syke, babey!

Things come to a head on Tuesday.

They’ve been living too-busy weeks for the last month or so, barely managing to sneak in phone calls and text messages — between multiple projects on Gavin’s end and more dangerous heists on Ryan’s, there’s little time for much else besides work and mutual yearning.

“I promise, Ry, I’ll call you when I get home. A shoot’s running late after a wank deleted important footage last week,” Gavin complains. He leans against a wall near a corner, far away from any prying eyes or eavesdropping ears of his coworkers. He feels too on edge to deal with anyone on set, already hating the idea of working overtime for an idiot’s mistake. “No, don’t kill him, as much as I appreciate the thought. They’d suspect me anyway, if you did do that.”

“Not with me killing him. I’m good at clean kills and planting false evidence, so that wouldn’t be a worry. But if you’ll be okay handling him…”

A puff of laughter escapes Gavin at hearing Ryan sound so blase about his criminal skills. If he were a saner man, he’d be concerned for himself and the criminal he associated himself with; instead, it’s an amusing and comforting sentiment from Ryan. Lovely Ryan who’s very much one of the most murderous men to walk Los Santos but also the sweetest boyfriend that Gavin’s had the chance to date.

“I’d still be interviewed about him anyway, plus it’d be less work to re-shoot the footage than be a murder suspect,” Gavin reasons, playing with a loose string from his shirt. He frowns. “The bloke’s been chewed out anyway from what I heard walking by the main office. Might’ve been let go early after that.”

“If he’s not careful, he might let go of his life early too.”

Gavin giggles, hiding his mouth behind his hand. “Ry, please, it’s fine. He’s got what he deserved, and it’ll teach him to be reckless about files next time. ‘s annoying to do overtime, but can’t do much about it now.”

He hears an incoherent grumble from Ryan, barely snatching a few words like ‘revenge’ and ‘fucking idiot’. Despite the context, Gavin’s heart grows fonder of the man on the other side of the line, putting up with mundane complaints and willing to help in his own odd, illegal way. It makes the situation a little less dreary feeling.

“Alright, break’s over, everyone! Let’s finish up this last scene to shoot, then we can finally head home for the night!” A booming voice exclaims, just as tired and irritated as the rest of them, and there's a sudden flurry of activity. There’s skittering steps, clamoring cameraman, and a rebuilt set for the current scene. “Let’s get this shit done!”

“Gotta go now?”

Gavin groans softly, pushing himself off the wall as a wave of disgruntled assent follows the supervisor’s words. “You heard that, huh? I just hope we finish up in an hour or two, maybe get back to the apartment before one for once.” His eyes dart to the supervisor, and he watches the lady start her rounds to check on everyone’s position. “I have to hurry, or else I’ll be like the other guy.”

“Alright, just be careful on your way home. If you don’t pass out the moment you get home, phone me or shoot me a text at least, dear.”

Ryan’s voice is soft, nothing like his voice before when he’d been threatening the incompetent guy, and there’s an obvious fondness dripping from the petname. It makes something lodge in Gavin’s throat, all the words and affection he has for the man stuck there, while his heart beats like a jackhammer against his chest.

“I promise,” he swears. His hand tightens on the phone as if it’d stop him from ending the call. “You have full permission to break into my house if I don’t call or answer, but don't stay up too late for me, okay?”

Ryan chuckles, low and sweet, and Gavin wishes he could spend the night like this. But the grumbling of his coworkers and the imminent rage of his supervisor warns him otherwise, pushes him to murmur, “G’night, Ry.”

He ends the call there, resists the urge to stay on even longer, but it’s another minute until he can stop staring at the phone, chest feeling a little more hollow than before — it’s been far too long since their last date. It takes another booming warning for his feet to rush towards his spot, flitting between exhausted coworkers and an irritated supervisor. Even when he’s finishing the set-up of the camera, all muscle memory by now, he finds himself thinking of Ryan.

