Chapter Text
July 28, 1990
Damon felt warm, a little too warm. The kind of warm he hadn’t felt in a long time; the kind of warm he only felt when he’d fallen asleep next to someone.
Oh, fuck. Don’t open your eyes. Don’t open your fuckin’ eyes, you stupid fuck.
His body didn’t obey his brain, and soon enough there he was, confronted with the reality of his situation. His head was against Sasha’s bare chest, he was in a bed, and he didn’t have the slightest hint of a hangover.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Goddammit, you did it.
He looked around briefly to confirm his surroundings, though it was a waste of time: he knew this was Sasha’s room despite having never been in it before. It wasn’t at all what he’d expected, far more barren and devoid of personality than any other room he’d ever been in. He wondered why that was.
Last night had been heavy. He’d taken the leap and Sasha had reciprocated in full, and they’d gone from the office to the bedroom in a haze that had culminated in them falling asleep like this. God, how could he have been so stupid? The one thing they agreed to never do, and he’d done it…
Though anxiety was burning through his skin at an alarming rate, he couldn’t bring himself to move yet. His eyes had fallen on Sasha’s sleeping face and, try as he might, he couldn’t look away. He kept focusing on the curve of his brow, the shape of his lips, the bridge of his nose. The large scar running down the side of his face… His eye didn’t close properly even when he was asleep, what was up with that? Didn’t it become unbearably dry?
Damon didn’t want to abandon the warmth of Sasha’s chest , or the lull of his heartbeat, or the slow rise and fall of his breathing, but he wanted to get a closer look at his eye. How had he never noticed that before? The fact it didn’t close…
The fact it was fake. A glass replica of what had been there before. How did he come to lose it?
Inches from Sasha’s face, Damon gasped softly and willed himself to move away.
You shouldn’t be here. You need to go before it’s too late.
He knew it was already too late, but he wouldn’t admit it, not now.
Sliding quietly out of bed, Damon willed himself to not look back as he collected his clothes from the floor. He stubbornly ignored his desire to lay back down and cuddle back up to his boss, because if he did that, it was game over for sure.
He wasn’t ready for that.
Sasha began to stir as soon as he became aware of the empty space beside him, and as his eye opened, the night before came rushing back to him. That had been the best birthday he could’ve asked for, and he hadn’t even needed to get drunk or high to enjoy himself! Damon had pretty much closed that last gap between them after Sasha had opened up to him, and now, admittedly, he felt giddy at the thought of looking him in the eye again…
Except he was already out of bed and getting dressed.
“Hey,” Sasha rubbed his eyes- crap, he’d left the fake one in overnight- and sat up properly. “What’s the hurry?”
Damon froze in his tracks in the middle of zipping up his pants. His heartbeat was very nearly shaking his frame, and he wasn’t sure he could turn around and face Sasha even now, but to not do so would be far too shameful.
“No hurry, just…” Even while facing him, Damon couldn’t maintain eye contact.
Sasha felt unease settle in his stomach. Damon’s body language was no good. “What’s the matter?”
“We crossed a line.”
Damon’s rushed response felt like ripping off a bandaid to him, but to Sasha it felt like swallowing a stone. His insides grew cold as he processed what Damon was saying, and he struggled not to frown or grip his sheets as he let his companion speak.
“I mean- I’m your bodyguard , man. I’m supposed to put my life on the line for you, keep you safe. This…” Damon couldn’t believe himself, was he actually trembling? “If we do this shit deliberately it’s just gonna complicate everything.”
Sasha felt like the room was closing in on him. He kept trying to speak, trying to find his voice to say then quit, or I’ll fire you, anything as long as it means I get to keep you with me, but in the end, all he managed to say was “Yeah, okay.”
After all, there was no reason Damon would stick around if he wasn’t getting paid, right? None of this actually meant anything to him personally. They hadn’t even kissed, not once- even last night all they’d done was affectionately rub their faces together.
“And I wanna keep doing this. I wanna do my job, I love my job,” Damon was close to going on a ramble, so he was considering himself lucky that Sasha wasn’t reacting negatively to this. Maybe he’d read too much into things…
“That’s why you only wanted to do this shitfaced, right?” Sasha smiled softly, though his insides felt twisted and his mouth tasted bitter. “To avoid, ah… Complication.”
Damon nodded slowly. Then he said something he hadn’t really planned on saying- but he’d gotten this far, and it seemed appropriate. It seemed logical. “Maybe it would be best if we stopped altogether. You know, just keep it professional.”
Sasha at that point felt like he was being skewered, but he snorted softly and smiled a little wider. “Professional.”
“Yeah, you know, still friendly and all, but…” Damon fiddled with the edge of his shirt. He was afraid Sasha would say ‘don’t you think it’s a little late for that?’, and he was even more afraid of having to come up with an answer.
“I gotcha,” Sasha nodded and kept his tone as amiable as he could. The last thing he wanted was to somehow come off as desperate.
