Elio adjusted his grip on the steering wheel as the city lights streaked past his window. The streets were quieter than usual, washed in dim neon and occasional flicker of dying streetlamp. Grocery bags rustled faintly in the backseat every time he turned.
That was when he noticed it.
A black car.
At first, he ignored it. Plenty of cars drove these streets at night.
But when he switched lanes, it switched too. When he speed up slightly, it did the same.
His jaw tightened.
"Don't be paranoid," he muttered under his breath — but his fingers were already gripping the steering wheel harder. He accelerated.
The engine roared louder, tires skimming over asphalt. The car behind him surged forward, closing the distance. No hesitation now.
So it was real.
Elio's pulse kicked up, but his face stayed composed. He glanced at his phone in the passenger seat. For half a second, he considered calling Zane.
No. He could handle it.
He pressed harder on the gas.
The black car suddenly swerved, overtaking him in one sharp move before slamming in front of his vehicle. Elio cursed under his breath and hit the brakes. Tires screeched. The car jolted to stop inches away from collision.
Silence. The doors opened. Three men stepped out.
Elio exhaled slowly and pushed his door open. If this was happening, he wasn't staying trapped inside like prey. "What do you want?" he asked, voice steady.
They didn't answer.
The first punch came fast. He staggered but didn't fall. He hit back — sharp, precise. He wasn't inexperienced. He knew how to fight. But three against one wasn't a fair game.
A blow to his ribs knocked the air out of him. Another to his shoulder. He tasted metal at the back of his throat. Still, he swung again, stubborn even now. "Cowards," he spat.
That earned him a harsher hit.
The world blurred. His knees buckled. The last thing he felt was someone grabbing his collar before everything went dark.
—
Meanwhile, Zane was home.
The apartment lights were warm — softer than the streets ever were. A carefully wrapped box sat on the table. He'd never admit how long he'd spent choosing it. Elio's birthday was in two days.
Zane checked the time again. He should've been back by now. His phone rang.
Zane picked up immediately. "Elio?"
No answer. Just breathing.
Uneven. Strained.
Zane straightened slowly. "Elio."
A muffled sound came through the speaker — a sharp intake of breath, like someone trying not to cry out. Then a thud.
Zane's fingers tightened around the phone. Another sound. A hit.
His chest constricted, something cold spreading through him. And then—
A different voice.
"Well, well... Mr. Zane. Remember me?"
Zane didn't blink. "Where is he?"
"You've always had a weakness," the man continued smoothly. "Money... and now this pretty little thing."
A muffled sound cams through the phone. Elio. Struggling.
Zane's grip tightened around the device. His knuckles turned pale.
"If you lay another hand on him—"
"Oh, I will," the man interrupted lightly. "Unless you cooperate."
Silence fell heavy betweet them.
Zane's voice dropped — calm, dangerous. "Send me the location." A pause.
"And you'll come alone," the man added. "No crew. No tricks. If I see even one extra shadow... he pays for it." In the background, a sharp strike landed. A breath forced out.
Zane's eyes darkened. "You want me?" he said quietly. "Fine." He grabbed his keys from the table. "Send it." The call ended. A second later, his phone buzzed. Location received. Zane didn't hesitate.
Zane's engine roared to life. He didn't call his crew. Didn't text.
Didn't warn anyone.
If this went wrong, it would be on him.
The city blurred past in streaks of red and white. Traffic lights turned meaningless. His jaw was set, eyes locked forward, one hand gripping the wheel, the other resting near the gun in the passenger seat.
He hated that it had came to this. Hated that Elio would probably be furious for being dragged into something like this.
A bitter thought crossed his mind. You should've kept him further away.
He drove faster. The location led to the industrial district — abandoned warehouses, rusted gates, the kind of place screams got swallowed by concrete.
Perfect.
Zane parked a short distance away. He didn't slam the door when he stepped out. Didn't rush. He walkee. Controlled. Measured.
Inside, the warehouse lights buzzed faintly overhead. The air smelled like oil and dust.
Three men stood near the center. And Elio.
He was tied to a chair, head tilted slightly forward, white hair falling over his eyes. There was blood at the corner of his lip — not a lot, but enough to make something in Zane snap quietly inside.
