It's Not Fair
The set of his jaw is haughty. Hubristic.
Blood rushes in Tyson's ears.
The corner of his pale imperial mouth lift. Pleased.
"You can start now," he says. "There's a bottle of Yamazaki in the fridge. Go get it." He gestures toward the door with his chin. "You know where the kitchen is."
Tyson lets out a quiet sigh. He is to take orders from this rich, spoilt spawn of cowardly Russians for the next three hundred and sixty five days? He hopes he doesn't crack and kill the bastard in just five.
He backs out of the room. His phone starts ringing. Hilary. He answers as soon as he is out of sight of the Blitzkriegs. "Hey"
"You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago," she grinds into the microphone.
"Hil, something came up," he says as he picks his way through the dining hall, toward the kitchen. "I don't think I can make it. I'll explain everything later."
She puffs out an exasperated breath. "Why do I hear music?"
"I'm-" He can't tell her right now. "I'll explain later," he repeats instead.
"You better. You're acting extremely sus, Tyson Granger."
Tyson smiles despite the situation he's in. He opens the double doored refrigerator. Where do rich people store their alcoholic beverages? These contraptions are alien to him for god's sake. He grew up in a fucking village. There were no towering metallic cooling devices back in his house.
This mammoth refrigerator holds compartments inside compartments and Tyson's head spins. "I'll catch up with you later," he says to Hilary, frowning at the contents. "Bye"
She hangs up with a growl. "Bye"
"Why are you so mad?" he mutters to himself, bending to take a closer look at the side cabinet. "I'm doing this for you."
"Aha!" Tyson spots the malt whiskey stored inside a transparent compartment, installed into the back of the first door.
He opens the small thing and hauls the bottle out.
He closes everything he opened, and replaces whatever he touched and disturbed back in their original spot before heading into the living room.
The music has stopped. Bizzarely. The dancer is getting off her pole. He hears them talking indecipherably in their harsh tongue. When Tyson rounds the edge of the circle of couches, Tala catches sight of him for the first time.
And starts cackling like a hyena.
Tyson colours when he realizes all the people in the room are staring at him. Like he's a clown entertaining them.
Tala manages to contain his laughter enough for him to bark, "I told you" at Tyson. The blonde girl beside him smiles unsurely when his head falls against her shoulder.
Ian glances at him up and down. "Who the fuck is this, Kai? Suzumu sent another Sebastian?"
Kai, sitting in their midst, ignores him, eyeing the bottle in his hand instead, "No glasses? Am I supposed to drink straight from the bottle?"
Tyson's teeth gnash. He sets the whiskey down on the messy table before them, and goes back to the kitchen without saying anything. Because if he opens his mouth now he'll get himself in major trouble.
They mock and deride him behind his back. Tyson envisions throttling Kai's neck to put up with it.
He gets the glasses. Five crystal ones. Kai orders him to clean up the place next.
He does that too. Without uttering a single word. His tongue pressed up against the back of his front teeth. His jaw clenched so tight it starts to ache by the time he's halfway through the room.
They lose interest in him after a while. Focusing on the strippers in their arms. All of them, except Kai of course. He watches him like a hawk.
Not taking his eyes off of him once.
Somewhere around one in the morning, Tyson finishes picking up the wrappers, and tissues, and empty bottles of beer and vodka. The weed, the rolled up joints, the used condoms with the jizz still inside. Tacky hair extensions, broken pieces of glass, chewing gums with teeth marks on them. And all kinds of shit that make him gag.
The boys disappear into their respective rooms with their girls one by one.
Till it's just Tyson, and Kai, and the pole dancer.
He drags the garbage bag across the carpet with a drawn out sigh.
"Leave it there," Kai tells him.
Tyson rests the bag against the edge of the farthest couch and takes a moment for himself, kneeling there on the floor.
"You can go," he hears Kai say to the dancer. She climbs off the pole and gathers her things. Her gaze flits to Tyson for the briefest moment before she turns on her heel and leaves him with Kai. All alone.
Don't say anything stupid, Tyson reminds himself. Keep your mouth shut and your fists at your side.
He sniffs, rubs a hand under his nose and rises to his feet. Avoiding Kai's gaze.
The room looks much better now. He did a good job. He can tell even in the dim purple light.
"Do you know how to play the guitar?" comes the first inquiry of many.
Tyson considers lying. Then wonders what the harm is in telling him the truth for once. It's such a flimsy piece of truth.
"Yes" he answers softly.
Kai hands him the guitar that had been leaning against one of the walls near their seating arrangement. "Sing for me," he says to him as Tyson's fingers close around it.
"I can't sing," he tells him.
"You can now."
Jesus. Tyson snorts lightly. He's no singer. He only ever does it with Hilary during their karaoke sessions because she loves to belt out high notes for some reason. He simply accompanies her for fun.
This is so embarrassing.
He can't hold a proper note for shit.
There's a bar stool that had been hiding behind the pole in the center this whole time. Tyson had missed it while he was tidying up the room because of the bad lighting. He sees it only when Kai nudges it with his foot to the front of the pole for him to sit.
Tyson takes a seat on the stool as Kai sinks into the couch before him. Great.