“Really?” Damon felt intense relief wash over him. These things didn’t usually go this well. “Oh, man, fuck. Thanks. And sorry- but y’know, mainly thanks.”
“Why thank me? It’s for the best! You wanna keep me alive without the stress of any other bullshit. There’s too much on your plate already.” By this point Sasha was grinning. “I’m just glad you’re here at all, honestly. Extra perks are just that, perks. Doesn’t change a thing.”
Damon wasn’t sure if he was processing any of this correctly, but he felt an intense surge of happiness at how this conversation had turned out. They weren’t fighting or arguing, they’d still be able to work side by side, and there wouldn’t be any horrible emotions involved! “Sasha?”
“Yeah?” God, it hurt Sasha to pretend. It hurt so much to pretend to be okay with any of this, especially when Damon said his name. Why did he have to say his damn name?
“You’re the best.” Damon smiled an honest smile and headed for the door, blissfully unaware, in that moment, of the weight his words held. “I’ll be back tomorrow! If you need anything, just call me.”
Sasha waved him goodbye and counted the seconds it took for him to stop smiling- four. As soon as Damon was gone, he was staring down at the sheets and begging for something to hit him over the head. He felt stupider than he ever had before, and that was quite a feat for someone who did dumb shit on the regular.
Did you really think it was gonna work out? See, that’s your problem. Your biggest problem of all. This attachment shit needs to stop, it needs to stop now. He’s your bodyguard. Not your friend, definitely not your lover, your bodyguard. Your employee. You wouldn’t date him more than you would any other man under you- who said anything about date? Pathetic. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid.
Of course Damon was right. Of course this would be for the best.
The further Damon got from Sasha’s bedroom, the more he wanted to go back. His relief had turned to dread much faster than he’d anticipated, and every single part of him was regretting all he’d said. His head felt violently fuzzy.
How could he do that? To Sasha, of all people? To the man who’d pulled him out of hopelessness and given him a new purpose, the man who made him laugh and shout and feel alive?
What is wrong with you? You know what you did. You’d never forgive yourself if you let this go further. He wouldn’t either, if he knew. You’re a real sick fuck, you know that? You let shit get this fucked. You let yourself get close to the worst person you coulda possibly chosen. Like, really. Now of all times you choose to fall in love again? ‘Cause you are in love with him, aren’t you?
Damon bit his bottom lip hard enough for it to bleed. It was all he could do to shut his mind off.
August 10, 1990
By some miracle, things between Damon and Sasha hadn’t gone completely awkward. The two merely picked things back up as friends and went about their arrangement as usual; Sasha pushed his feelings down until they were just another repressed emotion in a sea of many, and it enabled him to “get the fuck over it” and enjoy their time together without any issues. Damon, similarly, was genuinely happy to be able to remain beside Sasha as a friend and bodyguard without having even more guilt hanging over him.
Although the spark between them was undeniable still, the best they could do was ignore it and carry on with their work.
This was how it was always meant to be. Nothing more…
“You fix it, then!” A mobster’s frustrated voice traveled down the hallway. “I sure can’t!”
“Fine, I’ll ask,” came Iosif’s tired reply, “but just know this isn’t in his contract.”
Damon had gone to get a candy bar from the vending machine, and was now idling about as he munched on it. Iosif was grateful he wouldn’t need to walk far to find him.
“You. You’re good with computers, right?”
“Yeah?” Damon pulled the wrapper over the half-eaten candy bar and gave his full attention to Iosif. “Why, you need somethin’ done?”
Iosif gestured for Damon to follow him to reception, where the frustrated mobster from before was staring at his computer screen with disdain. It didn’t appear to be turned on.
Damon jerked his head back and walked over to the computer, exchanging an astonished glance between the receptionist and Iosif. The receptionist swallowed and held eye contact with him. “What, what is it?”
“Is this thing being held together with duct tape?” Damon asked with sincerity, despite the question being rhetorical. “Did the hamster running inside it die? Jesus, this shit’s trashed! Never seen a rig this bad.”
“Hey!” The receptionist protested, his wounded pride apparent. “It’s been working fine until today!”
“You know I’m good at fixing the other kind of problems, right? Not actually repairing busted computers?”
Iosif wanted to say “I told you so”, but when didn’t he? He merely shook his head and reached for one of the phones on the desk. “I’ll call the store.”
“Hang on, just ‘cause I’m not good at repair doesn’t mean I can’t do it at all,” Damon held his hand up in the air. “Let me try it out, it’s been a while anyway.”
“Just… Just don’t break it, okay?” The receptionist pleaded anxiously. “Any more than it already is, I mean.”
Damon quietly nudged him out of his chair and sat down, rooting around the desk for a screwdriver or something similar. This would be fun, even if he would probably need to call someone in at the end of it all…
He didn’t want to give Iosif the satisfaction of being right! They were on better terms now, sure, but they still didn’t quite see eye to eye.