Elio lifted his head when he heard footsteps. Their eyes met.
Even now, Elio looked annoyed. "You're late," he muttered hoarsely.
Zane almost exhaled in relief.
Still talking. Still provoking.
One of the men struck Elio across the face.
Zane stopped walking
"Careful," he said calmly. From the shadows behind them, the familiar voice emerged.
The mafia man stepped forward, hands in his pockets. "You came alone. I'm impressed."
Zane didn't take his eyes off Elio. "Untie him."
The man smiled faintly. "We both know that's not how it works." A pause.
Elio spat blood on the floor.
"Your interest rates are criminal," he said dryly.
One of the men grabbed his hair harshly.
Zane's voice dropped. "Let go of him." The room shifted. Something was about to happen.
Elio tilted his head slightly, even with the grip on his hair. "You talk too much for someone who kidnaps people for a living," he said. His voice was rough, but the stubborn edge in it was unmistakable.
The man's expression darkened. "Careful," the man said slowly. "Your boyfriend here is a very expensive man."
Elio let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "You're bargaining with the wrong oerson then. Zane doesn't pad debts he didn't choose to owe."
Silence fell.
The air in the warehouse felt heavier, tighter, like it was waiting fkr someone to break.
One of the men raised his hand—
Zane moved first. Not fast. Not reckless
Just enough to make it clear he was serious. "Don't touch him again."
His voice was low and controlled, but there was something sharp underneath it that made even the man holding Elio hesitate.
The mafia man sighed. "You really are predictable, "Zane."
Zane finally looked at him. "Let him go. I'll hear your demand."
The man studied him for a long moment. Thsn he smiled.
"You owe me a large sum of money. But money isn't what i want anymore."
Zane's jaw tightened. "What do you want."
The man's gaze shifted briefly to Elio. "Your loyalty is expensive," he said. "So I'm going to take something more valuable."
Elio scoffed. "Try selling me at a better price next time," he muttered.
A guard struck him again. Not hard enough to seriously injure — but enough to shut him up.
Zane's hand clenched slightly at his side, He didn't move but his shoulders tightened. His eyez darkened slightly, a dangerous stillness settling over him — the kind that came before violencs, not after it.
He knea rushing forward would only make things worse.
"Elio," he said quietly. Not a warning. A grounding call.
Elio lifted his head again, stubborn even now, jaw clenched.
Zane turned his attention back to the man in front of him. "Speak," Zane said. "I'm listening."
The mafia man's smile widened slightly, satistied.
The man motioned Zane closer, speaking low enough that the words wouldn't carry.
"I want you to work for me."
Zane didn't react immediately. The man continued. "For six months. No refusing orders. No disappearing acts. You do what I tell you, when I tell you."
Silence.
Elio lifted his head slightly. Zane's expression didn't change. "And in return?" Zane asked.
The man smiled faintly. "I forget about the money you owe me."
A pause.
"And your boyfriend walks out of here unharmed."
The word "unharmed" hung in the air like a threat disguised as mercy.
Elio let out a quiet laugh. "Six months?" he said. "That's it? I thought I was worth more."
One of the guards tightened his grip on him.
Zane's jaw ticked once.
"You will also operate alone," the man added. "No crew. No secrets. You report directly to me."
Now the trap was visible.
Six months inside the enemy's territory. Controlled. Watched.
Owned.
Zane was quiet for a long moment.
The warehouse lights buzzed overhead.
Elio's eyes stayed on him. Waiting.
Finally, Zane spoke. "I accept."The word was sharp. Final.
Zane spoke again. "I will work for you for six months."
The mafia man's smile thinned slightly, like he had expected the answer but still wanted confirmation. "I believe you are a man of your word," the man said.
Zane's eyes moved briefly toward Elio. Just for a second. Elio didn't speak.
But his gaze was sharp — too sharp, like he was trying to read the thoughts behind Zane's decision.
"I believe," Zane continued calmly, "that I can survive six months under your orders."
The man raised an eyebrow.
"And?"
"And I will protect what belongs to me." The words were quiet. Not dramatic. Not loud. But they carried weight.
The mafia man studied him for a long moment before gesturing to the guards."Untie him."