He doesn’t know how he managed to get attention from someone like him, but Gavin is grateful for it. He’s done fine all his life without a partner by his side, and even after dating Ryan, Gavin’s still an individual who can live his separate life; they’re not dependent on each other. It’d just be nice to get a break though, spend a day with Ryan again before their busy lives overtake them again.

He misses Ryan an awful lot.

------- 

[to love <3]:

on my way home, call you soon.

The reshoot of the footage ends at midnight, which is leagues better than the shoot ending at one am.

Gavin had been one of the last to remain, making sure all of the files were saved properly and creating backups, but he manages to clock out at a decent twelve thirty. He’d rather take the extra thirty minutes rather than another night of overtime and bringing down the rest of his coworkers with him; they’re all overworked and tired in this business, and it’s one less thing to worry about tonight.

Clocked out, Gavin waits under by the doorway of the stage five building where the closest, working lamppost on the grounds is. He scrolls through social feeds, eyes-half lidded and thumb slow; his back is aching with his heavy backpack, energy completely drained, and his brain is lagging behind in processing anything. He barely scrounges up the energy to tuck closer into his jacket against a sudden wind sweeping by, the September chill greeting him.

10 minutes away , his rideshare app informed him when he placed the request. An uncomfortably long wait at past midnight in Los Santos; it was the downfall of being in this field, having to work in big studios out of the city’s way.

He shifts his backpack to the side, pulling out a small stress ball before adjusting his bag again. 6 minutes isn’t much in the grand scheme of things, but every minute outside is nerve wracking, and it’s better for Gavin to squeeze a stress ball than use his nails to scratch his fingertips. Last time he went without a stress ball, the skin of his fingertips were shredded and sensitive. It’s an ugly memory, so he tries to focus on the ball, not his precarious situation or anything else.

It doesn’t work for long.

“Hey, uh, excuse me! Mister? Hellooo ?”

Gavin jerks in surprise at the sudden appearance of a person beside him, squeezing the stress ball too hard. He turns to see the person trying to converse with him, but his body stills as he finally realizes who it is in their embarrassed, awkward stature; memories of the harsh yelling and angry coworkers from today play in his mind, a man creeping out of the set with his tail between his legs.

“U-Uh...hello?”

The guy perks up at Gavin’s acknowledgement albeit its hesitant tone. “Hey, I...didn’t think you’d reply honestly, but this is a nice surprise,” he beams, bright and open, and its vivaciousness in the late night unsettles Gavin. “I’m Adam! But, uh, maybe you knew that already…”

“I didn’t want to come off as rude,” he mumbles; he doesn’t mention how he didn’t know Adam’s name before. “‘m Gavin.”

He returns to squeezing the stress ball, trying his damndest to not fidget so obviously in front of the man. He’s not afraid of the stranger per se, but the situation is odd , and something nervous bubbles in his stomach; everything in Los Santos is more dangerous at night, and there’s alarm rising slowly to the surface in his mind.

A quick check of his phone yields a notification update: 5 minutes away .

Adam laughs before slapping Gavin’s back out of some misplaced camaraderie. Gavin winces. “No worries, Gavin! I wouldn’t blame you if you had anyway, after what I did back there.” His smile drops slightly, and his next words are a little somber, “Made a lot of extra work for everyone on the project. I know you’re one of the higher ups in charge of cameras and slow motion filming, so...I wanted to apologize for what I did, being reckless.”

And Gavin — he blinks, taken aback. He had expected something awful to happen — like a surprise mugging — but certainly not an apology, one that seemed so genuine too. He’s not the best at reading people, but the way Adam shifts awkwardly as he waits for a reply and the odd, hopeful glint in his eyes with every sneaked glance — it looks real, like he’s truly remorseful for what he’s done.

“It wasn’t good what you did, not very professional,” he starts, his tone stern like his parents’ during his rowdy childhood. He’s always been soft at heart, Ryan as proof of it, and he knows he’s forgiven the man already, but it doesn’t hurt to include a lesson. “We managed to save the re-shooting and back up the files from today at least. Be careful with your files next time, this incident could lock you out of future jobs.”