-
“Well, I got it to boot up, at least, but I really gotta emphasize that you need new parts, stat. Next time it shuts down it might not turn back on,” Damon explained to the receptionist. “I’d invest in a whole new computer if I were you. I know it’s hard to say goodbye, though.”
“No, no. I can get a new one,” the receptionist grumbled in response. “Thanks.”
“Made some internal changes to it too, just to see if it runs any smoother,” Damon nodded with a soft smile. “It was actually fun to work on. I feel like a pro.”
The receptionist offered him an honest smile in return, and Damon returned to his half-eaten, half-melted candy bar.
He walked past Iosif and smirked, figuring he’d know that meant he’d managed to do something after all.
“Well done, you saved us a small cost,” Iosif addressed him sarcastically.
“If you need any work done around your house,” Damon called back playfully, “just let me know.”
August 26, 1990
Another meeting, another business transaction. Another raid, another club under his command. Another trip down to the beach with Damon, another round of cards with his men. Everything was going fine for Sasha, better than fine. It was going so well, in fact, that he was perfectly capable of ignoring all the anti-Russian crime going on around him. He’d deal with that in due time; right now he needed to focus on getting more recruits.
Well, no. That was day after tomorrow. Right now he needed to focus on getting high.
He and Damon had just gotten back from making sure one of the mob’s front businesses was running smoothly, and he’d taken the opportunity to have his hair washed, blowdried, and trimmed the slightest bit. Damon had been a good sport about it all and had read to him from the gossip column of a magazine. He wasn’t really that invested in what had been written, but it was a chance to hear Damon’s voice for an uninterrupted period of time, and like hell was he going to pass that up.
Yes, he’d crushed his stupid feelings into dust and had abandoned any absurd notion of ever getting together with him, but Sasha was still very much attracted to his bodyguard, and he figured (being the boss and all) that he could allow himself little things like that now and then. As long as Damon didn’t catch on, there wasn’t a single thing to worry about.
Of course, he hadn’t considered the possibility that Damon reading to him was his own form of little pleasure, too.
Now he was feeling fresh, satisfied, relaxed and content, which was far too boring for him. He wanted to spice it up.
“Pass me the box,” he ordered, hand extended.
“As his majesty commands,”Damon complied with a goofy bow. Inside the box was yet another prototype drug, one with supposed hallucinogenic effects. He wondered why they didn’t just stick to selling LSD, but he wasn’t about to question mob decisions.
Sasha returned the bow and opened the box, carefully taking one of the pills. “Pretty colors,” he observed, popping it into his mouth before taking the glass of water one of his men was offering him.
The few people in the room watched Sasha closely, eager to see his reaction to the drug. He took a deep breath and leaned back against his couch, not feeling any less relaxed. Until… “Hey, stop lookin’ at me, it’s makin’ me antsy.”
He pointed to one of the mobsters, who quickly turned away. The others leaned in a little closer as if this would give more away, but quickly shuffled back when Sasha sprung up from his seat.
“Damn, this room’s bright. Kill the lights, wouldja? The floor’s more than enough,” he asked no one in particular as he began to pace around.
Once the room was dark and Sasha had walked back and forth a few times, Damon spoke up. “How’s it feel?”
“Good,” Sasha answered in a heartbeat. “Feels like walkin’ on air. Fast as fuck one second, turtle slow the next, though. Not sure how I feel about that.”
One of the men wrote this down in a little notebook he carried, squinting by the shark tank to be able to see his words on the page.
“You see anything special?” Damon followed up his initial question.
“Not yet. Roman’s eyes were too big for his face, but I wouldn’t say that counts. I’ll let you know.” Sasha nodded and shoved his hands in his pant pockets.
Within a few minutes, he’d shed his suit jacket and thrown it onto the couch, but he was still waiting for something big to happen. He sat back down on the couch and focused on the shark tank.
“Ha, the water’s changed color. Just a little bit. Makes me wanna drink it, but I think this shit could be stronger. Should I take another one?” Sasha didn’t look away from the swimming shark within to talk to Damon, who shook his head.
“Nah, let it run its course, otherwise you won’t have a clear picture of how it works,” he replied and closed the pill box.
“Clear picture. In the dark and with just one eye, how clear can it be?” Sasha snorted and looked over at one of the mobsters. “Wanna know how I lost this eye?”
“I think I know already, boss,” he answered, hoping he didn’t sound too rude.
“Bah, you’re no fun,” Sasha huffed. “Except your head’s getting kinda long now, about time.”
“I dunno how you lost it,” Damon spoke up. He’d wanted to ask ever since he noticed Sasha’s damaged eye was fake, but he hadn’t known how to bring it up, and now was his chance to find out!
“Oooh, pink man, you’re in for an adventure!” Sasha grinned widely and shifted in his seat until he was facing Damon, who was looking twice as colorful than usual in the growing darkness. “Can you imagine a me that’s double the reckless and half the smart?”