The rope was cut. Elio's shoulders relaxed slightly as circulation returned to his wrists, but he didn't stand immediately. He stayed where he was. Watching Zane.
Waiting for something — an explanation, an apology, or maybe just acknowledgment.
The man stepped closer to Zane.
"You leave tonight. I will contact you when I need you." Zane nodded once.
Then the mafia man added, almost casually:
"If I hear that you tried to bring your crew into this, the boy dies."
Zane's expression didn't change. "I understand."
Behind him, Elio finally stood up slowly. His legs were stiff, unsteady for a moment.
Zane didn't turn immediately.
Because if he turned now, he knew Elio would see something he didn't want him to see.
Guilt. Or fear. Or both.
"Zane." Elio's voice was rough.
Zane closed his eyes briefly. Then he turned.
Elio's dark brown eyes were fixed on him — stubborn, angry, relieved, all tangled together.
"You came alone," Elio said. Not a question. A statement.
Zane didn't answer immediately. "Yes," he said.
Silence followed. Elio's jaw tightened. "You idiot," Elio said quietly. The words were harsh.
But his voice wavered slightly at the end.
Zane didn't smile. Not yet.
"I would do it again," Zane said.
Because it was true.
Zane forced his expression to remain controlled. Not because he was calm. But because panic was useless here. If he showed fear, Elio would become a stronger target.
If he rushed, Elio would pay the price. His chest felt tight in a way he refused to acknowledge. Every time the guard struck Elio, something inside him twisted sharply — but he kept his voice even.
The guards cut the rope.
Elio's body swayed slightly when he tried to stand. Zane noticed it immediately.
His name left Zane's lips before he could stop himself. "Elio."
The worry was there. Not loud. Not panicked. But unmistakable.
Elio steadied himself, stubborn as always, refusing to collapse even after everything.
The mafia man stepped back slowly. "You may leave," he said.
The words were permission.
Zane didn't waste another second.
He crossed the distance between them in quick, controlled steps. "Elio, look at me."
His hand came up carefully, fingers hovering near Elio's face for a moment as if checking whether touching him would hurt him more.There was a small bruise forming at the corner of Elio's lip. Zane's jaw tightened.
"Are you hurt anywhere else?" he asked.
Elio opened his mouth.
"Don't start arguing," Zane added immediately, voice firmer now. "Not here."
Elio huffed quietly.
"I'm fine."
Zane didn't believe him. He placed one hand gently on Elio's arm, scanning him once more like he was trying to confirm something invisible.
Then he spoke again. "I'm taking you to the hospital."
"No," Elio said instantly.
Zane's gaze sharpened. "You're not negotiating with me right now."
Elio glared weakly. "I said I'm fine."
"You were hit multiple times," Zane said quietly. "You are going to be checked."
There was no space for argument in his tone. Not angry. Just absolute.
Zane moved closer, supporting Elio slightly without making it obvious that he was doing so.
"Walk with me," he said.
Elio muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a complaint, but he didn't pull away.
Behind them, the warehouse stayed silent except for the buzzing of the overhead lights.
As they walked toward the exit, Zane spoke once more, very low, almost like he was speaking to himself.
"You scared me."
The words were not meant to be heard.
But Elio heard them anyway.
—
Outside, the night air felt colder.
Zane kept one hand at Elio's back as they walked to the car — not gripping, just steadying.
Elio noticed. "I can walk," he muttered.
"I know," Zane replied. But he didn't move his hand.
They reached the car. Zane opened the passenger door without hesitation.
Elio rolled his eyes. "I'm not dying."
Zane's jaw tightened slightly. "Get in."
Elio exhaled sharply but complied, lowering himself into the seat with more care than he wanted to show.
Zane closed the door, rounded the front of the car, and slid into the driver's seat.
The engine started.
For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.
Streetlights passed in streaks of gold across Elio's pale hair.
"I said I'm fine," Elio repeated, staring out the window.
Zane's grip tightened on the steering wheel.
"You were tied to a chair," he said evenly.
"And I'm not anymore."
"You were hit."
"I've been hit before."
Zane shot him a look. "That doesn't make it acceptable."
Elio turned toward him finally. "It's part of your world, Zane. Don't act surprised."