“I know, it was dumb of me! I promise I’ll be a lot more careful in future jobs! Well...if I can find them after this.” Adam gives a self-deprecating laugh, scratching the back of his head. It looks like the gravity of his mistake finally dawned on him.

“Good luck with that.” Gavin nods as he gives one last, polite smile. He peers down at his phone, sighing in relief when the tracker read 1 minute away . “I’ll have to head off soon, my ride is a minute away,” he informs the man. A quick heads-up that Gavin’s about to be away from the admittedly sketchy but kind stranger. That as polite as he’s been, Gavin still wants to be far away.

Adam waves a hand affably and unbothered, grinning. “No worries, it’s late, and I’d wanna get home soon too! I wouldn’t even have stayed this long if I didn’t have anything to do here still.”

Gavin hums mindlessly until he realizes why the stranger had to stay back. He freezes; the man had been ejected early in the shoot today, revoked of any responsibilities when the missing files had been stumbled on, and been given an order to leave the entire shoot. As little as Gavin knows about the situation, the man shouldn’t have been here still.

And that — that’s sketchy.

All of Gavin’s instincts fire up, and he gives a forced laugh as he takes a step back. The red flags from before are waving wildly now, no way to ignore them, and warnings are blaring in his head like announcements over the intercom. He’s not safe.

He’s not safe at all.

Not when Adam’s eyes suddenly narrow, relieved grin from before morphing into something more malicious. Not when Adam is matching every step of Gavin’s to keep the distance close between them. Not when Adam is lifting his fist and aiming it towards Gavin’s face, much too quick for Gavin to shield himself from.

Pain blooms across his right cheek, all the way up to his temple and jaw. His eyesight shifts out of focus, startled by the hit, and his brain is still reeling at the new turn of events; he doesn’t even process the next punch that lands on his left cheek, a knee digging straight into his stomach before he collapses forwards in a ball. All he can process is the sharp slide across the rough concrete, the sting of his forehead landing on the hard surface.

He’s dazed right when a black car skids by, thrown into the trunk haphazardly, and the back of his head thumps harshly against something metal. Groaning, all Gavin can do is think about just how close he was in evading this situation.

( 0 minutes away .)

--------

Gavin’s lived a good portion of his life in Los Santos already. He’s got almost a decade of experience, actually.

He’s gotten a feel on how to live in a city as filthy and underhanded as Los Santos — from avoiding contact with certain people to minding his own business for the most part, he makes the smallest ripple he can in the pond. No need to bring extra attention to himself with the types of people lingering in the city. He’s figured out how to make a life here as safe as he could, formed out of theories and trials from the last near decade.

Meeting the Vagabond had screwed that entire safety net up. Falling in love with Ryan had burned the netting completely, with nothing left to salvage and lapping quickly at the foundations of his life here. He’s been left to dangle over a pit of what ifs, worst case scenarios, and bare contingency plans, only held up by Ryan’s grounding presence and the all-consuming desire to be by Ryan’s side. A belief in Ryan being there for him when Gavin needs him, like Gavin is for Ryan.

The fear of it all, or what little of it he could feel nowadays, doesn’t lessen the affection he has for the criminal. He had understood the danger, and if anything, a part of him had welcomed it; nowadays, being able to love Ryan, all the civilian and criminalistic parts of him, is more than enough reward for the new danger Gavin had placed himself in.

Gavin’s made his peace with it. Had done it months ago, on a couch and an apartment away when falling in love with Ryan had been an inevitable outcome. Gavin’s rationalized it over and over again, and he’s calm about it, but it didn’t feel so real until he’s face-to-face with the consequences.

The consequences feel much like a bucket of freezing cold water dumped over Gavin for the third time already, leaving him to tremble in his drenched clothes. There’s a draft somewhere near him, wind sneaking through to brush over him and chilling him to the core; the sharp tang of ocean spray, the deafening crash crash crash of the waves remind him how far he is from help.

