When Milán had suggested Blake work for him, they had no idea what that would entail. They had no clue about things like medicine or kidnapping people, or being menacing at all - frankly, their stature made the last point kind of impossible anyway. But much to their surprise, the tasks Milán expected them to do were incredibly, painfully mundane instead.
Outside the chop shop, Blake ended up running most of the errands. They were surprised that he just handed them the money and didn't even count the change when they returned. It wasn't a lot anyway, but still, Blake felt it might be misplaced trust. They were nothing more than a stranger, after all, but he didn't seem to care at all. A week into their stay, he pulled them aside before they went out into town again and told them that they could buy whatever they wanted from the money left after getting the essentials. Once again, Blake found themselves looking at him like he lost it.
It made things easier than Blake had expected. They never needed to have any awkward talks about personal needs, and if he noticed them buy pads and expensive shampoos, he didn't make any comments. It also made things more complicated, of course.
There never had been any talk about rules or what exactly Blake had to do in this household.
They had wanted to do chores, but Milán did not let them cook at all, or clean the bathroom or kitchen. The most they got to do was sweeping or dusting a few of their shared living space. Whenever they offered to do more, he reminded them of their wounds. A cheap excuse, at least in Blake's mind, but they stopped complaining. The pain was minimal now, but they just offered to do more from time to time and took the no. There was nothing to object to after all - Milán's cooking was incredible and truthfully, Blake did not enjoy housework. But who did? They couldn't imagine this brought him much joy either, but the man must have had his reasons.
Blake had plenty of free time, and plenty of books in the room they now got to call their own. They weren't sure what Milán's long term plans were, but for now, he slept in the living room, insisting they keep the bed. There was another room, fully set up as a bedroom. Blake only got to look into it once, before Milán asked them to not go there. They didn't ask. To be fair, there were quite a few things they didn't question. Some nights, they found Milán asleep in the bathtub, knife clutched in his hands, like he was awaiting a monster. They didn't disturb him, even though it made peeing rather awkward. The man had invited them into his house, not into his psyche.
There was still the work in the chop shop, of course. They kept away from it at the start, hiding in their room whenever they heard anything happening. But slowly, they decided to stay closer by, listening to the procedures from another room, trying to imagine what Milán did to these people. They thanked Milán, before they left. At first, it felt absurd. But shouldn't they be happy that not everyone ended up in this place like they did? Or were they really so desperate to know they weren't the only one?
Once the fear started to wear off, they decided to ask if they could help him with his work, and much to their surprise, Milán agreed. All they did was clean, at first, but it felt good to do something. Even though they had sworn not to feel bad for using Milán, they still felt bad for doing so little work to keep their space. And cleaning off blood really wasn't that difficult. The butcher clearly made an effort of keeping Blake from the worst - they never saw any organs or other parts of people. They should be thankful, but truthfully, the curiosity was stronger. But instead of letting them see the gorey details, the next thing Milán showed Blake was paperwork. They spend evenings together, sitting next to each other, sorting patient files and consent forms in peace. It was strange, but also it felt nice.
"Do I have one of these?" They asked one evening, not really expecting a serious answer at all. But Milán stopped in his tracks, and looked at them, thoughtfully. "No consent, of course. But a patient file." He went back to sorting papers, still glancing at them from time to time. There was an unspoken truth in the air - Blake could get him into real fucking trouble if they were smart about it. At this point, they weren't really sure why they should do that, though. Getting back at Milán wouldn't bring their ring finger back, and even if it did, they would still get into trouble, sooner or later. He kept them from making dumb decisions, because he ended up making most of them for Blake.
That's how their life went for a little while. Milán was present, but he never really forced them to do much. He barely initiated touch, much to Blake's dismay. Despite being incredibly quiet, he was friendly, in his own ways, recommending books and asking them what sorts of foods they liked. He actually cooked what they asked for, and they enjoyed the meal while wondering why he did all of this without wanting anything in return. Other nights, they tested the waters, sneaking into the living room while he was still watching a movie and sitting down next to him, close enough that their legs touched. He didn't budge, not even when they started putting their head on his shoulder. It seemed like he was frozen, and Blake truly started to wonder what this act of self-control was even getting at in the long run.
Somehow, he always managed to be incredibly absent despite being right next to them.
