It was dark and it was cold. It had started raining hard after an hour. It had stopped again after another.

Otabek sat in the car motionless. To anybody else it would have looked like he was calm. At peace even. He couldn't be more upset.

In his head, in his insides there was a turmoil, a chaos black and sharp and boiling. A maelstrom of anger, pain, worry, disgust and emotions he didn't even know how to name. He tried to fight back the images before his inner eye. Images of Yuri, so pretty, so fragile. Yuri on his back. Yuri on his knees. Yuri being touched and being watched. Yuri being used by the woman, by the man, by both of them. They humiliated him. They stained him. They used him. It was like the photos, the photos Sergej had collected. Just that it was real, that it was happening. Right now. Just a few meters away. A short sprint through the rain. A knock on the door. A bullet in the butlers head. Then running down the hallway. Kicking the door open. Yuri was there, on the sofa, naked, white, his hair tangled, his eyed wet from tears. He was looking at Otabek surprised while he was still inside her. A bullet in the man's head. He sank back into the seat, his hand still around his dick. A bullet in the woman's head. She didn't even have time to scream. Yuri let go of her. Yuri looked at him and the tears fell from his eyes and Otabek would hold him and everything would be over. It would only take two minutes and everything would be over. He'd save Yuri. He'd make them go away forever. The man and his wife. But only the man and his wife. It could be the end. But it could be the end to everything.

"You'll ruin everything", he sobbed into the darkness. "They'll come and they will take him away from you."

"But I can't let them do that to him. I can't just sit here and do nothing!"

"There's nothing you can do-"

"I know!"

"It hurts."

"It hurts."

The gun was in his hands, dark and heavy and warm. He bent over and cried. Tears fell onto the metal. The edges shone when a car passed by, then it was dark again.

There was a streetlamp a little farther down the street, but its light made the darkness only seem darker.

"I hate you", Otabek whispered. He couldn't tell if he hated Erasyl or Otabek. It didn't really matter.

After another hour or so his fingers felt stiff around the gun. He placed it on the passenger seat and when he flexed his fingers the band aid was still there. He had kept it there because it had meant something. Now he wasn't sure what it meant. Maybe it was the wound underneath it that meant something.

He scratched the scab away until it bled again. The bandaid sat in his pocket where the keys for the old car had been.

Back when he had woken up from the coma he had been to a speech therapist. He hadn't been able to speak clearly, even after breathing and swallowing worked fine again. It had been hard and he had been frustrated easily. "Find something that calms you", she had said when he had been on the verge of tears, because he couldn't pronounce things correctly. "It can be anything. Even a meaningless thing. The shape of a bottle. The sound of the refrigerator. Turning a coin in your fingers. Focus on that. Make it the most important thing there is until it's a part of you. Think of the bottle. Turn the coin. Again and again. When it's a familiar thing it can calm you down and make it easier to deal with your inner turmoil."

So he found something. He took the gun apart. Broke it down piece after piece. Then built it back together again. Then took it apart again. Put it back together.

The image of Yuri was still there. His lips when he had kissed the woman. The sway of his hips when he had left. The smile he gave Orlov. The high chuckle. His hands, grasping Alexey Zavgorodniy's sleeve. His voice trembling when he said "Daddy". His breath on Otabek's lips, sweet like berries and poignant like vodka. His eyes closing when he leaned into Orlov's embrace. Jessenin's hands on the fragile body. The woman kissing him.

He took the gun apart. He put it back together.

The mental image of her holding Yuri in her arms hurt, so when his finger stopped bleeding he scratched the wound open again. It hurt, but not enough to distract him.

He took the gun apart and put it back together.

She loved him, that much was obvious. And Yuri let her. He let this stranger love him. He had let Sergej love him. He had let Jessenin love him. He let Orlov love him. He let Otabek love him. Everyone loved Yuri and it was no wonder. He was beautiful. He was gorgeous. He was so easy to have. And at the same time he wasn't. He was easy to have for those who could afford him. Orlov and Jessenin and the woman. They had money and they had status. They were in a position where no one could stop them. They could use Yuri- no! They could use Katyusha. They used Katyusha. But did they? Could Yuri really get away unharmed? How deep did the abuse dig? How much did Katyusha take and how much Yuri? Did he filter? And how? With ignorance? With drugs? With strength?