“I won’t lie, didn’t think you’d even make it this far. Sure it’s just water, but it’d be a real damn shame to go out ‘cus of the fuckin’ cold,” a voice chuckles. “I’ve met bitches weaker.”

Gavin flinches as a hand slides through his hair and yanks his head back, a sting washing over his scalp at the harsh grip and digging nails. His back is arched unnaturally, almost grotesquely, with how the hand pulls him, and he whimpers in pain, shutting his eyes tight. He squirms uncomfortably, but his rope-bound wrists and ankles argue against him.

“Now, now, don’t be like that. Open up and look at me, Gav, otherwise I’ll have to make you. Don’t make me tell you again.”

It takes another rough tug at his hair until Gavin forces his eyes open, watery with unspilled tears and poured saltwater. He peers up at the man — Adam , he reminds himself — leering over him, this stranger who faked his way into Gavin’s good graces for a fleeting moment — just enough to distract him from how horrible the city’s people could be at times. Polite, little Gavin who hates being rude and making a fuss, being played a fiddle with no shame.

Beneath the pain and gut-wrenching fear, hurt is simmering. It can’t help but make itself known as he bares his teeth, as tiny as it is, and snarl a quiet threat. He must’ve looked less intimidating than a cat, but it must have been enough insolence for his kidnapper.

Adam looms over him with disappointed clicks his tongue. His face twists into an ugly expression as he releases Gavin, only to slap him across the face, and the sharp smack! echoes in the lonely structure. “I suggest you don’t give me an attitude. I’ve been kind to you with mild punishments, taking it slow and steady ‘stead of jumping into the real toys.”

A raging fire blooms across the spread of reddening skin, and the buzzing skin makes Gavin’s mind dizzy. Makes him squint his teary eyes and turn his brain fuzzy as he tries to force himself to ride out the pain; he’s never had a good pain tolerance, and he can feel it kicking his ass now.

“Now, c’mon, you just gotta tell me what I wanna hear, buddy,” Adam croons, softly and maliciously kind. His touch is gentle now as it combs through Gavin’s hair, and Gavin isn’t sure which is more terrifying — the obvious violence or the sweet trickery, the quick switch between the two. “I know you’ve been with the Vagabond for a while now, it’s hard to miss him always visiting the same place if you know what to look for. Both of you were horrible at keeping this a secret.”

“We...we weren’t trying,” Gavin mumbles through chattering teeth. With a loud yowl, the ocean winds slam against the building, and a chill is starting to seep into Gavin’s bones. He shivers, hunching over himself as best he can.

The man cocks a brow. “You’re kidding me. You two, a famous criminal and a clean civilian, didn’t try to hide it?” He scoffs, and he shoves Gavin’s head away and loses his hold. “Are you two absolute morons? Or did the Vagabond overestimate himself, his reputation? Did he think he could protect you just by name?”

Gavin shudders. A cold heaviness, his clothes and something else he can’t place, is settling over his body as he mumbles in a tone colored with hurt, “We just wanted to be together. Nothing more.”

“Idiotic.” Adam sneers, looking almost disgusted by the sentiment. He levels a calculating look towards Gavin, and its empty, soulless nature pierces through Gavin; makes him feel less than human, nothing more than an object in the way. “I’m afraid that it was never in your cards to have anything like that. You forfeited normalcy and peace the moment you associated with the Vagabond. Forfeited safety .”

He rolls his shoulders as he paces around Gavin, each step a gentle thud on the rank floor. With a silent flick, quick and precise, the man unsheathes a knife and presses it against Gavin’s throat. Lets the cool blade raise prickly goosebumps on tanned flesh, the sharp edge whispering reminders of what it could do, and the grip on the back on Gavin’s neck pinning him down.

“This doesn’t change my plan. Don’t take it personally, though. We wanted the Vagabond, you were just the perfect bait,” the man whistles. “Blame your boyfriend for being kidnapped. Shoulda’ covered his tracks better, shouldn’t have thought you could be together with no consequences.”