He plucks a chord. It sounds fine. He plays the guitar not often, but still frequently enough for him to not forget.
He doesn't know a lot of songs. Which is a problem. Most of the ones he know are from Taylor Swift. Hilary's fave artist.
He could just strangle Kai with one of the strings. But then he'd go to jail.
"Happy or sad?" Tyson asks him at last, surrendering to his horrible fate.
He can feel Kai's gaze on him. "Sad" he says.
Tyson looks up. For a split second, he thinks he sees the person underneath the rough exterior. But he's gone before he can be sure.
Yet, there is no arrogance. No pompousness. Without his usual company around him, he is just a man.
A man Tyson cannot read. Whose eyes are slightly. Just the tiniest bit. Sad.
His fingers start playing before he makes the conscious decision to do so. And he starts singing the one song he knows all the words to.
And loves from the bottom of his heart.
The song Hilary sang to him the night she found him curled on the floor.
The one he sang to her when she couldn't stop the tears from flowing.
The song he sings to himself when things get rough.
His lullaby. Their lullaby.
The one song they keep to themselves.
He sings it to Kai.
"Well we're here," he starts, his voice slightly scratchy. But it matches the mood.
"We're at the common again
I've been pouring my heart out
Towards your optimistic grin," he keeps his eyes down. On the strings. As his voice fills the silence in the house.
"And so when, when we all grow old
I hope this song will remind you that
I'm not half as bad as what
You've been told," his foot softly taps on the stool along with the slow beat. He feels himself calming down. Feels the weight on his chest lifting. The weight of Kai's eyes on him turning from overwhelming to mildly distracting.
"When I knock
At a hundred and two
And I see your pajamas
I can't stop smiling at you," his voice smooths out beautifully during the chorus. It brings a small smile to his face.
"And that's why we're here
We're at the common again
But on this shirt
I found your smell
And I just sat there for ages," he's tweaked some of the lyrics and the notes to his liking. Carrying the tune the way he wants. When he pauses for the bridge, he senses Kai's inquisitive look. Can feel the question coming. Why did you stop?
"Contemplating what to do with myself," he starts again before he can ask it.
"I called you up
At a hundred and two
We just sat there for ages
Talking about that boy
What was getting onto you"
"You" he finishes, plucking the final chord to the song.
When he looks up again, Kai's eyes are hooded. Like he's getting sleepy. "Another" he says, his voice rough.
And Tyson plays for him. Another and another. Till he falls asleep. On the couch. Leaving Tyson all by himself in the silence.
He watches him for a second. Is he really asleep? Tyson sets the guitar down on the floor and tiptoes toward Kai. His head is lolling to one side. Eyes shut closed. Breathing even.
Dang, he really sang the devil to sleep.
Incredible
Tyson takes the chance, and slips out of the house quietly.
Well, that wasn't so bad.
Not too bad, at least.
Three hundred and sixty four point five more days left.
That's nothing. A walk in the park.
As easy as eating cake.
Not a bad price to pay for Hilary's pride and honour.
When he falls asleep that night, he dreams of Kai for the first time. It's not a bad one. It's not one that makes a lot of sense either.
It's just his eyes. The slant of his mouth. And the break in his voice. As he said the word: "Sad".
Sad.
At lunch the following day, Tyson munches on his hamburger while catching up on some reading he was supposed to do last night.
Hilary slides into the seat beside him. "Hey there, traitor."
Tyson stops mid chew. He swallows the burger in his mouth and dusts his hands clean. "Want to know where I was last night?" he asks her, meeting her gaze.
Hilary's brown hair falls against her face prettily as she considers him curiously. Cluelessly. The innocence in her eyes intact. The light in them still bright. That little twinkle he is fighting hard to keep from harm.
Emily sets her tray on the table across from them. "What's up, guys?" she sits down with a sigh. "Jeez, Prof. May's a real pain. She's loading us with so much work this year, it's crazy. W...what's going on here?" she asks when she notices the tension in the air.
Hilary's gaze flicks to Emily and back to Tyson again. "Where were you?"
"At Kai's"
Her lips part in surprise. A frown appears. "Why?"
Emily halts, her hands on a small milk carton. She glances between them.
Tyson reads her face for a minute, before saying, "He has a tape."
"Tape?"
"Of you"
Emily drops the carton on the tray, it falls on its side and milk spills out.
She doesn't care.
Hilary stares at him puzzled. "What tape?"
"He filmed you, Hilary. While you were-"
"Son of a bitch! I cannot believe his nerve," Emily gets up from her chair. Ready to go over to the Blitzkriegs' table and rip Kai's head off his neck. Tyson pulls on her sleeve.
"Em, sit down," he tells her calmly.
Hilary's eyes widen. Her face grows ashen. Her tray of food remains untouched as she processes the information. "He said there were cameras in the house. For security purposes. I- I didn't know there were cameras in his bedroom too."
"How do you know, Tyson?" Emily asks him. "How did you find out? Where is the tape?"
"He was going to play it today," he tells her. "During her performance."
Emily's jaw drops in shock. "What the fuck?! What the actual fuck?" She loses her mind over the news. "He didn't just film her without her permission, he was going to spread it around?"