Damon’s cheeks felt warm at the nickname. Pink man used to annoy him, but now he was happy to hear it. Laughing slightly, he shook his head. “No, no way. Not if I tried with all my damn might.”
“Well, indulge me and pretend that you can. That’s me at 21 years of age. 21 sweet, tender years of being a stupid piece of shit,” Sasha grinned from ear to ear and sank into the couch, which was beginning to feel a little bit like chewing gum. “Sasha. 21, legal in all areas, still being babysat by his father’s bodyguard. Irina hated doing it, hated having to keep me from impaling myself whenever I left the fucking house.”
“Not a whole lot’s changed, huh,” Damon’s grin nearly matched Sasha’s as he teased him, watching with glee as his boss’s expression went from slightly glazed to scandalized.
“Oh, you hate working for me!? Yeah!?” Sasha kicked his leg out in an attempt to nudge Damon with his foot, but he somehow missed his mark entirely and sent the pill box to the ground. “Fired! You’re fired!”
“One day you’re gonna say that and mean it, and you’ll never see me again,” Damon chuckled as he picked the spilled pills up off the floor. “C’mon, on with the story!”
“Right, right. No more interruptions.” Running a hand through his messy hair, Sasha tilted his head back and exhaled. “21 and dumb. Irina’s fed up with me. I manage to strike a deal with her, she lets me leave on my own if I come back home by 2 AM. I think it’s bullshit, but I don’t wanna piss her off, you know? Man, she was scary when she was mad.”
He stopped speaking for a moment, and Damon didn’t press him for words. He was thinking of her, specifically of how cold her pale blue eyes became when he stepped out of line. Her tone barely changed and she never yelled. Not out of anger. Yet she left no doubt in Sasha’s mind that she’d slit his throat if he repeated his errors.
Fuck, I miss you. I could really use your firm hand from time to time.
Reminiscing during reminiscence was no good; he had a story to tell! His body temperature was rising slowly, and he wanted to finish before he could no longer resist the call of an ice bath. “I leave the house, I roll myself a cigarette, I’m ready to party. I look cute, I feel like hot shit, gonna head down to town and maybe get familiar with a babe or two. And then…”
He paused again, this time to study how the white of Damon’s eye had turned to a bright pink that lightly illuminated the rest of his face. He couldn’t decide if he looked handsome or creepy like that. All he knew was that he couldn’t look away.
“Then?” Damon lifted his legs and wrapped his arms around them to show that he was getting comfortable for wherever this story took him.
“Then this car opens behind me and a buncha men rush over. Bag’s thrown over my head. I’m dragged away kicking and screaming like a little bitch. What are the odds that the one night I leave the house unaccompanied is the night they think to strike? I swear, it almost feels like my father was trying to teach me a lesson,” Sasha snickered and rubbed at his glass eye. He didn’t notice Damon’s expression falter at his joke.
“Boss,” one of his men reprimanded him. “Your father…”
“I know, I know! It’s a bad joke. It’s how I deal with things, stay in your lane,” Sasha grumbled in response. He unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt and exhaled for a good five seconds. The mobster remained silent, embarrassed. “So they dump me into the car and squeeze themselves in after me like clowns. I can’t see a thing and I’m cuffed, and any time I try to hurt the fuckers, they jab me with a knife. The space is too tight for me to make a run for it, so I stop struggling and let them take me for a ride.”
“Fuck, weren’t you afraid?” Damon frowned and leaned in until he nearly fell off his seat. He was sure if he’d been in that position, he’d have fought for his life tooth and nail without a second of rest.
“Of course I was afraid, but they didn’t need to know that!” Sasha laughed loudly and began making slow waves with his hand. He could see a trail of neon follow each movement. “I think the car ride was two hours long. They must’ve circled the block a dozen times. Dead silent the whole time. Boring as fuck.”
“Bet you struck up a conversation with ‘em.” Damon couldn’t hold back a smirk. If Sasha couldn’t fight his way out, he surely would’ve tried talking the men to death…
“It crossed my mind, but nah, if I did that, they’d be able to tell I was nervous. Besides, something told me they’d talk soon enough.” Sasha shook his head slowly and watched as his sharks followed his movements. Had he always had three? “When they take the bag off my head, I’m tied to a chair. The guys around me all look like they’re dressed up to execute me, barely standing out against the darkness of the room. Just like I thought, one of 'em starts to talk.”
He found himself taking a slow breath, then another… He wasn’t sure why, but merely talking about the incident was making his hairs stand on end. He felt like a dozen spiders were crawling along the back of his neck. His men were still as statues and Damon was twinkling…
“‘Be a good boy and sit tight until daddy pays up’. Words I’m thrilled to hear, especially since I already know my father won’t send a penny. He doesn’t give into blackmail, not even for his own son. In fact, I’m sure he expects me to find a way out of this myself,” Sasha chewed on his lower lip as he tried to ease off his anxiety to no avail. “I laugh. They don’t even give me a room or anything, they just leave me tied to a chair in a dingy basement and tell me to go fuck myself.”
