Hey guys!

I have to put a warning up here, and you should take it seriously: This chapter contains graphic depictions of a decaying body (which is pretty disgusting) and sexual abuse (which is just as disgusting). If you are sensitive and for what reason ever made it until here you should think about skipping the part that starts with Otabek and Boris in the car and just read the short summary in the end. Thank you and stay safe.

Usually five or six hours of sleep were enough for Otabek. He fell asleep quickly, or at least he used to. When after that timespan he woke up he used to be refreshed and ready to confront his daily life.

All that had changed though and it added up in this night.

He couldn't fall asleep. The things Yuri had said haunted him: the description of how Orlov treated him like a toy for anyone to consume. The practices he had been forced to do by someone who was no more than a stranger to him, so intimate and disgusting. The way he had called himself a whore. The gentle caress on the back of Otabek's hand, whatever it meant. It kept him awake for hours and hours and when he finally fell asleep it haunted his nightmares. He woke up multiple times this night, a weight on his chest that made it hard to breathe, impossible almost. He was afraid to fall asleep again because he felt like he might not wake up again and he couldn't do that to Yuri. But he was exhausted and no matter how much he struggled he couldn't keep the fatigue at bay.

The sleep wasn't restorative though. When he woke up in the morning, sunlight making the chinks in the material that covered his window shine, he felt worse than the night before. He got up and dizziness made him tumble. He managed to remain on his feet, but once he reached the bathroom to splash the ice cold water from the tab into his face a cough escaped his throat that sounded like one of the old trucks from the Turkish hauling company he shared the place with. It hurt in his chest and all the way up his throat and he decided that perhaps he'd need a little more rest and laid down on his mattress again.

When he woke up again it was dark and he had five texts from Boris.

11:43 hey, sergej wont pick up, but Orlovs friend needs a ride to the airport, wanna come?

12:28 I can ask Maksim if your busy

12:52 i guess you are training?

13:44 Maksim will come. drop me a line i'm a little worried

17:09 are u okay?

The last message had arrived about an hour ago and with a groan Otabek replied: I am okay, just caught a cold. I'll be fine.

Boris replied immediately:

18:16 let me know if you need something, Anka makes the best borscht. get well soon.

Otabek fell back onto the sheets and sighed. It was really nice of Boris to offer him his wife's borscht, but of course he wouldn't take the offer. He wasn't even hungry. Not that he could go and pick up the food from Boris' place or even have him deliver it here (which without a doubt the man would do). If he revealed his whereabouts he'd have to move to another place as soon as possible to keep himself secure. That was too much effort now. Everything was too much effort now. Keeping his eyes open was too much effort now…

It took Otabek two days of rest until he could leave the house again. He still felt like in the first weeks of his rehab, his knees all wobbly and his back hurting. He went to the nearby drug store to pick up medicine and to the convenience store for some food and more tea, then returned home and collapsed on his mattress like he had been outside for a week straight.

Boris wrote him every day. The man seemed very concerned and Otabek found it touching but a little annoying as well. Certainly Boris had the best intentions, but Otabek hardly had the energy to calm his colleague down. Instead he slept.

On monday Otabek felt better. He was still weak but he could tell that the pills did their job and he was awake for some hours before falling asleep again and that was a good sign he guessed. The problem was that he was bored. Very bored. He had never intended to stay inside so long so of course he didn't have a TV or books or anything else to make the time pass by faster. He would go out the gym or the shooting range or the airsoft place when he was not working, and only come here to sleep, shower and get dressed for another day. The circumstance that he was more or less trapped in his flat if he wanted to get better as soon as possible made him realize how plain the place was, though. He spent hours staring at the plain walls and the plain ceiling. He stared at his light bulb, simulating what he'd do once the glow wire blew, especially if it was at a time of the day when no shop was open and decided that he'd have to buy a spare one, just in case. He disassembled his gun, and reassembled it. Again and again for hours. In the end he read Yuri's letters. All of them, again and again until he thought he knew them by heart. He looked at the drawing for hours, the pencil lines etching into his retina like they would be etched into the skin of his arm with black ink one day. The thought made him smile and cry at the same time and he fell asleep again.