Otabek took the gun apart, then put it back together. He didn't even have to look. It happened automatically.

There were two kinds of people. The ones who loved Yuri and took him. And the ones who loved Yuri and kept their hands off him. The second category had much less persons: Otabek and Zhenya. The only two persons in the world who were scared to devour Yuri alive. Scared and honest. But at the same time not honest at all. Because Otabek knew that he wanted Yuri. He wanted him, he needed him and yearned for him so much, so much. He wanted Yuri so much that he could never just take him because it would hurt them both. He'd rather kill himself than do anything that might hurt Yuri. Maybe in a way Zhenya felt similar. He didn't want to tell Yuri, because he knew Yuri liked him and still had to reject him. It would hurt them both. So he kept quiet about it, about his love that was so innocent and so insane. Just like Otabek's.

The thought made him smile. He was. He was insane. But that was okay. Because only that made him endure the pain. He was insane enough to still be in love even when it was slowly killing him.

The light of a car made brought him back from his thoughts. His hands that had just loaded the magazine into the gun stopped as he looked up. The headlights of the car died, but the vehicle itself drove for a few more meters before stopping on the other side of the street, just far enough away that Otabek could see there was no license plate.

The breath caught in his throat but he managed to not panic. Instead he kept watching.

Nobody got off the car as it stood there like it had been there all the time, blending into the upper class neighborhood. There were a few other cars parked along the street here and there, a motorbike even on Otabek's side of the street, sheltered from the rain by a heavy tarp cover. There was no evidence the by now familiar car didn't belong here. The street lamp didn't illuminate the passenger either. Otabek could only guess that there were two people inside. On the other hand it was good that the lamp was so dim; that way they couldn't tell that he was watching them either. He'd just have to make sure it remained that way.

Slowly, very slowly because any hasty movement could reveal his position he sank deeper into the seat. The gun felt like a shield more than like a weapon in his hands.

After some minutes Otabek saw a lighter going off in the other car. The shine wasn't bright enough to let him make out the faces of the driver when he lit a cigarette or when he held it out to the passenger to light one as well. It wasn't necessary though, he had memorized their faces from the ballet anyway. He would recognize them anywhere by now.

The two guys smoked their cigarettes, the orange glow brightening with every draw, then fading again. It was ghostly and Otabek wished he had one too although he had quit and knew that it would be the most idiotic thing to give away his position. He wished for something to calm him down. He couldn't take the gun apart in that situation though. It would calm him but it was too risky. If Yuri came out of the house now and those guys started something he had no second to waste. He couldn't contact Yuri either. The light of the screen could attract their attention. He'd have to wait. Wait and see what happened, if something happened.

Minutes became an hour as Otabek sat there, motionless. He kept his eyes on the car. In his thoughts he took the gun apart and put it back together again. Sometimes he let the index finger of his right hand touch the wound on his left ring finger. It wasn't bleeding anymore, but the wound felt wet and hurt when he pressed his fingertip into the injured flesh.

After what felt like forever and the fifth cigarette the guys had smoked the headlights came back on and the car sprung to life. Otabek ducked away when the car passed by the R8, staying in his position until his back cramped to make sure the plateless car was out of sight.

Only when he sat back up again he realized he was breathing. Checking his smartphone he saw that it was three in the morning already. Yuri had been in there for more than six hours now. The other car likely had been there for almost two hours.

He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how working as a driver for a bratva personality was. He had no idea if he should contact Yuri or Orlov about this incidence. He didn't want to scare Yuri. And he didn't want to call Orlov and make clear that he had no idea what he was doing in his new job. But at the same time he was freaking out about those guys who had followed Yuri and him around for- how long even? Sure, Otabek had spotted them in front of the theatre for the first time, but it would be stupid to assume that it was in fact the first time they had been watching them. Maybe they had been on their track for much longer already. And realizing that he felt he was indeed panicking now.