Sasha could see Damon shuffling in his seat. Was he trying to move closer to him? He wasn’t sure he wanted that, with how his limbs looked longer than before… It made him feel uneasy.
“For the next three days they untie me exclusively to shove me in a cubicle so I can piss. They shove soggy bread into my mouth and make sure to never say a word around me. You know how some people talk about sympathetic, desperate kidnappers who actually treat their hostages with decency? Yeah, not these guys. Fuckin’ assholes.”
“How did you stay sane?” Damon asked in a voice that was so soft, Sasha was sure it would shatter as soon as it hit any surface.
“No idea. I dunno if I did, actually! Maybe those three days are why I’m the way I am now.” Sasha could taste salt on his tongue as he licked the air. “I saw shadows in the darkness and I spoke to those. Made up a nice little story for them, some people living in a Japanese village or something. It’s kinda fuzzy. The first day I actually tried to bite the dude feeding me, but he hit me on the side of the head and used pliers from then on. Fucking pliers. I could’ve died from eating that shitty bread alone.”
For a brief moment, Sasha’s mouth felt like it was stuffed with dough.
“Most of ‘em left the building during the day, and those who stayed behind did a real good job of keeping quiet. I couldn’t hear anything around me save for the plumbing, so I didn’t waste my energy calling for help. If I couldn’t even hear cars passing by, no way was anyone gonna hear me.”
“Damn, and you scream real fuckin’ loud, too, so you musta really thought there was no hope,” Damon mumbled- but his voice came from the skull on his hoodie as opposed to his lips.
“You got it. At night, though, the fuckers threw parties upstairs. Gloria Gaynor all night long. I can’t listen to I Will Survive without my face seizing up.” In that moment, Sasha didn’t care about appearing vulnerable. He was dangerously close to reliving the night’s events visually, and he wanted to wrap things up. “That third night is when they came downstairs to see me.”
He could see Damon lean forward, but he still felt so far away. Before he lost the will to speak, he took a deep breath and fully sank into the couch.
“My father hadn’t opened his wallet and they were getting antsy. Didn’t know what to do. So I told ‘em what I would’ve told anyone. He’s not gonna send any money. They’re wasting everyone’s time.” He felt the burning anxiety on his tongue before he even spit up the words. “They do not like that, not one goddamn bit. Slashed me across the cheek with a knife. It stung like a bitch, but I’d been through worse, y’know? I kept my reaction to a minimum, but as soon as they made the call to hurt me more, I knew I was fucked.”
The men in the room turned into stone- all but Damon, who was floating like a jellyfish. Sasha wanted to close his eyes and sleep.
“They put the knife to good use. Nothing as impulsive as before- held me steady by the jaw, dragged the blade down,” he traced his scar as he spoke, “right through the eyeball, down to the chin. Eye ruined, but now they got something to send to daddy, right? They scooped it out cleaner than I’d expect a bunch of fucking thugs to be able to do anything.”
He tried his best not to shake, but he knew he was trembling like a leaf. He distracted himself from it by rubbing his replacement eye insistently.
“Sasha,” he swore he heard Damon say, and his voice sounded so sad that Sasha felt something inside him break. He just wasn’t sure what.
“Eh, I was out of there within twenty four hours. Big boss Lebedev didn’t leave a single man standing, forced the delivery boy to cough up the address and snapped his neck right after,” Sasha managed to chuckle despite himself. “Now I got all the eyes I need and a great story to tell my friends.”
After that, he thought he could see Damon chuckling, but none of the other men moved an inch. Was he chuckling or crying? Should he check? Maybe he’d spoken too much; he felt sick, like he needed to purge his insides.
The room was starting to melt, and he could no longer ignore the figures in the corner of his vision. All at once, the strength he thought he was drained of returned with such force that he jumped up from the couch. “Father.”
“Ah, you’re speaking to us now, are you?” His father tilted his head and smiled serenely, blood gushing out of the side of his head. “Too important to spare a thought for your father every now and again?”
To his left, Irina stood at full attention, her sunglasses doing nothing to obscure the red running down her face. Sasha wasn’t sure how to handle seeing her again, not with Damon in the room.
“What? I think about you all the time, all of this- all of this is because of you!” Sasha shook his head and pleaded with them for some understanding.
“And what a fine job you’ve done,” his father’s smile turned to a smirk as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “A quarter of the men I had, no upper hand with the Colombians… Does anybody even respect you, or are they just humoring you?”
“Still getting fucked up like your life doesn’t mean shit,” Irina spat, lowering her sunglasses to show blank, unfocused eyes. “Just as much of a pathetic little boy as you were when I left you behind.”
Sasha wasn’t sure what to respond to first. All the words on his tongue overlapped and consumed one another, leaving nothing but a disgusting dry feeling in his mouth.
