Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: The Call

POV: Brandon

Fucking hell.

My hand’s already shaking before I even answer. The screen is a blinding LANDON. I don’t look up, but I can feel Niko watching me like a goddamn lion. My pulse is so loud it’s all I can hear.

I swipe. “Hey, Lan.”

“Where the hell are you?” His voice cuts through like ice — controlled, sharp, the way it always gets when he’s angry but pretending not to be. “You said you’d come to dinner. Mia’s been looking for you.”

I try to sound casual. “I got caught up with—”

“With what? You’re just 15 minutes away, Bran. You could’ve atleast shown your face.” He exhales through his nose, the kind of exhale that sounds like disappointment. “You haven’t been answering anyone’s calls for weeks and went home from the exhibition without telling anyone. Are you okay?”

It’s the wrong question. The one that always makes my throat lock.

Before I can even lie, Niko takes my phone out of my hand. Just takes it. I don’t even have the energy to fight him for it.

He presses it to his ear. “He’s fine,” Niko says, voice steady but laced with something dark. “He’s with me.”

There’s silence on the other end — a weighted, confused silence.

“Nikolai?” Landon says finally. “What do you mean—”

Click.

Niko ends the call. Just like that. Drops the phone on the table between us. The sound makes me flinch.

“What the hell was that?” I manage to get out, low and shaky.

“He’s not gonna ask again,” Niko says, like it’s a fact, not an explanation. He leans back, eyes fixed on me. “And you don’t need to talk to him when you look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were.” His voice softens a fraction. “You don’t owe him every piece of yourself just because you share DNA.”

I want to tell him that’s not how families work. That’s not how my family works. But I can’t. The air feels too thin.

“You shouldn’t have answered for me.”

“You shouldn’t have been shaking like that,” he fires back, instantly. “You’re allowed to hang up when someone makes you feel like shit, you know?”

I stare at him, and for a second — one small, fragile second — I almost believe him.

But then the guilt floods back. “He’s going to tell Mia,” I whisper.

Niko shrugs. “Let him. She’ll think I dragged you out drinking.”

He doesn’t understand — or maybe he does, and he just refuses to let me drown in it.

I reach for my phone again, but his hand catches mine halfway. Big, warm, steady.

“Breathe,” he says quietly. “You look like you’re gonna disappear.”

And I do.
For a second, the noise, the lights, the taste of cold rice and soy sauce — it all blurs. The only thing that feels real is his hand still covering mine.

He must realize it too, because he lets go. Too fast. Like he burned himself.

The waiter appears again, smiling, asking about dessert. Niko waves him off and asks to pack the leftovers in a to-go box.

When I finally look at him, he’s already watching me. “You did nothing wrong, Lotus flower,” he says, like a closing statement, like the end of a trial.

I almost laugh, because I’ve done everything wrong.

Chapter Text

Chapter-7 Serpents

Nikolai

Just as we step outside I say "Give me their names, Lotus Flower," in a soft but deliberate voice.

Brandon lifts his head. He’s paler now than when we sat down, and his fingers are curled into his sleeves like he’s trying to hide the tremble. Or the marks. I don’t know which I hate more.

He hesitates.

"Nikolai..."

I arch an eyebrow, letting the smile fade from my face.

"You told me. That night ruined you. You told me who did it. Now you’re going to tell me who."

For a moment, I don’t think he’s going to answer. But then he exhales, shaky and defeated.

"The one who filmed it was Jace Vischer," Brandon whispers. "The leader was Thom Keller. Two others were there—Benji Rhodes and Felix Morrow. All part of the Serpents inner circle."

I commit the names to memory.

Brandon is watching me like he's trying to guess what I’ll do with the information. I flash him a grin, all teeth.

"I told you I’d take care of it."

After walking Brandon home I text Ilya the names. Brandon doesn't need to know that.

Nikolai: Need files on Jace Vischer, Thom Keller, Benji Rhodes, Felix Morrow- the serpents members from King's U. Find connections. Prioritize Keller.

His reply comes in under thirty seconds:

Ilya: Already on it. Informed Yulian. He’s finding their information.

I take the next flight to chicago. While on the plane Yulian sent me all the information that I needed. The thing that I most like about Yulian is that he never asks any questions unlike my friends. Which is good I suppose.

Woodlawn is a sewer pretending to be a neighbourhood. Illya and I sit in the back of my matte black Range Rover parked outside a sleazy high-rise that stinks of weed and failure.

"Jace lives on 14C," Illya mutters, double-checking the file. "The others?"

"Leave Keller for me."

Illya doesn’t argue. He just slips out with his silencer.

We’ve done this kind of work together a hundred times before—retrieval, intimidation, clean-up. But this isn’t Bratva business. This is personal.

It’s Brandon.

Jace goes first. Illya sends me a photo of the guy sobbing on his knees with a broken hand and a note stapled to his chest: If I ever see your face again, I’ll take more than your camera.

Benji and Felix? Quick and messy. A few cracked ribs and a visit from a fake Interpol agent will convince them to disappear. Illya’s thorough like that.

But Keller... I take my time.

Thom Keller is built like a linebacker, but his brain is soft. I corner him in a parking garage, shove him into the backseat of a waiting car, and make sure he knows exactly what he did to the wrong fucking person.

I show him a canvas. Brandon’s canvas. The one with the man laughing with his eyes gouged out.

"Do you recognize this?"

He swallows.

I let him bleed a little before I say anything else.

"If you breathe near him again, I’ll carve your fucking eyes out the same way."

The next morning, I send a package to Brandon’s apartment.

Inside: a camera, broken in half. Four polaroids. Four terrified faces.

At the bottom, a note in a sharp, looping script:

"Your monsters have been caged. Sleep easy, Prince Charming."


------------------------------------------------

Brandon

The package came in a plain brown box.

No return address. No tracking number. Just my name, written in block letters on the label like it was meant to be a punchline.

I knew it was from him before I opened it.

My hands trembled as I peeled the tape back. The moment I saw the broken camera inside, I felt like I might be sick. Then the photos—Jace, Felix, Benji, Thom—bruised, bleeding, terrified. And finally, the note.

Your monsters have been caged. Sleep easy, Prince Charming.

I drop it all on the table and step back like it might explode.

It’s not fear. It’s not gratitude either. It’s something darker. A knot in my chest that tightens every time Nikolai everytime touches something I’ve tried to bury. Something that he isn't supposed to touch.  

I pour myself a drink—cheap whiskey from the back of the cabinet—and swallow it in one gulp. It burns like I deserve it.

My studio apartment smells like turpentine and cigarettes. The windows are always cracked open, even when it rains, because the air feels too heavy otherwise. Too full of ghosts.

I stare at my newest painting. A boy curled up in the bathroom, wrists rubbed raw, black paint streaked where his eyes should be.. It looks haunted, painfully so. 

It looks too much like me.

I cover it with a sheet and light another cigarette.