-----------

Knife wounds hurt like a bitch.

That’s the first thing Gavin learns. He’s had little experience to go off on when comparing how painful things are, but he can say without a doubt that getting slashed and stabbed is up there on the scale. He wants to say that it’ll be the most painful thing on the scale, but the rising irritation of the man, a subdued force building beneath his skin as he scowls — it feels like a terrible premonition of Gavin's future.

Suddenly, all those jokes of stubbing his pinky toe against furniture being the worst aren’t funny anymore.

“Look, I didn’t wanna do any of this to you. Even tried being nice, going easy on the torture—” And Gavin’s wounds protest loudly to that. “—for a civilian just caught up in the criminal’s wildness. It happens, we know, the thrill of it all is tempting. But you’re actin’ like a horrid bitch now, y’know.”

Adam plunges his knife into the soft flesh of his thigh, dull edges leaving a trail of burning destruction as it sinks deeper in. He looks almost bored, despite the venom in his voice and the rage behind his eyes, as he makes eye contact with Gavin. Twists the knife as he does so, and Gavin screams in pain, throat dry and hoarse from the previous wounds.

“You wouldn’t have all these wounds on you if you just told me what you knew about the Vagabond,” the man croons. “Are you actually going to keep quiet and take all this torture for a criminal? This is mild, y’know, and it’d be a shame to permanently harm you for a criminal who doesn’t even love you, and you don’t love.”

At that, Gavin makes a choked noise. His eyes are watery, barely able to see Adam through narrowed eyes, as anger and pain and fear flash across his face. His thigh twitches out of reflex from the pain, but it only works up the shredded muscles more. “No…”

Adam perks up, and the building rage from before is replaced. A sly grin on his lips and eyes shining with glee, he crows, “Oh? Don’t tell me you actually love the Vagabond? He’s a man-turned-monster, heartless and merciless. Did you know that he’s got a reputation for being cruel, known for being a masterclass in torture and assassination?”

Gavin whimpers as the man drags the knife out, tries not to let his body jolt as the cool but wet blade grazes over another knife wound. He wonders how much of his skin had been turned to blood trails, if his skin became more red instead of tan — less of a human, more of a brutalized half-corpse. He refuses to look down and see.

“Whatever you think of him,” Adam continues, “he’s got you fooled. You don’t even know the half of it about the Vagabond, and I’m more than willing to bet that he doesn’t love you. Shame on you, really, on that life choice.”

And Gavin can’t suppress the tears anymore.

-----------

Adam is unfortunately smart.

Each visit from him onwards becomes more and more like psychological warfare. He still has a weapon on him, something to inflict wounds to drive the point of his words home, and it’s escalated as much as his methods have.

Gavin hisses as Adam pushes the butt end of a lit cigarette against his palms, all his thrashing for nothing compared to the tight knots that tie him down. All he can do is catch a glimpse of his torturer from his peripherals, hoarse pleads of mercy and half-incoherent cries escaping his tongue to no avail.

“I wouldn’t have had to resort to this if you just tell me what I want,” Adam says. He repeats the message as if it’d convince Gavin by the fiftieth iteration. “Tell me what you know about the Vagabond, all the gritty, personal details, and I’ll let you go happily.”

Gavin’s shoulders slump in brief relief as the man lets up on the burn mark, even as the man takes his chin between his fingers to tilt it up. Makes their eyes meet, one pair lighting up in pain and the other patiently smug. Gavin can’t keep it up for long before his eyes are falling shut, and he squeezes them close tight; his head is spinning, the pain catching up past the waves of adrenaline.

“I…”

“What is it? Just tell me, and I won’t hurt you anymore,” the man presses. “You won’t have to be hurt for your selfish, little boyfriend. After all, I don’t see any sign of him coming, and that says a lot about how highly he thinks of you, doesn’t it? Why are you still holding onto hope for someone who frankly doesn’t care for you?”

