywhere, anytime. Placed on the asphalt it made way to a leg so long and delicate Otabek thought it would never end. He watched luxurious black fabric covering the pale skin, running down the gorgeous shin like black ink. Otabek held his hand out to help Yuri out of the car but what emerged from the seat was not only Yuri - it was the Russian Fairy. His golden hair braided to crown him like a tiara, the dress he wore so perfect on his lean body it looked like it was made for him and only him to wear. He was stunningly beautiful, so indescribably mesmerizing that Otabek couldn't look away, could only try and swallow his gasp as Yuri straightened and gave him the tiniest smile. "Thank you", he murmured, then turned away to join Orlov who had gotten out of the car as well and was waiting for Jessenin to approach him.

Otabek closed the door, still staring at Yuri as the boy circled the car. The sound the glass heels produced on the asphalt made Otabek shiver, his breath catching as Yuri placed one hand on Orlov's upper arm. The vor wrapped his hand around Yuri's shoulder protectively as well as possessively and the blonde leaned into the half embrace. It would have hurt to watch the scene at any other time, Otabek realized. But right here and right now he could only look at how Yuri's spine curved elegantly as he shifted his slender hips, the fabric of the dress accentuating every movement as if it was a piece of art. And it was. Yuri was art. Too beautiful to be human. Perfect. It made Otabek's heart hurt.

"I complain about the cold in Russia and here comes your beautiful Katyusha dressed like he doesn't feel the cold at all", Jessenin said as he came closer. He proceeded to greet Yuri, placing a peck on each of Yuri's pale cheeks, but unlike anyone else with the exception of Yuri of course Otabek noticed how Jessenin's hand moved around Yuri in the process grabbing his backside in a hard squeeze. Wrath making Otabek's insides clench he saw Yuri barely stifling a twitch, his smile twisted for a second. The moment was over after a split second but Otabek had seen it, had noticed Yuri's discomfort, the way the skinny shoulders had stiffened under the silk cape attached to the dress. It made his heart stop beating.

But there was nothing he could do but witness the three of them turning and walk into the restaurant.

He stood and watched when all he wanted to do was not to be forced to only stand and watch. He wanted Yuri to turn around. Wanted him to look at him and see that he was there, that he had noticed it and that he was full of hate. But of course Yuri couldn't do that. He'd have to act like nothing had ever happened. He'd have to play his role as the pretty escort, pretending his 'father's' friend had not just molested him in the embrace of the man who he called his lover and guardian. Daddy's friend who had assaulted him as if his pale skinny body hadn't endured enough abuse in his short lifespan.

Otabek wanted to rip his gun from the holster and shoot them. Jessenin. Orlov. Everyone who had ever touched Yuri. Everyone who had ever looked at him losing control over their dirty fingers and their disgusting cocks and their lust. Everyone who had ever treated Yuri without the respect he deserved. His beautiful, gentle, broken little Yuri. White and fragile and precious and scarred. His Yuri. His Yuri.

He wanted to punish them. He wanted kill to them all. He wasn't even frightened of the thought anymore. Nor insecure. No, it was cleansing. Liberating.

("You're not John Wick", Nad says) and it came to his mind as he tried to fight the Red back. Maybe she had been right. He had not been a reckless avenger back then. But maybe he was now.