Taking advantage of his silence, Irina and his father continued to speak.
“Are you throwing your money away?” His father sneered.
“Do you still think your men are your friends?” Irina taunted.
“And what the fuck is that thing you keep by your side? That eyesore?” Sasha didn’t need to turn around to know who his father was referring to. “You call that shameful display a bodyguard?”
“Don’t,” Sasha took himself by surprise by growling in defiance. He almost never spoke back to his father, especially not after losing his eye. Respecting him was one thing he could say he’d always done.
“I didn’t know you were a faggot,” Irina snorted and adjusted her jacket. “I’d had my suspicions, but I never knew for sure. Everything makes sense now.”
“Disgusting,” his father spat, putting a hand to his forehead in shame. “To think this is what I’ve left behind.”
“Don’t say another fucking word!”
Sasha no longer cared if the figure in front of him was his father or the Pope. He lunged at him and began pummelling him mercilessly, but seeing as neither figure was actually there, all he was truly hitting was the wall.
Damon was still processing all that Sasha had told him when he realized he had to step in. He hurried off the armchair and ran up to his boss, at which point he took him by the arms without hesitation and pulled him away from the wall. All the men were shuffling anxiously around the room, as if they were afraid of being struck next.
“Easy, boss, easy. You’re gonna break your hand,” Damon spoke as calmly as he could to try and get Sasha to calm down. He looked over his shoulder and addressed his coworkers. “Go, I got it under control.”
“Are you sure?” One of the men nervously adjusted his collar. He didn’t exactly want to stay, but bailing made him look worse.
“Yeah,” Damon smiled warmly, which was a rather strange thing to do while holding a writhing, seething man. “I’ll be fine. So will he. Go.”
With that final confirmation, the room was cleared out to only leave the two of them. Damon steadily steered Sasha away from the wall and dropped down to the floor, bringing the other down with him. He remained seated, but urged Sasha to lie down slowly.
“How did you not start to bleed? Fuckin’ titanium man,” Damon commented as he inspected Sasha’s hands. His knuckles were bruised, but the damage wasn’t severe.
Sasha didn’t respond. He was too lost in his visions to listen to what Damon was saying, but fortunately he did allow himself to lie down. Damon’s lap was a pleasant pillow, and this angle kept the ghosts in the room just out of view… Yet he could still hear them.
Damon thought Sasha had shown his vulnerable side on his birthday, when he spoke about the loss of his family. Now he knew true vulnerability was this; dazed, confused, hurt and high, lying down in his bodyguard’s lap while probably not really knowing where he was. Instead of feeling pity, Damon felt something else, something softer, something warmer. He held the scarred side of Sasha’s face and looked into his eyes, not caring that neither one could see him.
He was in love with Sasha. There was no use in denying it now.
He knew it couldn’t lead to anything, he knew he’d never let it, and he was happy like that. He was happy being able to hold him like this, to help him when he needed it, to be there beside him like he had been all these months. He was comfortable loving him in silence and never letting him know.
After all, love had never brought him any good, and he’d already told Sasha they couldn’t be anything more than friends. Going back on that would only make things even more complicated.
No, this was good enough for Damon. More than good.
“I don’t think the pills are ready to be sold,” he whispered humorously, fully aware that Sasha still couldn’t hear him.
“Sorry… I’m sorry…” Sasha wasn’t sure where to look, but he kept repeating those words.
Damon hushed him until he fell asleep.
When Sasha woke up, it was with aching hands and a dry throat. He was grateful for the darkness of the room, as he could feed a headache coming on, but the silence made him feel anxious. The last thing he remembered was feeling hopeless and desperate in the presence of his father, wanting to do or say anything that would make him seem like less of a disappointment to him or Irina, but being unable to. The feeling was still heavy on his chest, as he couldn’t shake the thought that maybe the visions were right and he was nothing more than a colossal fuckup despite all he’d achieved. He knew from experience that the doubt would plague him for a good while, but it was odd. He didn’t remember falling asleep on the couch, especially not with his jacket draped over himself like a blanket.
The clock on his desk told him it was midnight, but it couldn’t have been later than six when he took the pill. Had he really been asleep for six hours? That certainly explained the emptiness of the room…
Except it wasn’t empty. Light breathing urged Sasha to whip his head around towards the armchair, where he saw something that almost made him burst into tears (something he blamed on the remnants of his bad trip, of course).
Damon was fast asleep in a position that seemed very far from comfortable, but Sasha recognized it from before: legs tucked up, head almost hanging off the side. Even if he’d left the room at any point, he’d come back and stayed long enough to pass out, just to keep an eye on Sasha.
As a bodyguard, falling asleep while on duty was shameful, but as a concerned friend it was completely understandable, and Sasha couldn’t give less of a fuck about protocol or obligation or whatever stupid rules bodyguards had to follow anyway.