That did it.
Zane slowed at a red light, then looked at him fully.
"My world," he repeated quietly.
There was something dangerous in how calm he sounded again — but this time it wasn't control. It was frustration.
"You think I don't know what this is?" Elio continued. "I chose this too."
Zane's voice dropped. "You didn't choose to be used as leverage."
Elio didn't answer immediately. Because that part was true.
Zane looked back at the road, jaw tight. "You scared me," he said again, firmer this time.
Elio scoffed lightly."I'm still here."
Zane's next words came out before he could soften them. "And what if you weren't?"
Silence filled the car. The kind that presses against your chest.
Elio's fingers curled slightly in his lap. He didn't have an answer for that.
Zane exhaled slowly, forcing his tone back under control.
"We're going to the hospital."
Elio started to protest—
Zane cut him off. "Don't."
Not loud. Not harsh. Just final.
...
The hospital lights were too bright.
Too clean. Too calm.
Zane hated places like this.
Elio sat on the edge of the examination bed, arms crossed, clearly annoyed. A nurse had already cleaned the cut on his lip. It looked smaller now. Less threatening.
Zane stood a few feet away, watching. Not pacing. Not speaking. Just watching.
"I told you," Elio muttered. "Waste of time."
Zane didn't respond. The doctor entered shortly after with the results.
"He has a cracked rib," he said matter-of-factly. "It's not severe, but it needs rest. No strain. No sudden movements."
Silence.
Elio blinked once. "…It's fine," he started. Zane's head snapped toward him. "Fine?" His voice was low, but the restraint in it was thin now.
The doctor continued, oblivious to the tension. "He likely didn't feel the full extent because of adrenaline."
Zane's gaze shifted back to Elio slowly. "You said you were fine."
Elio looked away. "It's just a rib."
Zane stepped closer. "A cracked rib," he corrected quietly. The words weren't loud. But they carried weight.
Elio rolled his shoulders slightly, wincing despite himself.
Zane saw it. Of course he did.
Something flickered in his expression — not anger.
Not exactly.
It was fear that arrived late.
"You were going to walk it off," Zane said.
Elio didn't answer.
"Go home and pretend nothing happened."
Silence.
The doctor cleared his throat awkwardly and excused himself.
The room felt smaller once they were alone.
Zane stood in front of him now.
Not towering. Just close.
"You don't get to decide what's fine," Zane said, voice rougher now. "Not when it comes to you."
Elio looked up at him. "And you don't get to decide everything for me."
There it was. The spark.
Zane's jaw tightened. "I accepted six months for you."
Elio's expression shifted. "And I didn't ask you to."
That hit.
Harder than anything that happened in the warehouse.
Silence stretched between them.
Zane's voice dropped. "I'm not losing you."
It wasn't a threat. It wasn't anger. It was truth.
And for the first time that night, Elio didn't have a stubborn comeback ready.
The silence in the hospital room felt heavier than the warehouse had.
Elio studied him.
"You didn't just walk in there and get me out," he said slowly. "What did he ask for?"
Zane didn't answer. That was answer enough.
Elio's expression shifted.
"What did you do, Zane?"
A pause.
Then—
"Six months."
Elio went still. "Six months of what."
"I work for him," Zane said evenly. "Directly."
The air left Elio's lungs.
"You what?"
"It's handled."
"Handled?" Elio's voice rose. "You call that handled?"
Zane stepped closer.
"You were tied to a chair."
"And now you're handing yourself over?" "It's temporary."
Elio shook his head, anger rising fast. "You don't get to make decisions like that without me."
Zane's patience snapped — not violently, but firmly.
"Stop." The word cut through the room.
Elio opened his mouth again, but Zane moved closer.
Close enough that the argument lost some of its heat and turned into something tighter.
He stepped between Elio's knees where he sat on the edge of the bed, bracing one hand on the mattress beside him, the other near his hip — not trapping him, but close enough to make it impossible to ignore him. "Elio."
His voice dropped. Not angry now. Serious.
"You think I care about six months?" he said quietly. "About pride? About control?"
He leaned closer, just enough that Elio could see the exhaustion in his eyes.
