"Ouch! Snap out of it! Why are you hitting me?"

"What?"

Mikhail sat up, confused. Alexej was holding on to his arms. Reflexively, Mikhail struggled, but didn't have a chance against the once member of the Russian Olympic wrestling team.

"Come on, Misha. Get a grip on yourself. Wake up."

Mikhail looked around himself, much as Fei before him had done.

He was in a strange cluttered apartment, political posters, mainly on human rights, shouting from the walls. On one of the scattered floor cushions his classmate Takato was stretching, and against the dusty, sunlit window he recognized the silhouette of Pjotr, gazing intently down into the street. The space beside him on the rumpled bed was empty.

"No…", Mikhail buried his face in his hands.

Pjotr turned around.

"Relax, Misha. They're down there."

On the stairs of the arched, set back doorway of the old building they could make out a mop of shaggy bleached hair from above. Akihito was pointing out something to the person beside him who was wearing a cap in Rasta colours, blazing in the morning sun.

Mikhail jerked back as if scorched, sinking down against the wall, turning deeply red.

His friends were watching him cautiously.

Mikhail raised his face, extremely angry all of a sudden.

"You…", he choked out, breathing hard, "you saw everything!"

"Misha…Misha, we really had no choice…you were awfully loud…everybody woke up…"

Mikhail buried his face in his hands again, emitting curious sounds.

Takato was awake now too, watching him warily from the floor, wondering if he should better use the diazepam on him.

"Misha…", for once, easygoing Alexej seemed at a loss, not knowing how to proceed.

Pjotr detached himself from the window and went down on his knees in front of his friend.

"Misha! Misha?" he shook him by the shoulders, nervously glancing to the door. "Misha! I think they're coming…"

Mikhail didn't react.

"Misha, think of Fei! We don't know what he remembers, but…he wanted to leave immediately this morning…Akihito of all people convinced him that this would be a stupid idea, that he might run right into whoever had laid out their nets for him. I think that galled him down to his core, I think he just hates seeing himself as prey…however…", Pjotr anxiously scanned Mikhail's face. "If you act like that…you want him to think he's offended you?"

Mikhail slowly lifted his face. Pjotr's heart contracted at his despairing look. Water was running somewhere, perhaps Akihito was showing Fei the bathroom.

"What went wrong?"

Pjotr gave a start.

Mikhail was fixing him in a hard, level stare now.

"You heard me right. Come on. You saw everything...didn't you? What did I do wrong…", he lowered his gaze, colour flooding his face again, "…and I don't mean the first part…"

They knew what he meant.

"Well….", Pjotr was not usually someone to falter.

"At first, I'd say, nothing…", Alexej offered, "ok, you were a bit impulsive, and fast, but he seemed to like it…and you…all right, was gagging for more, I'd say…"

Mikhail made a strange, strangled noise. The bathroom sounds were winding down, and Pjotr hurriedly took over.

"Then …I think you shouldn't have told him to strip…remember what we saw….?" Mikhail's expression dulled. He looked hopeless, numb. "…if he's really been abused at some point in his life, surely he knows that command…"

"…that's what I was thinking too", Takato agreed, subdued, "that's what brought on the flashback…and then, when he got tangled into your pullover, and with Alexej's trousers around his feet, it must have felt like being tied down…"

It was very still. What was keeping Akihito and Fei?

Takato paused, wandering if it was such a good idea to tell Mikhail what had suddenly also occurred to him. That these might not have been the only triggers.

That perhaps Fei was in love with Misha too, and that perhaps this was too strong an emotion for him to handle sanely.

- to be continued -