Gavin shakes his head furiously, trying his best to shake off the words that the snake of a man is murmuring to him. His hands are trembling with the searing burn and the barely there hope for Ryan to find him, for Ryan to swoop in and prove the man’s every single word wrong. For Ryan to save him before he gives in to those awful, insecure thoughts and the bubbling misery inside him.

God, he hopes .

“The Vagabond may be your lover, but he’s lying to you. Whatever you may think of him, he’s only playing you,” the man drones on. He flicks cigarette ash across Gavin’s face, runs a thumb over the grain. “Consorting with criminals is dangerous, you must’ve known. But did Vagabond ever tell you the truths of his past, the type of people after him?”

Gavin doesn’t answer. Can’t really, with how his throat feels dry, a lump stuck there with no way to swallow it down.

“No? I’m unsurprised. After all, the Vagabond had a horrible past. Ruthless, sadistic mercenary who wanted the thrill of it all. It didn’t matter who got hurt to him, families or friends, as long as he got his kill and his payment,” he scowls. He looks away from Gavin, eyes pinpointed on something in the distance and a cold, sharp anger forming in his gaze. “So much of a monster, we all called him Malicious . The terror of the South, until one day...he just disappeared.

“But those sorts of things, you can’t just run away from them. They’ll follow you until you suffer the consequences, chase you down until you trip up, and have you questioning every single movement of yours. Will it be the move that finally gets you killed?”

Gavin is sobbing softly now, head down as he tries to hide away from the man; from the horrid words that paint a dark picture in his mind, slowly cracking at the memories he has of Ryan. It’s an awful, awful corruption.

The man shakes himself out of his stupor, snorting at Gavin crying and looking pitifully small. “He made a wrong move, after years of playing the game perfectly,” he says carelessly. “I’m afraid that wrong move was you.”

There’s another sharp flash of heat, against his shoulders instead now, and Gavin screams. It stays pressed and pressed and pressed longer than before, burning his skin, and the scent of it is acrid. His muscles flex and tense, his body trying to pull away even as rope digs into his wrists, as fear and anxiety claws itself into Gavin, makes a home in his frazzled brain. The pain is blinding now, seeping into his mind with flashes of white and a headache forming and just—

Gavin can’t handle it anymore. He faints.

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

He wakes here and there. Sometimes it’s of his own volition, other times it’s to a swift punch to his face. At least the water is done for now, even if he’s just as cold and probably sick now.

His body is exhausted beyond belief still, and each moment of consciousness is brief. It’s just enough to register how much his body is hurting, the sloppy bandages feeling like hell as it brushes against his injuries and the taste of blood prominent on his tongue.  Just enough for Adam to question him again and for Gavin to mumble a denial.

Gavin wonders, for the nth time since he’s been taken, if Ryan is looking for him. Wonders if Ryan is even aware of his disappearance and the hell he’s going through, if he’ll actually save him. And the ugliest part of himself wonders if what the man said is true, if he really should be putting up with all this torture for an unknown factor.

He can’t give it much thought past that, not when his brain is shutting down and trying so hard to rest for whatever else lies in his future. He gives in easily.

----------

There is a rescue for him, 4 hours past his kidnapping and right when Gavin’s given up on himself.

He doesn’t know this yet. Doesn’t dare get his hopes up at all, as low as it is, and the situation he’s in. Not when he’s woken up by the loud gunshots that echo nearby, just outside of the warehouse, and it has him startled for a moment; maybe the man had deemed him far too stubborn, far too useless for his situation, decided that it was Gavin’s time now. There had been no sign of the man near him when the shots fired, but maybe it was a dramatic build-up — one last effort to play with him.

He takes the thought of his execution with less panic than he thought, calming himself down after the initial flurry of emotions. Maybe it’s his usual nature coming back to him, body adjusting to grow detached from the fear he experienced today, or maybe it’s his own way of beating the man at his game, to not care anymore. He didn’t know.