He stood up as quietly as he could and made his way over to the armchair, leaning down to cover Damon with his jacket. Seeing as he didn’t react, Sasha remained like that for a moment. The more he looked at him, the more he shook his head.
“Dammit, when you do shit like this, how am I not supposed to…?”
Even though he’d spoken in a whisper, Sasha could see the corners of Damon’s mouth turn up in a lazy smile.
The strangest thing to happen that day was that Sasha didn’t care he’d been heard.
September 1, 1990
Everything was going so well. The new recruits hadn’t been a half-baked bunch like Sasha had feared (those who were had been weeded out, but they were few), and the pink love pill was hot on the market. Any time the Colombians came knocking or made a bold move, they were firmly, and politely, shoved back into their place. Sasha was growing anxious to be rid of them, but he knew he had to even the odds just a little more before fully letting his pleasant facade slip.
By next year they should be top of the game once more.
“And it’s all thanks to you!” Sasha announced proudly with a wave of his shot glass.
“Meeee?” Damon inquired in inebriated disbelief. “Psh, I didn’t do… Nothin’.”
It had been an evening of celebration and storytelling- mostly on Sasha’s part. They’d gone through two bottles of vodka and were working on the third, the bottles scattered amongst the trophies now adorning the glass table. They all belonged to Sasha’s father, for one reason or another, but his favorite was the one he’d taped a little “#1 Dad” sign on way back when he was a kid. I dunno if it was ever true, he’d said, but I sure as hell tried to be #1 son.
“Bullshit, your arrival was fate! You were the morale boost this dipshit needed.” Sasha insisted with a soft chuckle. “You saved everything.”
Damon had broken another rule, one quite a lot more damning than having sex while sober: he’d let himself get drunk. He’d usually just be a little buzzed or high, something manageable that still allowed him to get home each night, but now he was entering the realm of plastered and he showed no signs of stopping. He just felt so good around Sasha! He felt warmth and comfort, and he wanted to enjoy that fully- so while Sasha was savouring each glass (due to talking so much between shots), Damon was knocking them back like water.
Sasha was so happy to see him let loose that he only told him to slow down, not stop. He felt a tad bit guilty about it, since he wasn’t quite shitfaced himself, but what was the worst that could happen? Damon needed his help for a change? He didn’t want him to go home, he wanted him to stay right here, so if he passed out on the couch, he’d pass out right beside him.
“Well… I’m glad I did.” Damon was feeling his tongue loosen and his brain soften. He was in the most comfortable oblivion. “And I’m glad we- we made that call about keeping it profesh.”
His head was tilting lightly to one side, and Sasha found it hilarious, even if the subject of ‘keeping it profesh’ was one that was still a little sore.
“Oh yeah?” He egged him on without being too obvious.
“Yeah! Otherwise all of this… Too awkward.” Damon lowered his head even more and found himself smiling sadly. The words were there, poison caught in his throat and about to be spat out. “Wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.”
“What?” Sasha blinked rapidly in confusion. Those were words he’d never expected to hear. “Why’s that?”
Damon was so close now, so dangerously close, and Sasha didn’t understand at all, but the secret was breaking his ribs and he couldn’t keep it in any longer. They were friends, they were close, there was nothing to fear. This room was safe. Sasha was safe. Everything was safe now.
“You know... “ He laughed softly and shrugged, reaching for the vodka. “The Blessings. The murders. After all that, if I got involved with you, wouldn’t that make me fucked up?”
Sasha narrowed his eyes and put the vodka back on the table before Damon could take another drink. His voice was low and bitter as he spoke. “What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”
Damon was laughing at this point. Did Sasha really need him to explain? He thought he’d made it obvious! “Well, y’know, since I was one of ‘em…”
Sasha’s stomach went cold. In an instant, everything he knew and everything he felt about Damon collapsed. All that happiness these encounters brought him crumbled to dust, and the sweet taste turned to ash in his mouth. To see Damon there, in that moment, happy and giggly after what he’d just told him was impossible to bear.
He didn’t hesitate. The moment he heard the words, he reached for the biggest trophy on the table and slammed it into the side of Damon’s head.
Damon’s reaction time had never been so slow. His head snapped to the side when it was hit, and it took him a few moments to turn it back to look at Sasha in dazed confusion, reaching a hand up to see if he was bleeding. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but before he could find his voice, Sasha’s fist collided with his cheek and sent him to the floor.
“You piece of shit, get up!” Sasha was breathing heavily and very nearly foaming at the mouth. His good eye saw red to the point where he wanted to scratch it out. “GET UP!”
Before Damon could push himself up off the floor, Sasha grabbed him by the collar and threw him at the wall. He stumbled backwards and felt his back hit the surface, but once again failed to get his bearings in time- Sasha’s fist drove into his stomach this time, knocking all the wind out of him. He didn’t understand what was happening, hadn’t they been happy a moment before?
Hadn’t they been happy for months?
