Chapter Text
The car ride home had been rather quiet once he managed to get the little red head to sit on the car seat. He Tian swears, with every new conversation he has with the frail man, he only grows more and more concerned.. and more and more angry with a dead man.
He doesn’t understand how anyone could be this ruthless towards someone so.. so, damned defenseless. And it’s not as if He Tian has never been cruel or ruthless towards someone before. And he has been rather, overly rude to people who didn’t quite deserve it before. But he’s never gone as far as.. this. He’s never sexually trafficked someone for his own gain. He’s never beaten someone down so much that they can hardly see themselves as human anymore.. he’s never convinced someone to call themselves an ‘it’.
And he’s never made them think that they had to kneel on the ground, even in a moving vehicle where they’d likely die if there was an accident.. ok, that’s not entirely true that last one. He has shot people before while they were on their knees. But in his defense they were all shitty people and to be honest they deserved to die..
But this guy in his back seat..? He doesn’t deserve this. He Tian knows he was taken when be was just a kid. And if this crap has been going on since then.. it’s no wonder that he’s willing to listen to every little command given. No wonder he has all that distrust that Tian himself can see filtering into the red heads eyes. A part of him really wishes he could go back in time and make the asshole of a gang leader suffer more for his disgusting actions. But what’s done is done. And at least he can know that the cute little red head in his back seat won’t have to suffer anymore.. not if he has anything to say about it.
It’s a relief once they arrive at the hide out, aka He Tian’s home. Once the car is parked, wanting to make things as easy as he can for the traumatized man, Tian comes around to the back seat to open it for him. He’d reached out a hand, offering it to help him from the back seat.. only to see the young man stiffen before closing his eyes tight. Tian mentally curses every single person who made such behavior the red heads first instinct, before mentally shaking those thoughts away. Not right now, now isn’t the time for anger.. now is the time to help an innocent person heal.
“ Hey, it’s alright little red, I’m not gonna hurt you. I was just gonna help you out of the car, alright? It’s ok, open your eyes.. “ He Tian says. He watches at the little red head slowly opens his eyes, a distrustful look filtering across his face. Though, it is a bit of relief when despite said distrust he still reaches out and takes his hand. He Tian carefully pulls the young man out from the car, and shuts the door behind him.
He knows the reason the little red head gave him his hand. He knows it’s not the beginnings of trust. He knows it’s caused by the traumatized man’s fear. Fear of anger. Fear of the pain that comes after the anger. He knows this. Although, despite that, he know’s it’s also a chance to prove himself. I chance to prove he means no harm, even when the little red head is clearly expecting some form of pain or punishment.
He Tian has never been so careful while touching someone else. He keeps his hold firm, secure, but with a gentleness he know’s the fearful man next to him deserves. He leads the fragile man through his sparsely furnished home, and into his living room.
“Alright little red, first things first. What’s your name?” He asks. While he does believe that all names he’s been calling the cute red head describe him rather well, he knows he can’t just keep calling him ‘little red’ and the like. It’s more respectful to call him by his name, right? And surely the poor guy wouldn’t even know how to process such nicknames without becoming suspicious, or thinking he has to do something in return for the kinder nicknames. For now, they’ll stay in his head as silent but accurate nicknames.. mostly silent. Letting one out occasionally should help his little red adjust to them, he thinks.
There’s silence, and it lasts so long He Tian is convinced the traumatized man in front of him doesn’t remember his own name. It causes this awful, sinking feeling in his chest. And the answer he gets doesn’t much help said feeling.
“Sluts don’t deserve names, master, I was taught this well.. you may call me whatever you wish.”
It takes quite a bit of energy to not curse. To not go back to that damned pathetic hide out and take his frustrations out by mutilating a corpse that’s likely missing parts of its head. But he holds those frustrations, that anger in. Because the man in front of him doesn’t need to see that, doesn’t need to be made to be even more fearful than he already is. He doubts the little red head would be left alone, spared any pain even when he didn’t cause it for any small infraction. And he’ll be damned if he causes even more distress to the traumatized man in front of him, distress he can keep himself from causing.
“It doesn’t matter if you’re a slut or not. You deserve a name, and I’d like to know yours.”
He watches the smaller man flinch. Fuck, he didn’t mean to scare him! Some of that anger he was desperately holding back must have leaked into his tone or.. fuck he doesn’t know. He Tian mentally scolds himself, though such thoughts are interrupted by his cute little red head.
“I’m, I’m sorry master, I didn’t mean to.. to, not obey your wishes. My name is Mo.. Mo Guanshan, master.”