At some point he started to write. The small black book he had bought back then when he had first met Dima was almost empty and he felt guilty about it. So he wrote things down. Everything from when he had first caught sight of Yuri, to the time in Barcelona, the week in Almaty, the weekend in Antalya, and all the time in between when he had missed Yuri so much and had been so happy because Yuri had missed him too. He wrote down his thoughts and his feelings, like a belated diary. Everything that seemed important to him from where he stood now. Yuri's hair growing longer and longer, his voice a little deeper every time they met. How he'd grown to be as tall as Otabek in the end, how he'd looked at him and what had happened in Otabek's chest when he did. It was small things mostly that Otabek described, but they meant the world to him.

But when the part came when he had come to Moscow before his birthday it all got blurry. He did remember most of the things, and as he wrote more things came back. He remembered how he had been to Yuri's place where the boy had lived with his grandfather. He remembered the night when he had stayed over because it was storming outside and Nikolai had not let him drive back to the hotel. Yuri had shared his piroshki with him, his grin mischievous and blissful as he took the first bite in the middle of the night, spreading crumbs all over the bed. He remembered how for the first time after Yuri had visited him back then in Almaty he had shared a bed with Yuri. The boy had felt different when he had snuggled up against Otabek. Taller and more fragile somehow. Softer. Like he had come to accept that he wanted to be close to Otabek. Like he only needed a few more minutes to figure out that they were meant to be.

And then that night. The movie they had seen. Yuri stealing his popcorn with a grin. Yuri falling all silent and motionless. Then Yuri taking his hand between their legs, holding onto him not forcefully but thoroughly. He had been so sure back then. So very sure.

And then their way home. Yuri had taken his hand again. Yuri had stopped, their hands entwined in Otabek's pocket, his ears red and his brows furrowed. "Come", he had said, dragging him to that backstreet. "I need to tell you something", he had said, stepping a little closer towards Otabek. "Your are a wonderful friend. The most wonderful, at least from what I can tell. And I was really happy with our friendship, but… I don't think I can go on like that. I'm not sure if you noticed it too, but I feel like there is some tension between us that is not normal for friends. I thought it would stop at some point. I really hoped it would disappear, but instead over time it just worsened and now somehow it is too much for me. I can't bear that anymore, I can't be silent about that anymore."

And then nothing. Nothing but doubt and pain and tears making the paper blur before Otabek's eyes. He couldn't remember what had happened after that, or if something had happened at all. It hadn't mattered then. It didn't matter now. All that he could think was that Yuri had rejected him. Had rejected his love he had nurtured so long, had thought was requited. He had been an idiot, not noticing how much Yuri suffered under his affection. That he had forced him to take that last step and confront him like that. He was the one who should have noticed. Should have noticed that Yuri in fact had never felt the same for Otabek. It had been friendship, honest, genuine friendship and it made sense that Yuri had invested so much into it because he had said himself that he had never had a friend before. Of course he had acted the way Otabek had shown him. He hadn't known what was normal for a friendship. He hadn't known that cuddling and holding hands and sharing a strawberry sundae wasn't what boys his age did with their friends. He had misinterpreted Otabek's affection and Otabek had misinterpreted Yuri's helpless acts as much more than they had been. In the end it was his fault. And he realized as he wrote the words down with trembling hands.

It's my fault.

е

"Good to see you're fine again", Boris said and patted Otabek's shoulder as he got into the car on wednesday. "We were all a little worried, y'know…"

"Thank you", Otabek said and buckled the seatbelt. He was indeed fine again although it had taken some time. Once in awhile the back of his throat felt a little raspy but besides that he felt just as good as before. He had even been to the gym this morning, his stamina still a little out of place but nothing he'd not get back to normal in a few days.

"So", Otabek said as Boris pulled out the parking lot in front of the café where they usually met. "Still no sign of Sergej I guess."

Boris groaned. "It doesn't look like anyone cares that he's gone but I am not going to do his job on top of mine, seriously. I'm 48, I need a little stability in my life. Not to speak of Maksim. The girls are ill, it's hard."

"He's been with you this week?"

Boris nodded. "I can't have him work double shift with the kids by themselves all the time. Zhenya's responsible but he's just a child after all and I couldn't keep up with the triplets myself if my life depended on it."

Otabek laughed lowly. "I get your point."