What could they have seen? And who could have sent them? Orlov's wife, jealous of Yuri's beauty? Another bratva's vor, wanting Yuri dead to deal Orlov a serious blow? Someone who wanted Katyusha, one of the most exclusive prostitutes in Moscow, for themselves? Someone who loved Yuri but had been rejected, or even someone who could never reach Yuri and wanted to steal him, very much like Otabek wanted to steal Yuri for himself? Maybe they were paid to kill Yuri. Maybe they had been hired to kidnap him. Maybe they were insane enough to try.

And Otabek didn't know what to do. It seemed like the fragile framework of his made-up backstory that had brought him here was collapsing eventually, revealing that he was not a member of the clan and therefore not capable of serving Yuri. He didn't know how to react now, couldn't imagine how Sergej would have reacted in his position. Or maybe he did, because Sergej would have taken the offer of Belyj and had joined him in his abusive procedure. Sergej would have never noticed the men in the dark car. He never would have had a chance do save Yuri from whoever those guys were. But he could. He could protect Yuri, if he just knew what to expect in such a situation. He knew just the person to ask about it.

Pushing the Grach back into the holster Otabek unlocked his phone. He had saved Artjom's phone number earlier. He didn't hesitate a second and hit the call icon.

Artjom picked up after half a dozen rings. "Erasyl", he said, sounding tired but alarmed. "Is something the matter?"

"I'm sorry for calling at that time of the night", Otabek said, his voice low. "I have encountered a… situation that I need assistance with. If you have a minute I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"No problem, go ahead", Artjom encouraged him. The ruffling of bed sheets could be heard in the background.

"I have not been trained to be a driver", Otabek confessed. "I just happen to be good at driving is all. I am grateful for the position and I intend on fulfilling my duty as satisfactory as possible, but unfortunately I am not familiar with certain procedures." He sighed. "No procedures at all, to be completely honest. At least those considering Katyusha."

Artjom chuckled weakly on the other end of the line. "You sound very troubled. At least by your standards."

"I am."

"Well", Artjom said slowly. "I've known Katyusha for some time now. Since Anatolij picked him up from his previous job actually. He was with the boss a lot, especially in the beginning, so I am very well aware of his habits and quirks. I can't say I've driven him a lot lately with Sergej taking over, but I don't assume too much has changed. So, let me give you some advices on how to handle the kitten. I suppose this doesn't go around, so I can be honest with you."

"Of course", Otabek said, frowning.

"Okay, well…" Artjom sighed. "If you ask me the boy has some serious issues. I know he's really a good one, deep inside, but Anatolij spoiled him and he can be quite bitchy sometimes. Kitten likes to show his claws once in awhile if you know what I mean. Don't take that too serious, even if he gets naughty, he doesn't mean it and you'll get used to it.

The thing is that he has some worrisome coping-mechanisms. I'm not even sure Anatolij is aware of it but the boy's past left scars. He's covering it up pretty thoroughly but if you catch him on the wrong foot he'll break down pretty fast.

Usually that happens when he takes drugs. Which, sadly, happens a lot." He sighed again. "It's a pity, really. In my opinion Anatolij should have never left him at the Nightshade without anyone keeping an eye on him for so long. The entire club is just a giant playground with everything Katyusha likes: Loud music, beautiful people and shitloads of cocaine and speed and what-not. As far as I now he's not into the very hard stuff, H and meth and so on, but still, it affects him a lot. I think he just feels left alone, and, you know, actually that's what he is. Not to talk you into babysitting him there or something, it's just pretty scary to pick him up when his nose tip is still white. Had some…. not-so-nice drives to do when that happened. Just so you know. If he asks you to pull over you should do so immediately or Aljosha will rip your head off for having him vomit all over the car…" He chuckled. "Or so I have heard."

Otabek couldn't find that funny, but he mimicked a laugh anyway. "Sounds like a fun job."