Fuck, that’s such a cute name, why is that such a cute name? “Alright then, little Mo. You can call me He Tian. I’m going to get you nice and fed, into a bath, and then I’ll be taking you to your room. It’s a guest bed room, but we can redecorate it however you want and..”
He Tian is interrupted by Mo pulling his hand away with a whimper, before dropping it his knees.
~
“You can call me He Tian.”
Little Mo’s ear’s start to ring. Those simple words sending him back to years prior. When he was first taken. When they were first trying to break him. When a gang member he didn’t recognize came down to the basement. Had introduced himself, said Mo can call him by his name. But when he did, his head had suddenly snapped to the side, his cheek stinging and throbbing. His hair had been grabbed, and the man had screamed in his face, saying sluts don’t deserve to call their superiors by their names. It had been a trick, a horrible trick on him while he was already mentally and physically vulnerable. An excuse to hurt him, despite the fact he was just following what he was told.
Then came the training, training that lasted weeks on end. Being ordered to say the man’s name. When he refused, he was beaten. When he complied, he was beaten. A twisted way to teach him to never disobey, never say someone’s name, and that no matter what he does? He will always be deserving of pain. He will always deserve to be hurt, beaten, humiliated, punished. He can’t be good, sluts are incapable of being anything other than a fuck toy and a punching bag. And unfortunately, that training has only been reinforced over and over again.
Mo can’t stop the whimper that tumbles out of his throat, *bad*, He doesn’t even realize when he’s pulling away from his masters mercifully gentle hold, *bad*, or when his knee’s finally give out until he’s on the ground. His head bow’s low, and he starts speaking, not even making sure he isn’t interrupting his master.
*Bad, bad, bad, bad!*
“Master, please, I’m sorry, but I can’t! I can’t call you that! Slaves, they, they aren’t allowed..!” Mo flinches heavily, biting back another whimper when he see’s his master lowering himself to one knee, getting closer, within arm’s reach. “They’re not allowed to call their masters by their names, it’s bad and disrespectful- I, please, please I know this! I know not to, you don’t need to train me, please master don’t make me- don’t, please don’t!”
This is gonna hurt, he knows it’s gonna hurt. Not just because punishments always hurt, but because it’s gonna come from his new master. His strange new master who’s been gentle, who hasn’t hurt him yet. Who hasn’t called him any derogatory names, and who hasn’t beaten him despite already having so many reasons and excuses to when he doesn’t even need them.
It’s pathetic, he knows it is. He’s only just met his new master, it shouldn’t be such a novelty to not be hurt within- what, less than a few hours? If he were good it wouldn’t *be* such a novelty. But god, it’s the first time in a long time he’s gone with long without a punishment or a cruel word through his way when in the same room as someone else. And it’s gonna hurt so bad to have one of those gentle hands bruise his skin.
Fuck, dammit, why did he have to say all that anyways? Why can’t he just shut up? Mo knows that every word is spoken out of turn, he knows he should be silent, just listen to his master’s words, just behave, but he can’t. He’s panicking, his breathing is stuttering and much to quick, it’s hard to breathe, he can’t breathe, he needs to breathe-!
Mo gasps, his thoughts and body suddenly freezing as big, muscular arms wrap around him, pulling him close. It’s enough of a shock to pull him out of his spiraling panic, but not enough to ease his overall fear. Little Mo whimpers quietly, his body shaking from a mix of panic induced exhaustion and fear.
He doesn’t understand..
“That’s my bad, little Mo, my bad. Shh, it’s ok, deep breaths- good, you’re doing so good. It was a bit soon for me to suggest that, I should have known. That’s not your fault. You can call me master if you want, that’s ok.” Mo can hear his owner saying, faintly, through the fog and fear and panic. He can hear it. And he’s only further confused. Because why is his master blaming himself? Why is he praising him despite everything he’s doing wrong..?
“Ma-master please, it, it’s not your fault-“ Mo tries to say, but his master is leaning back, making his pulse spike, before a hand is being set on his his head. And initially, he flinches, but all he feels are those weirdly gentle fingers knitting into his hair like they had before. And he can’t bring himself to try and pull away.
“Yes it is. It is my fault, and I won’t let you believe you’re at fault when you haven’t done anything wrong.” His master says, this firm but oddly careful tone in his voice. Like when you’re talking to a lost and scared child you’ve found in a big store. His master lets those words linger in the air, before he feels those fingers gently comb through his hair, avoiding tugging on any knots.
“Now, let’s get you on your feet, little red. I promised you food, a bath, and a bed, didn’t I?”