Two months into their time together, Blake decided they needed to change that. Becoming irreplaceable didn't happen on its own after all, and it was time they started to actually work for it, if Milán wasn't going to do so. It felt a little bad, thinking about it all in these terms, but really, they liked living with the man, they liked him, and they wanted to stay, even if his feelings of guilt started to die down. So, they had to do something, to get them closer to each other. And if Blake knew one thing about people, it was that with enough alcohol, everyone let their mask slip.
The leftover money had just been enough for a few bottles of cheap but strong booze and a pack of condoms. They probably didn't need more. For a moment, Blake felt as if the cashier looked at him with judgment in her eyes, but she seemed too tired for any of that, on closer inspection. It was probably their own head playing tricks on them. They knew it wasn't quite right to fill a man up with alcohol so they could fuck him, but if they were both drunk, was anyone really to blame? Milán was big and strong, he certainly could ward them off if he really wasn't into the idea.
Still the thoughts kept haunting them as they left the shops, only disrupted when suddenly, someone called their name. "Blake!" It was Wesley, in a suit, right on the other side of the street. They looked up, positively surprised. After their last meeting, they didn't think they would ever see her again. Quickly, they hurried across to talk to her. "Hey, didn't expect you here!" She laughed, and two people - a man and a woman as sharply dressed as her - moved closer. "5 minutes break," she ordered them, and then wrapped an arm around Blake. "Sorry, I can't spare much time, I'm on the clock right now." As much was clear to them. "What are you doing here?" they had to ask.
"Oh, I'm finding issues with this building. Well, I'm supposed to control the building code around here." She pulled them closer, and whispered conspiratorially. "But this one, I'll make sure they'll get rid of it. That's where the bastard works who killed my friend, after all." A shiver ran down Blake's spine. "Well, I should get back," she laughed, like it was all fine, and she wasn't ruining people's lives. "Take this," she pushed a card into their hand. "Call me if you ever have time, alright?" And like that, she was off again, and for once, Blake did not look as she walked off, instead, hurrying back home. They didn't like what they heard at all. For someone who seemed that sweet at first, she certainly was an unsuspected monster.
This cruel realization was enough to keep them distracted until they reached the house and got into the kitchen to unpack the groceries. There was meat and vegetables for dinner, and then, as expected, and yet, awkward, the condoms they quickly stuffed into their pockets. The bottles were more difficult to hide, clear evidence of their plans, right in their hands. They nearly dropped them, as a voice pulled them out of their thoughts: "What are we celebrating?" Milán was leaning against the door frame, smiling. He did that rarely, but each time, it kinda got to them. He was pretty like that. They already started to blush, and they weren't sure if it was due to embarrassment, shame or something else. "Nothing, I just thought… we could have a good time together." That answer seemed to satisfy the man, and he stepped closer. "Want to help with dinner?" That was a rare offer, and one Blake could not say no to.
Thanks to Milán's input, their plan of getting drunk together turned into what other people might even consider a date night. Apparently, there was no one on the books for today anymore, and it clearly had put the butcher into a wonderful mood. Sometimes, Blake wondered if he hated the job. They didn't talk much, preparing food, but it was pleasant to work together on something, even if the onions made their eyes teary. "What are we even making?" they asked, handing him the meat from the fridge. "Gulasch," he replied, and reminding Blake that Milán was indeed, like many of their neighbors had always been, painfully and obviously Hungarian.
It was delicious, of course, and when they sat down to eat together, Blake had to get a second plate. "Where did you learn to cook like this?" they asked, mouth full. Maybe a tad rude, but they didn't really care. "I wanted to be a cook, before I got into this." They did not expect that answer. "And how do you get into this, exactly?" Blake asked, absolutely committed to getting the most out of this rare chatty moment. "Failed medicine studies," he replied simply. "That's how most of us end up in this job." There was a bit of a jump between cook and doctor, but who was Blake to question that? They simply nodded and took another bite. "What about you?" Milán asked. "How did you end up here?"
It was only fair they told him about themselves, especially if they wanted to take this night further. There needed to be some trust established between them. "I wanted to be a writer. I know, it's dumb. That's one of those rich people things, you know, for people who can afford to not have a job." They smiled, but it was obvious the thought still stung, even so many years after they abandoned that dream. "Didn't work out, of course, so I ended up doing just about everything I'm halfway qualified to do. Moved here with a girl I thought I might marry, got hopeless and started to gamble. You can imagine the rest, I'm sure." In turn, Milán nodded, but then, he looked up curiously. "So, is that girl still in your life?" Blake just shook their head and laughed out loud. "She broke up with me years ago."