"Yeah, pretty much. But don't let that discourage you, I'm sure you'll get the hang of it soon. You just have to say goodbye to a healthy sleeping schedule, but apparently you got that sorted out already."

"Not much of a problem for me", Otabek said. "There's one thing though… You said that I don't have to play the babysitter for Katyusha but… What if something happens to him? What if someone… I don't know, threatens him or something?"

Artjom hummed. "Well, you are not his bodyguard. Not per definition at least."

How could he know that that was exactly what Otabek wanted to be? "They say you took a bullet for Orlov", he objected and again Artjom hummed.

"Losing him means losing my job", he replied matter-of-factly. "It did something for my reputation as well."

"I want to protect him", Otabek said slowly. "Even if it wasn't in the employment description."

A stifled yawn was to be heard from the other end of the line. "Feel free to do so, but I doubt anyone will be stupid enough to approach him. He's Anatolij's favourite and all Moscow knows. No one would dare to try something-"

"But what if?", Otabek interrupted him.

Artjom was silent for a moment, before asking: "Erasyl, the reason you called… Has something happened?"

That question was hard to answer. He couldn't be sure. Now that he thought about it maybe it was nothing. Sure there had been those guys at the ballet and the same car had shown up too often to be a coincidence. But maybe he was overreacting. Maybe the had even mistaken the car on the other side of the street for the one he had seen by the theatre. Maybe he was getting paranoid. Because in fact nothing had happened. The two persons he had watched in the car hadn't done anything suspicious. They hadn't even gotten out of the car. And the guys at the theatre hadn't done anything either. Retrospective Otabek wasn't even sure they had really looked their way.

"No", he finally answered. "I just wanted to make sure. Just in case…" His voice trailed off.

"Don't worry too much", Artjom said with an audible smile. "Your core competence should be driving and taking care of stoned kittens. Sergej managed that, so don't lose any sleep over the job. I mean not more than you do already…" He chuckled then yawned. "Speaking of which…"

"Yeah, sorry", Otabek murmured. ""I should let you sleep. Thank you a lot for your advice."

"Don't mention it."

They hung up and Otabek stared at the display of his smartphone. It read 3:16.

He was tired. Exhausted. He sighed and leaned back in the seat. After that much time apparently even the top-notch Audi seat became uncomfortable. He pushed the seat all back and stretched his legs, then his back. The spine popped and he let out a groan.

Staring into the night he thought of Yuri. He wondered what he was doing. He wondered if he was just as tired as Otabek was. He wondered if he thought of him just as much. How nice would it be to have him here now. Here or anywhere else. If just they would be together. He'd hold him close, cradling him in his arms. He'd bury his nose in the golden hair, inhaling Yuri's wonderful scent. He'd kiss his forehead and the tips of his ears. Yuri would lean into his embrace and breathe against his skin. It'd be warm and soft and wonderful.

"I miss you", Erasyl whispered into the silence.

ж

The rain had stopped but the windscreen was littered with raindrops.

Whenever Otabek thought he was about to fall asleep he scratched on his ring finger. The more often he did the more it hurt until a mere touch with his fingernail felt like he was cutting it off for real now. It didn't bleed a lot anymore. His middle, ring and auricular finger of the left hand and the fingertips of the right hand were smeared with a half dried grimy mixture of blood and whatever liquid was oozing from the swollen wound. It looked as disgusting as it felt and he was glad once he could rinse it off.

At some point he had been hungry, not having eaten since his late lunch, but the feeling vanished with time. He thought that the thing he wished most for was to be home and fall onto his mattress. But looking over to the house he found that what he really wanted the most was to finally have Yuri walk out of that door.

The sky was turning from black to a steel blue when his phone rang. He fished it from his pocket and saw that it was Yuri.

"Yes", he said when he had picked up. His voice sounded hoarse and weak.

Yuri's voice was a whisper when he said: "I wanna go home."

Otabek felt his heart break. "I'm waiting outside. I will take you home."