"So", Boris said with a shrug, "even if no one else gives a fuck about what that asshole Sergej is doing, I do. You can't imagine how bad my butt hurts from all that sitting in the fucking car with the goddamn seat heater burning patterns in my ass cheeks. I bet I look like a grilled steak from behind…"

"Spare me the details…" They fell silent for a moment, then Otabek asked: "So, about Zhenya's birthday..."

"Ah, yeah, I totally forgot to tell you! It's tomorrow actually, but well, with all of the three girls ill there's no party or something, what a pity. Anka bakes a cake for the boy that we'll take there tomorrow but I think that's it. Too much stress otherwise."

"I see", Otabek said, pondering. Maybe he could come up with something nevertheless. He had thought about getting a present for Zhenya, but maybe taking him out somewhere was a better idea. The boy probably was disappointed enough with his birthday ruined by the illness of his sisters. Maybe he'd appreciate the distraction. And there was something on Otabek's mind already that Zhenya might like.

т

Sergej's flat was in the south of Moscow, in Chertanovo Yuzhnoye District, about an hour from their meeting point. The apartment complex they stopped at was even more run down than the one Otabek had gone to when he had first arrived in Moscow. Otabek wondered why Sergej lived in a place so sordid and remote when he could afford something better for sure with the money he got for driving Yuri. Telling from the amount Otabek had received for the various jobs he had been part of lately, all handed out by Boris who seemed to some kind of overman for the bouncers and therefore responsible for taking care of their payments, the wage of a regular driver should be enough to pay for a decent place to live.

With a wrinkle of his nose Otabek got out of the car and followed Boris over to the building. The dumpsters pushed against the front wall were overflowing and stank although it was cold outside. Otabek didn't want to imagine how summer was here.

One of the glass double doors' panes was broken, the other so dirty with a substance that looked like puke that Otabek was glad that Boris went ahead, shoving the door open with his foot. The stairway didn't differ much from the rest of the house and surrounding area that Otabek had seen so far, all dirty and smelly.

Boris had been here before, he had told Otabek in the car, so he knew where Sergej's flat was. Climbing up the stairs Otabek somehow got used to the smell a little, although he still tried to avoid taking deep breaths. Once they reached the third floor he also noticed that it was strangely quiet in the house.

"Sounds like not many people live here", he stated, his voice sounding awkward in the dimly lit hallway.

"I guess so", Boris gave back. "I mean, I see why. Smell why, too." He chuckled and headed down the hallway. "Most of the people here don't want to draw too much attention, I presume. Gang people, junkies and runaway kids from what I've seen. Won't find a honest pretty boy like you around here." He gestured to one of the old wooden doors. "That's Sergej's."

Otabek felt a shiver run down his spine when Boris knocked on the door harshly. He didn't even know why, but he had a bad feeling. This place was not good.

After waiting for a moment with no reply Boris knocked again, louder. "Sergej, you bastard, open the fucking door!", he exclaimed, slamming his fist against the wood fiercely.

Otabek heard a door open behind them and turned around, ready to pull his gun in expectation of an ambush. He frowned when he saw a young girl, not more than 15 years old from her looks, with a baby staring back at him, then she slammed the door on the opposite side of the hallway shut and ran, disappearing around the corner that led to the stairs.

"Asshole", Boris hissed, obviously referring to Sergej and turned to Otabek. "Ever kicked in a door?"

Otabek shrugged so that Boris stepped aside. He used way too much strength, the door bursting open against the wall inside and bouncing back halfway shut.

Boris whistled. "Workout pays off, boy", he said, then grimaced. "What the-"

Otabek smelled it too. It was like no smell he had ever experienced before and it made his stomach turn.

"Fucking-", Boris murmured and went inside, Otabek at his heels.

Sergej's apartment was small and dark and littered with trash. The stench was breathtaking. It looked like no one could live here and it turned out true after some meters. It also explained the smell.

"Shit", Boris said. As Otabek followed the man's gaze he blinked twice until the recognized what had been a human body some days before. The body was on the floor next to a sofa that was littered with paper, half tangled into a woolen blanket on its back. The skin had a weird color, a reddish violet, the veins almost black. Some kind of liquid had leaked from mouth and nose, body fluids most likely, forming a dried puddle on the floor around the head. The mouth looked like it was gaping open, and a substance with a color different from the mixture of blood and body fluids had dried on the skin all over the face and upper chest.