After dinner, they sat down together in the living room. Milán had grabbed the bottles, leaving Blake to pick the glasses they liked. He had an odd collection, no two seeming to fit together. Milán took a moment to read the labels, and then turned to Blake: "Next time, just mention if you want to buy alcohol. We can afford better scotch, and especially better gin." Funny. At least he was already talking about the next time. "Well, I wasn't aware of that," they sulked, only to brighten up again as he filled up their glass for them. "I don't really know how much money we have. I didn't even know that's a 'we' sort of thing." They wouldn't have dared to ask this just a few weeks ago. They still didn't really. Taking a sip, Blake tried not to make eye contact right away. The shame was returning.
But instead of an answer, Milán simply poured himself a glass and got closer to them. "You worked for it, didn't you?" he finally replied, after downing half of the gin. Blake took another sip, feeling like they should at least attempt to keep up. They knew he was right, but combined with what they had planned for the night, it felt a little strange. Sinking in on themselves, they downed the rest so they wouldn't have to say anything yet. Thankfully, Milán saved them from the awkward silence, and, while refilling both their glasses, asked: "So, what sort of author would you have wanted to be?" Blake's face lit up. They hadn't talked about any of their plans for a while, but that didn't mean they forgot any of them.
Half an hour passed faster than Blake could have imagined, just telling Milán about the different stories they had wanted to write, topics they had researched, the weird things they've found. He even laughed out loud when they told him about the time they, age 14, broke into a church at night to measure its exact size for a book idea. "You have a fascinating approach to writing." At some point, Milán had put his arm around their shoulder and Blake, who just about now realized how fucking drunk they already were, was close enough to smell the mix of cologne and sweat that usually surrounded him by the end of a workday. Blake forced themselves to sit up properly again - if they were already thinking about his scent, they were clearly running out of time to work on their actual plan.
Leaning over, they put their glass down on the floor next to the couch. Milán didn't seem to pay attention to it, too busy drinking. Good, they thought, and instantly felt bad for it. Still, there was no way but forward. Sitting in silence for a moment, they collected their thoughts, before asking: "I really like you. You like me too, right?" He looked a little surprised, but eventually, Milán replied with a nod. That would have to be enough for Blake's bad conscience. They took the glass out of his hand, placing it next to theirs, and climbed into his lap. No resistance, but Milán also didn't play along. Instead, he was leaning backwards, arms resting on the back of the couch. He raised an eyebrow, and Blake wasn't sure if that was a question or a dare. Either way, they certainly had gotten themselves into a situation.
Not giving either of them another moment to get cold feet, Blake leaned closer and kissed Milán. It was short, and sweet, and clearly them testing the waters. He just looked at them, difficult to read, as he often tended to be. "You're not doing this because you think you have to, right? You want this?" He asked quietly, making Blake's stomach turn. "Yes," the answer came quickly, and while not a lie, it wasn't entirely true either. But it was enough for Milán. He kissed them, hungry like a wolf. Blake was taken aback for a moment. Had he wanted them this desperately the whole time? He grabbed them by the hips and pulled them closer, until there was no space between them and Blake could feel his heart beating against their chest. The guilt they had been carrying around this whole day disappeared in an instant, leaving behind a strange, bittersweet presence.
Blake dug their fingers into his hair, pulling just a little, but Milán followed their lead without any complaints, leaning back. "You're so pretty," they smiled before kissing his neck, wandering until they found a spot that made him giggle. God, he could be so cute, not that they would ever tell him. They considered biting him, marking him as theirs, but it was too early. His hands had found their way beneath their shirt, rough fingers caressing their chest, purposefully moving past their nipples. What a tease... Letting go off his hair, Blake pulled his face closer to kiss him again, while grinding against his leg. They couldn't get enough of him. Milan's hands returned to their hips, pulling and pushing just a little faster than their own pace.
Hands trailing down his back, Blake got struck by just how many scars there were on Milán's back. Did they form a pattern? A picture? This wasn't the time to ask, they barely made space to breathe after all, but they made a mental note to ask him about it later. They followed the lines, up until suddenly, there was a deeper cut. Curiously, they traced the edge and then, softly, touched the inside of the scar. Milán froze, and before they could ask what was wrong, Blake was suddenly on their back. There were hands wrapped around their neck, and it took them a moment to connect the dots. Milán's eyes were wide open, like an animal forced into a corner, but that didn't stop him from squeezing their throat at full force. Blake tried to speak, say anything, but nothing but a gurgling sound left escaped them. Panic started to set in, as they realized he wouldn't budge.