"To get back at me for punching him and for tripping him down the stairs."
"Oh my god!"
Hilary shrinks in her seat. Tyson puts his arm around her shoulders. He notices she's shivering. Her lips pale as snow.
"He's not going to do it," he reassures her. "Hey," he tilts her chin towards him. "Hey, look at me, he's not going to do it. I won't let him."
"How?" she asks feebly. "What did you do?"
Tyson hesitates. He feels guilty for having gotten involved in the first place. Sure, he was only trying to help, but he has a feeling Kai would have kept the film to himself had Tyson not challenged him. "Sold myself into slavery," he says, attempting to joke and make light of the situation.
But Hilary spins toward him in alarm. "What?"
He shrugs. "Told him I'll do as he bids for a whole year."
Emily blinks at him. Slowly. Eyebrows almost touching her hairline. "You...did what?"
"There was nothing else I had to offer him."
"So you offered yourself?"
He shrugs again. It's all he can do at this point.
He's helpless.
Hilary stares at him. Her eyes fill with tears. "You shouldn't have punched him. I told you to stay out of it."
"I know" he admits guiltily.
"You're so stupid," she pushes at his head. Gently. "And now you're what? His bitch?"
"Yeah"
Hilary brings her hands to her forehead. "I don't even-" She sighs. "It's all my fault."
"It's not"
"It is. I never should have trusted him."
She sags against his shoulder.
Emily straightens her milk carton.
"That's what you were doing at his house?" Hilary asks.
"Yeah"
"What did he make you do?"
"Clean stuff. Bring stuff. Nothing too bad." He omits the part where he sang for him because it sounds weird to say that he sang Kai to sleep out loud.
"He hasn't called on you today?"
"I don't think he has my number." Tyson looks over at their table. All the Blitzkriegs are present except Kai. He hasn't seen him since morning. Which is a good thing. A great thing. He should be thankful he isn't being made to run errands for Kai like a dog.
He's already counting down the days to his freedom.
"For a whole year?" she asks like she can barely imagine it.
Tyson nods.
Hilary hugs him. "I love you" she tells him.
He smiles. Gives her a pat on the back. Emily cleans up her tray, looking at him sternly over the top of her glasses. "We need to talk," she mouths to him while Hilary's face is still pressed against his shirt.
Tyson flashes her a thumbs up.
His phone chimes.
New text from an unknown number.
He can already guess who.
God
Tyson groans as he opens it, walking down the steps of the main block, done with all his classes for the day. "Your shopping list:" the message reads. Below it is an infinitely long list of items for him to buy.
These things look expensive. "Money?" he types back.
Someone taps him on the shoulder. He swivels around quickly. It's Kai. Hey, monster, he almost says in greeting.
Tyson sees his own constipated reflection in the sunglasses as he's given a credit card. He looks down at it and gasps. "It's a black card."
"I'll have you arrested if the purchases don't match the list."
Tyson smiles at him wryly. "You don't have to worry about that. I wouldn't dare take a penny from stingy Russians."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Tyson sniggers at him. "I guess you're not as smart as they say you are."
Kai grabs his hand and yanks him forward. "Watch your mouth, Granger. You're on thin fucking ice."
Tyson looks at him up and down. "You filmed a girl without her permission. I can take you to the cops."
Kai draws him closer. His minty breath washes over him as he asks, "And what can they do to me?"
His hand trembles in his hold. Out of anger. Out of rage. When he realizes that Kai is untouchable to the law. "I hate you," he hisses. "I hope you rot in hell."
He can't see his eyes. And that infuriates him further. The glasses make him look more inhuman.
"The feeling's mutual. But the difference between you and me, Granger," his lips are almost smiling as he cuts him down to size, "Is that you can only yak about it, while I can actually make you rot in hell."
He's losing it. He sees red the way he saw it on the stairs. The kind of boiling anger that is all consuming. Overpowering.
But Kai stops him short.
"Go ahead," he encourages, sickening pleasure in his voice. "Swing your fists. See what happens."
Tyson inhales through his mouth. Hilary. He's threatening him with the tape. That fucking tape. His wrist hurts where Kai's gripping him like a vice.
He can't fight.
He can't fight and win as long as he has that video to hold over his head.
Tyson's hands slacken. The aggression in his body leaks out. Kai's fingers loosen.
Lower.
"I'll send the pin," he says, and his tone isn't smug. Nor victorious. It's conciliatory. As though Tyson was trying to fight with someone who didn't want to fight him back.
Or rather as though he was trying to fight an enemy who was too powerful for him, and he was being put in his place.
Kai lets go of his wrist. A ring of red mars the skin. Kai notices it at the same time Tyson does.
He lowers his arm.
"Have it delivered before six. I'll need you to organize them too. It will take some time so bring your books over if you have to."
Tyson stands there, listening to him, the black card clenched between his fingers.
He watches him take his phone out, scroll through his calendar, and give him more work.
The sky is dull and grey overhead. The campus oddly serene.
The tattoos on his arm stand out in the light.
Tyson learns how to hate a person's voice. Their skin. Their scent. The colour of their hair.