Victor did not slow down the part.
The night thickened around the booth as laughter grew louder, drinks refilled without request, and entertainers rotated in and out like interchangeable decorations.
Music pulsed low and heavy, vibrating through Ellios's ribs. The lights painted everything, making it difficult to tell where one body ended and another began.
Ellios stayed still.
He sat at the far edge of the booth, posture careful, hands folded loosely around a glass he had no intention of finishing. He nodded when spoken to, smiled when eyes turned his way, laughed softly when laughter was expected. He did everything right.
He hoped—quietly, desperately—that he would be forgotten.
Victor leaned back, legs spread in lazy dominance, one arm draped around a laughing woman, another gripping a drink. He watched Ellios from the corner of his eye, amusement flickering behind his smile.
Victor hated Ellios. When he was young, he already knew it will be hard to inherit the Blade group from his 2 scheming big brothers after the old man Marcus Blade die. But then Marcus returned one day with a boy telling them to call him brother Ellios. Introducing him as his heir. Stealing his birth right. Just the thought of it infuriates him.
"Brother," he called out, voice carrying easily over the music. "You look miserable."
Ellios glanced up. "I'm fine."
Victor scoffed. "Fine?" He gestured broadly. "Look at this place. Look at the people. You're sitting like you're at a funeral."
Ellios forced another smile. "I'm just tired."
Victor leaned forward, eyes glittering. "Is it the entertainers?" he asked loudly. "Not to your taste?"
Ellios stiffened.
Victor grinned wider. "Or—" he snapped his fingers dramatically, drawing attention from his friends "—I remember now."
Ellios's heart began to race.
"I remember you swing that way,"
Victor shouted mockingly, laughter erupting around the booth.
The world tilted.
Ellios's chest tightened so violently he could barely breathe. The music faded into a dull roar as a memory—long buried, never healed—ripped itself free.
He had always known he was different.
Even as a child, he had known. He noticed boys the way others noticed girls. He learned early to hide it, to bury the instinct beneath silence and obedience.
But in high school, he had been young.
And naive.
To Mathew.
The name struck like a bruise pressed too hard.
Mathew had smiled at him in class, had lingered after lessons, had whispered jokes Ellios pretended not to understand. He always stayed at the bleachers watching him play football. When Mathew found out that Ellios liked him. The boy had taken his hands and promised it was okay. That he liked him back.
They dated in secret.
Ellios had never been happier.
And then he naively trusted Victor. His so called elder brother.
One careless moment. One fragile confession made in hope that family meant safety. He told Victor of his relationship after Victor questioned him.
The next day, the entire school knew.
Whispers followed him through hallways. Laughter. Slurs. Notes shoved into lockers. Teachers looking away. Friends disappearing from his social life. Wherever he went, words like freak and disgusting followed him.
Mathew once questioned by his friends, stood in front of everyone and denied everything.
Worse—he accused Ellios.
Said Ellios had forced to sex with him. Said he was a freak. Said he was sick.
The school believed Mathew.
Mathew left abroad weeks later.
Ellios stayed.
He endured the abuse in silence until it reached the Blade estate. When Marcus Blade found out, his disgust was not subtle. The man had struck him, hard enough to split skin, screaming about shame and weakness and betrayal.
"You are useful so I'll forgive you this once", Marcus had said coldly. "Do not forget that. And do not embarrass me again. Or your sister will pay for it."
Ellios never let that side of himself surface again.
Never spoke of it.
Never trusted.
And now Victor stood there, drunk on cruelty, poised to tear the wound open for fun.
"Stop," Ellios said sharply, rising halfway from his seat.
Victor blinked, feigning innocence. "Stop what?"
Ellios's voice trembled despite his effort. "Don't."
Victor stared at him for a moment—then laughed. "Relax. You're so sensitive."
Ellios's hands shook.
Victor snapped his fingers. "Actually, that reminds me. I prepared a present for you."
Ellios froze. "What?"
Victor clapped once. "Bring him in."
The laughter grew louder as the booth's attention turned toward the entrance.
Ellios looked up—
And his breath caught.
A boy entered, escorted by two men. He wore a simple white shirt and blue jeans, clothes too plain for the club. He was young. Too young. His face was pale, eyes wide with fear, lips pressed together as if holding back tears.
A lamb in a den of wolves.
Victor leaned close to Ellios's ear and whispered loudly enough for others to hear, voice dripping with mockery. "Just like you like them, brother. Handsome. A dick and a pretty little hole for you tonight."
Ellios felt sick.
The boy stood at the center of the booth, frozen. Cheers erupted around him.
"Sit," Victor commanded.
The boy obeyed, moving stiffly, hands shaking as he poured a drink. "I—I'm Dan," he said softly, voice cracking.
Ellios stood abruptly. "This is over. I'm leaving."
Victor grabbed his wrist. "Sit down."
Ellios pulled free. "I said no."
Victor's smile vanished. "You don't get to say no."
Behind them, Victor's friends laughed as one of them tugged at Dan's shirt. The boy whimpered, tears spilling as fingers fumbled at buttons. "Maybe your brother isn't charmed yet. Let's increase Dan's charm."
Ellios's vision went red. He glared that the man left Dan alone. After all Victor might not suffer but them. They aren't the blade family members.
"Stop!" Ellios shouted at Victor.
Victor leaned close, voice cold now. "Sit. I insist brother." The threat clear.
Something snapped.
Ellios turned fully toward Victor, eyes blazing. "Marcus Blade," he said clearly.
The name cut through the noise like a blade.
Victor stiffened.
"You and I both know," Ellios continued, voice steady despite the pounding of his heart, "what the old man does when he hear about scandals. About this."
Victor's jaw tightened.
"Are you threatening me?" Victor hissed.
"I'm warning you," Ellios replied.
Silence spread. Uneasy.
Victor's confidence cracked—just for a moment.
Ellios seized it.
"Dan," Ellios said gently, holding out his hand. "Come with me."
The boy hesitated—then took it.
They moved quickly, pushing past stunned faces. Victor cursed behind them, rage flaring as his humiliation ignited.
"You think this ends here?" Victor shouted. "Just DIE already."
Ellios didn't turn back.
A glass flew.
Ellios heard it before he saw it—the whistle of glass cutting through air. He panicked, instinct screaming—
And then—
A yellow shirt.
A body moved between him and the impact.
The glass shattered against fabric and flesh.
Ellios gasped.
Strong hands gripped him, pulling him back. He saw a collarbone, hands circling him protectively. Fingers firm and steady shielding him completely. He followed the line of those hands upward—
And met familiar eyes.
Hastur.
His face was cold. Calm. Furious in a way that did not need expression.
Ellios stared, stunned, breath stolen.
Hastur said nothing.
He simply stood there, a barrier in yellow, hiding Ellios from the world.
For the first time in years—
Ellios felt truly protected.