Digging their nails into his arms did absolutely nothing, neither did Blake hitting his chest. So they resorted to trying to kick him, up until their leg slammed into his crotch. Milan stopped in his tracks, looking up, while Blake felt the full length of his erection through two layers of fabric. He finally let go, and dropped against their chest, face hidden between hair and their shirt. They should run, try and get away, but instead, Blake reached out for his face. Their heart was hammering in their chest, and each breath hurt, but they needed to see him, and to have him see them. One touch was enough to make him flinch, and look up, scared. "I'm sorry," Milán moved back, until he fell off the couch. Blake couldn't say anything when they tried, instead ending up coughing and trying to regain their breath. Only now did they notice that there were tears streaming down their eyes. They should do something, say something, but their mind was empty at that moment. Blake simply got up, as soon as they could handle it, and left the room. They didn't think, just grabbed their jacket and shoes, and let their legs take them wherever they wanted to.
It was raining. As the drops were running down their face, they started to actually cry again. It wasn't just crying, no, they were sobbing out loud, just walking ahead. There was no one around at this time of night, and they were grateful. No way to explain this, no way to get help, no one to blame them for what happened. The storm got worse, winds whooshing by, perfectly hiding the pathetic sounds escaping their throat. They kept walking, until they came to a dead end, and had to stop. For the first time since they left the house, they looked around. Somehow, they ended up at the harbor. It wasn't too far away from their- well, Milán's home, but they rarely went here. It was dangerous, after all. No week passed without the news of a body found in the waters. They couldn't stay here. But there was nowhere else to go either.
For a moment, Blake considered turning back. Maybe apologizing could save this whole situation, maybe they could convince him to let them stay. His last words, that panicked apology, didn't count to them, but the fear in his eyes did. They didn't know what happened, didn't understand it properly, but they knew it wasn't good for either of them. Absent-mindedly, they touched their throat. Even their skin felt raw. No, they couldn't go back… but there was someone they could go to, maybe.
Looking for the nearest payphone, Blake got the small card out. They've been carrying it the whole day, and while Wesley had scared them the last time they met her, she was still a better option than going back. Thankfully, they still had enough change for a call. "Hey, I um- I had a really shit night," they smiled while talking. "And I was thinking, maybe we could hang out-" - "Of course! I'm currently at the hellcat bar, have you heard of it? Ah, doesn't matter, just tell me where you are, and I'll send you a taxi." If she had noticed that they were crying before, she didn't say anything about it. They quietly mumbled an address close by, and they could hear another person laugh in the background. "They'll be right there, okay?" and like that, she was already gone.
Blake stood there, and sighed, and then started walking. They didn't want to get picked up here, didn't like the idea of Wesley knowing they were here. When they arrived at the little street corner, the taxi was already there. The woman greeting him didn't respond when they apologized for being late. She didn't initiate more conversation either, and while Blake should have been thankful for that, the silence felt oppressive. So they looked outside, and watched as the cityscape changed.
They finally stopped in the right middle of the city center. Halfway there, Blake was already starting to get nervous - they shouldn't be here, they didn't belong here. But the ride was paid for, and just like that, they ended up in front of a huge building. When Wesley had talked about a bar, they certainly imagined something less fancy than this. Blake caught a glimpse of themselves in the reflection of a dark window - their clothes didn't even fit right onto their skinny body. They thought they had gained weight, started to look better since they've been living with Milán. In the midst of people with actual money it didn't matter. People did not have to see their hand to know what they were.
Thankfully, Wesley popped out of the front door, striding past everyone else, and grabbed them by the hand. "Blake!" She smiled like nothing about this was off. "I'm so happy you got here! I have to introduce you to my friends." She looked at them before getting back inside, eyes lingering on their throat. Without an explanation, she took her own, big scarf and carefully placed it on their shoulders. "So, all good now." It hadn't really fixed anything, but she seemed happy. She pulled them by the hand into the busy building, past people who ignored them and people who looked at Blake like they knew exactly who they were. Quietly, they wished Milán was here. Most people were too scared to look at him. "So, this is Eun-Kyung, Teónia and Kaede. Guys, this is Blake. I met them a while ago, and they are, like, so sweet."