Without another word the connection died. Otabek stared down at the phone again. It was after 5 a.m. The memory of Yuri's voice echoed in his insides and made him bite his lip.

The lamp above the Belyis' entrance door lit up and caught Otabek's attention. Then the door opened and Yuri appeared.

With a start Otabek was fully awake again. Hastily he got out of the car, hurrying over to the porched stairs while looking around for the dark car from last night. It was nowhere to be seen but that didn't mean the two guys weren't maybe lying in an ambush somewhere with the car parked around a corner.

"Hey", he said when he had made his way over and held a hand out for Yuri.

The boy looked like shit. His hair was a mess and his face was pale, his eyes reddened from the lack of sleep. The slim necktie wasn't around his collar but carelessly stuffed into the pocket of his crinkled jacket. He looked miserable, looking at Otabek with dull eyes. "Hey", he said, then looked down on Otabek's stained hand but didn't say another word. He didn't take Otabek's hand, making his way over to the car and Otabek followed him wordlessly. As usually he helped Yuri into the car and headed over to the driver's side, worrying. Normally Yuri would spare him a smile, no matter when or who was around. He must be really exhausted.

Otabek turned the key and the engine came to life with a low growl. It was the only sound to be heard for some long minutes as they drove along the empty streets of the ending night.

After some minutes Yuri took a small phial out of his pocket and screwed the cap open. From the corner of his eyes Otabek saw how Yuri turned away from him a little and brought the cap to his nose, sniffing deeply. The sound made Otabek's stomach cramp.

"What's that?", he asked, although he was very sure what it was.

Yuri screwed the cap back in place and sighed, then leaned back against the seat with his eyes closed.

"Katyusha", Otabek said, his voice lower.

"'t was nothing", the boy said, sounding more exhausted than annoyed. His head fell to the side and he looked out of the window. It was all the answer Otabek needed.

It was one thing to know that Yuri took cocaine. It was an entirely different thing to witness him doing it. Different and difficult. Otabek flexed his left hand to make the wound hurt with the tension of the skin. He wanted to be angry at Yuri and he wanted to let him know. But could he? Could he really blame Yuri for trying to forget the things that had been done to him in the previous hours?

He grit his teeth and kept driving in silence.

"'d you wait for me all night?", Yuri murmured after some more minutes, rolling his head to the other side to look at Otabek.

Otabek nodded.

"What's with your hand?"

Otabek shot him a short glance. "It's nothing."

Yuri studied his figure, biting his lip before concluding: "You mad at me?"

"No."

Yuri sighed. "Oh, you are mad at me." He sat up and tilted his head. "Why?" His messy, curly hair framed his face like molten gold. The drug made his eyes glitter like tourmalines.

When Otabek looked at him he felt like his heart got hit by a hammer. He looked away again. "I don't like drugs", he deadpanned.

"Well, I like 'em", Yuri said, then chuckled lowly.

"I can see that."

"If you're gonna make such a fuss every time I let it snow you should quit the job or you'll have stroke within weeks." His voice was provocative. "I'm not going to stop because you don't like it. You're not my daddy."

Otabek breathed deeply. That wasn't Yuri. That was the drug speaking. He didn't mean that. "Would you stop for your daddy then?", he asked, surprised how calm his voice was.

"'f course not", Yuri replied, cocky. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked out of the window. After a moment of silence he said: "He's not my real father anyway..."

Otabek remained quiet. He didn't trust his voice with the lump in the back of his throat.

The rest of the way back to Yuri's apartment they spent in silence. Only when Otabek had parked the car and opened the door for Yuri the boy looked up at him with a smile.

"Erasyl", he murmured. "That's a nice name. I remember the meaning now. You said it means 'noble hero'." He took Otabek's hand and let him help him out of the car. They looked at each other for a second before Yuri turned away. "See you tomorrow, Erasyl." With that he made his way over to the heavy metal door that fell shut behind him with a loud thud.

Otabek stared at the closed door, the cold of the car park creeping into his bones. Maybe it wasn't only the cold of the car park though.