"Looks like someone choked on his vomit", Boris said, his voice strangely nonchalantly although his expression was one of disgust. "Wouldn't answer my phone if I looked like that." He huffed a laugh and nudged the corpse with the tip of his shoe.

Otabek stared at the body for a moment, then turned away. He had never seen a corpse before. It was fascinating, but horrendous at the same time. He hadn't known Sergej, but even if he had he would not have been able to recognize the man. The thought that this way what awaited all humans sooner or later was bizarre.

"Let's get out of here", Boris suggested. "I'll call the cleaners on the way back."

"Go ahead", Otabek said slowly. Something had piqued his interest.

"Wanna hang out with good old Seryozha a little?" When Otabek didn't answer he took the two steps over to where Otabek bent over to reach for one of the pieces that had looked like trash at first glance. "What's wrong? What is that?"

Otabek had picked up one of the countless pieces of paper that littered the flat. He had not realized before but now he saw they were photos. It looked like Sergej had downloaded them from the internet in low to mediocre quality, then printed them out on cheap, thin paper. Otabek took one more, then another one, the breath catching in his throat as he stared at the prints.

"What the fuck", Boris murmured. He turned around and picked up one of the prints from the sofa. "Here too."

Otabek stood straight and looked around. The floor, the sofa and the coffee table were covered in the prints. Even the walls had pictures pinned to the old wallpaper with adhesive tape and thumbtacks, hundreds if not thousand of different shots. All different but all showing the same blonde hair, the same white skin, the same green eyes.

"What a creepy bastard", Boris whispered, letting the print fall back on the sofa.

Otabek couldn't say anything. He couldn't even feel anything. He could just stand there and stare at the pictures showing Yuri in the most degrading situations. The pictures must be stills from the videos Yuri had starred in, that much Otabek was sure about. And he had known that Yuri had done ineffable things, had been made ineffable things. However, to see it in printing ink on printer paper was beyond shocking.

From all the sheets Yuri stared back at him. Yuri in white lace, Yuri in a corset. Wrapped in bondage tape, tied to a chair or dressed in pastel pink silk. Yuri on all fours, Yuri pressed against a wall. Penetrated by a man, two men, more than that. Yuri with cum all over his face, Yuri with tears in his eyes. Bruises on his hips and legs, his lip split, his hair pulled by a big hand. His eyes hazy from drugs or abuse or hopelessness. Yuri with shoulder long hair, Yuri with waist long hair. Beautiful in every single one of those pictures. Beautiful and broken, like a doll that had been treated too rough. Just that a doll didn't feel. Yuri did. Yuri had. And it made Otabek incredibly angry.

In front of him lay Sergej's body. The remains of a man who had without a doubt felt some kind of pleasure by looking at those pictures. A man who had surrounded himself with screenshots of a boy whose sexual abuse had been recorded on tape for people like him to enjoy, to feel aroused over, to jerk off on. A man who didn't even deserve to be called man at all but too cruel to be an animal.

Otabek realized with poignant clarity that he reached into his jacket. His fingers wrapped around the handle of the MP-443, pulling it out of the holster and unlocking it in one fluid motion that only stopped as the opening pointed at what had been Sergej's head. He pulled the trigger. The sound of the shot echoed through the smelly apartment, gone as fast as it had come.

The hate didn't go away. With stern expression Otabek looked down at the corpse that now had a hole in his ugly skull. He wished he had arrived earlier. He wished Sergej had been alive when Otabek had come here. He wished he could have finished him. But he hadn't known, hadn't been able. So instead of satisfaction the hate remained inside his chest.

Lowering his arm he was surprised that he wasn't shocked. Never before had he used his gun against another human. It had been easy. Too easy, even considering that Sergej had been dead for several days. He had pulled the trigger without a qualm. But it didn't feel scary. It didn't feel satisfying.

Boris' hand on his shoulder made him look up from the hole.

"He deserves it", Boris said, justifying. "Let's go home."

So, for the people who skipped the last part: Otabek and Boris arrive at Sergej's apartment, where they find the guy dead for some days already. Looking around Otabek realizes that what he mistook for trash littering the floors and furniture are in fact stills hundreds of stills of Yuri in the porn videos he made, printed out and covering the floor and walls. Realizing that Sergej is in fact a pervert who has a thing for Yuri Otabek shoots Sergej's corpse's head.