They nodded and forced a smile, and sat down with a quick 'Hi'. This was certainly more than they thought they could deal with right now. Her friends did not seem impressed with this person she found, and after a little bit of awkward small talk, returned to their own topics. Blake tried to disappear into the chair, but Wesley pressed a drink into their hand. "Sorry, I didn't warn you it's gonna be busy," she smiled that same sunshine smile as always. "But this is how I usually spend my evenings, a fun, small after work hangout to get away from the stress, you know?" Blake nodded, despite being pretty sure that their definition of stress and fun were pretty different. But, despite it all, they felt okay, sitting next to her, if not safe.
That's how Blake spent the next half hour, sitting in silence, listening to them talk about projects and clients that made no sense at all to them. Apparently bored by her own friends, Wesley leaned over and whispered: "So, how did that happen?" she asked, gesturing to their throat. Blake had to think about that, wondering how to even explain it without explaining the whole day. The thought of explaining how they were making out in this crowded place wasn't very appealing. "I had a fight with the guy I'm living with. I don't think he meant to go this far." She nodded, seemingly satisfied, only to lean closer again a moment later. "So, who is he? I thought you said you can't get any apartments with your hand." Reflexively, they hid their fingers underneath the table as she spoke, as if her whispered words were enough to alert everyone to them.
"It's the guy who did that. I think he felt bad for me, so he took me in." There was more to it, there had to be more to it. Blake thought back to how his heart beat against their chest, how it felt like he wanted to devour them. No, there had been more between them. Suddenly, they got pulled out of their thoughts. Wesley's hand was on their leg, very close to their crotch. "Did he ever force you to do something?" She leaned closer, as if this was hot gossip. But Blake just sat there, frozen for a moment, trying to understand what was going on. "Why would you say that?" they moved back in their chair, away from Wesley. "He's a sweet guy, he wouldn't-" The audacity made them forget how many eyes were on them. "You have no idea-" She got closer, looking upset, getting louder as she spoke: "How can you say that when he's ruined your life?" She was too close, and now, everyone was looking at them. They needed to run, now.
As they stormed out of the place, finally able to breathe again, a man grabbed them by the arm. Before they could tear themselves away, he pulled them into a dark alley close by. Once out of view, before they could ask something, he punched them in the face, with enough force to make their head snap back, and their vision go spotty. "You don't belong here," there was a woman, dressed sharply, leaning against the dirty wall next to them. "And you should know that, shouldn't you?" She took their hand and pointed right at the missing ring finger. They nodded, head buzzing with pain. That wasn't enough, clearly, as the man dug his knee into their chest, with all his strength. They started to cough, and fell down onto the floor, right into a puddle. The second they managed to raise their head again, trying to see what was happening, the woman stepped onto their back, heel digging into their skin. "Now, you still didn't apologize."
"You think we wouldn't figure out who you are?" she asked, moving her foot off their back, only to have the man kick them in the stomach when they tried to get up. He laughed, watching them curl up in the fetal position, trying to hide from another blow. So he went for their head instead, and then their chest. Blood, Blake was tasting blood. Did they bite their tongue, or were they really this fragile? They didn't know, and frankly, it didn't really matter if they didn't make it out of here. The urge to vomit was strong, but they swallowed it. Another kick hit their face, and they could feel something move underneath their skin.
"Stop."
A voice cut through the alley. There, on the other side, stood Milán. For a moment, Blake did not believe their eyes. Why should he be there? "Wait, ain't that Mo Ji-Hoon's kid?" The man gestured towards the woman, pulling Blake back up. She took a good look at him, and then nodded: "But doesn't he usually send the other one, um… Mo Beom-Soek?" All the aggression seemed to leave the air, and the man let go off their arm, instead resting it on their shoulder. They were too scared to move, instead, just sitting there, on the floor listening to Milán walk closer. They felt so confused, and moreover useless.
"How is the old man?" she asked, with a smile. "Dead," Milán simply answered: "Got shot 3 years ago." An awkward silence filled the air, but the man, not moving from their side, tried to keep the conversation going: "So, you still work at the disposal for Mo?" Milán stopped a few steps in front of them, seemingly intentional, even if it made no sense to Blake at all. "No, I switched to a chop shop," he answered, not looking down once. The woman laughed, but the man nodded: "Sounds like an upgrade to me."
Blake looked between them, confused. There were so many questions they could ask right now, but silence was the best choice, no matter how scared they were. The man holding them by the shoulder relaxed, hearing as much. "So, is this one of yours?" Milán looked down at them, kneeling on the floor, completely drenched in dirt, rain and blood. Despite their quiet pleading, his empty expression didn't change, no sign to reassure them they would be already.
"Yes, they are mine."