He was on the floor in the blink of an eye, with Sasha towering over him, looking like a raging bull. Damon began to realize what he’d done as he felt a sharp pain in his side. Sasha had kicked him. Was he really so drunk that all of this felt like a dream?
“Have you just been laughing at me this whole time!?” Sasha cried out with another kick. His voice sounded anguished- it made tears spring to Damon’s eyes more than the pain did. “Was all of this one big joke!?”
Damon began to shake his head as he was hauled to his feet again, but Sasha wasn’t giving him a moment of rest. He was slammed into the wall again and punched over and over, but despite the bruises that were forming all over him, he couldn’t bring himself to raise his arms.
“Fight back!” Sasha roared, unaware that his face was steadily becoming wet with angry tears. “Fight back, motherfucker, fight back!”
Damon only shook his head harder.
“How dare you?” Sasha’s voice was becoming weaker, as were his punches. His initial panic was wearing down into hurt. “How dare you, who gave you the right?”
Perhaps he’d been more drunk than he thought. He was definitely coping with everything far worse than he’d expected, too. Damon made no attempt to move away or strike back, allowing Sasha to punish him for what he’d done. But it didn’t feel like punishment to either of them. It felt like something far worse.
Sasha slowly rested his head on Damon’s shoulder and let out a ragged breath. The sting of his betrayal wasn’t going away no matter how hard he punched him, but neither were the months they’d spent together. None of the love he felt was dissipating in the slightest, and he hated himself for it.
Damon, now sobered up from the hits, hated himself too. He couldn’t believe he’d let that slip after being so careful for so long. He got comfortable with someone, with the wrong someone, and now he was paying the price. The physical pain was irrelevant; the true punishment came from the bond he’d severed with his words.
He didn’t want to let go.
“Sasha…” He wheezed out, sounding about as pathetic as he looked with a bruised and bloody face lined with tears.
Hearing that made Sasha’s anger spike. The knife lodged in his chest was twisted and pushed in, causing him to pull back and glare at Damon, who had just mustered up the courage to try and wrap an arm around him. “You don’t get to call me that anymore.”
Damon felt his eyes shut as he hung his head. “I’m… I’m sorry. I’m so-”
“No.” Sasha grabbed him by the collar and shook him until his eyes were open again. “No words from you. The only reason you’re still alive is because I owe you, don’t think for a second I care about what you have to say.”
With that, he hauled Damon out of his office and pulled him down the hall as several perplexed mobsters looked on. His movements were brusque and careless, and they became far more so when he threw Damon down the short flight of steps leading to the street outside.
He hit the floor and collapsed in a heap, now starting to feel the pain of all he’d just gone through. He could really go for another drink right about now…
“Never show your face here again,” Sasha spoke down to him, his voice cold, yet heavy with restraint. “Consider the debt repaid.”
With that, the doors were closed on Damon, and Damon closed his eyes.
“Here, kid, you’re all messed up. Let me get you to a hospital- no, no need to thank me. It’s on the house.”
When he opened his eyes again, the fluorescence of the doctor’s office hurt him more than his body did. Whatever sedatives they’d given him were working like a charm, as he could hardly feel his body. He just wished they were able to shut off his mind, too.
Of course things had ended up this way. He wasn’t sure what his drunk mind had been thinking. That Sasha would just shrug the revelation off like nothing and they’d continue being friends? C’mon, I thought you were meant to be smart.
It was for the best, though, wasn’t it? The secret had been buried so deeply inside him that he’d very nearly forgotten all about it, but it was always there, threatening one day to ruin the stability he’d managed to find. And why shouldn’t it? He’d done something to hurt Sasha, so really, what right did he have to be around him at all- and lie to him by omission, to top it all off?
“I wanted to be close to him so badly that I completely forgot what I’d done,” he muttered to himself, trying very hard not to start crying. That was the last thing this night needed.
“What was that?” The doctor looked over at him once he noticed he was conscious.
“Nothing.”
In the subsequent blur, all he could think about was how glad he was that he’d come out with the truth, even though it’d cost him. Being whacked around like that had made a few unpleasant memories resurface (his scar was itching like crazy), but he felt no resentment towards Sasha. He would’ve done the same, had he been him. And now that it was out in the open and their time together was over, it meant he could never hurt Sasha again. The look in his eyes, the sound of his voice… That had been so much worse than the punches and kicks, and now he didn’t need to worry about being responsible for that ever again. The blinding lights above him were really helping him look on the bright side.
Once he was discharged and back in his quiet, lonely apartment was when he stopped feeling glad. He could never hurt Sasha again. That was good, better than good. But he could never be with him again either, even as a friend. It was over. They were finished. As infuriating as the man could be, Damon had never wished for their time together to end. Now that it had, it meant he was back to having no purpose, no drive. It meant he’d be back to soup cans within a year or two.
It meant he’d lost Sasha.
As he flopped down on his couch with his shoes still on, he almost wished Sasha had chosen to kill him instead.