"I don't care what happens to me," Zane continued. "Not if it keeps you safe."
The room went quiet.
Elio's anger faltered for a second.
Zane held his gaze. "You are the only thing in this city that isn't replaceable."
That wasn't dramatic. It wasn't loud. It was steady. And completely honest.
Elio swallowed. "You don't get to decide that alone," he said, softer now — but still stubborn.
Zane's jaw tightened slightly.
"I already did."
Elio didn't move away.
But his expression softened in a way that was more dangerous than anger.
"You think protecting me means choosing for me," he said quietly.
Zane didn't answer immediately. Because the way Elio said it didn't sound like an accusation. It sounded tired. Almost sad.
"You keep deciding what I can survive," Elio continued. "Like I'm something fragile you're afraid will break."
Zane's fingers tightened slightly against the mattress. "That's not—"
"You came alone," Elio said. The words were soft.
Not angry now. Just heavy.
Silence stretched between them.
Elio lowered his gaze for a moment before speaking again.
"I don't want to live in a world where you destroy yourself to keep me alive."
The sentence landed quietly. But it stayed.
Zane didn't respond right away.
For the first time since the warehouse, uncertainty flickered behind his eyes.
Not fear. Not anger.
Something deeper. Something uncomfortable.
Something that sounded a lot like doubt.
Because Zane was suddenly forced to ask himself a question he had avoided all night.
Was he protecting Elio… Or deciding for him?
Elio leaned back slightly against the pillows, exhaustion catching up to him.
"I chose you," he said.
Then, quieter:
"I didn't choose to be saved like I'm someone you have to sacrifice for."
The hospital room was silent except for the faint sound of machines in the hallway.
Zane swallowed once.
Slowly.
...
The doctor had already given instructions.
Rest. No unnecessary movement. No stress.
Zane listened to every word as if his life depended on it.
Elio, on the other hand, looked like he was about to argue again.
Which was exactly why Zane spoke first. "We're going home."
Elio looked like he wanted to object. Then he sighed instead. "Fine."
No energy left to argue.
They left the hospital a few minutes later. The city night was quieter than before, but the air felt heavier somehow, like the warehouse shadow had followed them even here.
At home, Zane made Elio sit on the bed. "Don't move unnecessarily," Zane said.
"I can move," Elio muttered.
"You shouldn't."
Elio rolled his eyes but didn't get up. Zane checked the pillows behind him, adjusting them slightly so Elio could lean back without straining his ribs.
It was a small action. Careful. Almost absentminded.
Zane adjusted the pillow again.
"You don't have to babysit me," Elio murmured, eyes half closed.
"I'm not."
"It feels like it."
Zane's hand paused for a second.
"If I want to babysit you," he said quietly, "I wouldn't turst you to argue back."
That made Elio huff softly.
Silence settled again.
After a moment, Elio added, quieter now—
"I can handle myself."
Zane's gaze softened. "I know."
"But I don't mind handelling things too."
Night had settled deeper by the time Elio's breathing became slower and steadier.
Zane stayed nearby even after Elio stopped talking.
He sat there for a while, making sure Elio was comfortable, that the pillows supported his back, that nothing put pressure on his ribs.
When he was satisfied, he finally turned off the main light, leaving only a small lamp glowing softly beside the bed.
Elio shifted slightly when Zane climbed into the bed beside him.
Careful. Not to disturb the injury.
Zane lay on his side, facing him, close enough to notice if Elio's breathing changed but not so close that he caused discomfort.
His hand rested lightly near Elio's, not touching at first.
After a moment, Elio's fingers moved slightly until they brushed against Zane's.
Zane didn't tighten his grip.
Just stayed there.
Quiet. Watching.
Every so often, his eyes drifted to Elio, checking without making it obvious — the habit of someone who had spent too long living in danger.
Elio's eyes were closed, but after a few minutes he spoke quietly.
"You're still checking, aren't you?"
Zane didn't pretend otherwise.
"Yes."
Silence followed.
Then Elio muttered, half tired, half annoyed, "I'm not going to disappear overnight."
Zane didn't reply immediately.
Finally he said, very low, "I know."
But he still checked once more before closing his eyes.
Because fear had a stubborn way of staying inside him tonight.