What he does know is that he’s awake, but his eyes are shut as he hangs his head down. Past the ringing in his ears, he hears the thudding of multiple footsteps grow louder and louder, and he waits for the verdict on his life. Hears the door slam open, metal clanging against the wall, and wonders briefly if it’ll be delivered by bullet or by blade.

----------

Los Santos is not a kind city. Gavin’s known that for a long time now; only fools would believe in that sentiment, and fools never last long in the city.

But when he wakes up again, unbound and in Ryan’s arms this time, the belief falters for a flicker of a moment. The way he’s held by Ryan, an imposing but warm figure at his back with broad arms wrapped tight around his chest, how a body that has killed before cradles him sweetly as if afraid of its strength — it is kind. It makes Gavin remember that even in the darkest eras, there’s good to be found amidst the agony.

His mouth is dry, and his tongue is heavy, feeling out of place. Upon opening his eyes, slightly squinted in pain from keeping them shut for so long, he sees the passing streaks of light from lamp posts and the occasional vehicle — he’s a car then. He hears the low volume of the radio, but the words don’t make sense; the music feels like television snow in his head, incomprehensible and fuzzy.

“Gavin?”

And as much as music is fuzzy, that voice isn’t. This voice is important , his brain tells him, and therefore can’t be forgotten, should not be forgotten. So he doesn’t, and it’s with more energy than it should take that Gavin finds the words to say.

“Hi, love,” Gavin croaks out with a soft smile, wincing when it tugs at the split lip and pulling at his bruised cheek. He must look like a right mess, but all he can feel is a heady relief; Ryan is here, close to him and holding on tightly. “You look absolutely minging,” he says.

His thumb brushes under Ryan’s eyes, where heavy eyebags reside. In their months of being together and Ryan’s murmurings of his insomnia, Gavin’s never seen them so prominent, never seen Ryan so exhausted. His shoulders are sagging down, his eyes bloodshot, and every faint line makes Ryan look aged.

His hand drops down, already tired from exerting that much energy in a simple action. “What happened to you, Ry?”

“Gavin, darling,” Ryan whispers, a quiet mortification bleeding through. Large, calloused hands cup his cheek with a touch lighter than air; it’s a gentle touch, afraid of damaging Gavin more than the other man had. “What did they do to you ?”

Gavin’s brows furrow. After the exhausting series of events he’s gone through, his brain can’t process much and of what it can, it’s not very fast. He remembers, though, the one man that had taken him and hurt him; there had been no one else there. Adam.

But all he voices out is: “They?”

Ryan gives a small, slow nod. He looks...concerned, but whether it’s the confusion evident on Gavin’s face or the wounds evident everywhere else on him, Gavin doesn’t know. “There was a group of them there. But most of them were sitting around near the front of the place in a black car,” he explains. “It doesn’t matter though. Not anymore, when they’re already dead and about to rot in the ground. They already paid for what they did to you.”

Gavin mulls over Ryan’s words, a frown creeping on his lips. He can’t help but echo the words from before, how the man murmured images of Ryan from a lifetime ago — true or false, it seeps into every memory and fact he has on his lover, and Gavin’s struggling to find where the truth begins, where the lie ends. They blend into something muddy and incoherent, a failed painting of a portrait, and it makes Gavin’s head hurt more than it already has.

He shakes his head, an automatic response to rid the thoughts away, but he groans at the sudden motion. Eyes falling shut, his hand twitches with the urge to cover them, but he doesn’t. He can’t , more like.

“Gavin, darling, are you alright?”

Ryan’s voice is a timid whisper, so quiet and small; Gavin doesn’t like it at all. Doesn’t like that it’s him who put those emotions on Ryan’s face in the first place, that he’s responsible for the worry and fear instilled in this criminal who’s taken things so much worse than this — yet this is the breaking point.

But Gavin doesn’t voice those thoughts. He refuses to let Ryan see just how split open and carved up he is from the torture, the words and the wounds, and the raw sensitivity that overwhelms him. He refuses to let Ryan feel worse at his insecure thoughts, to let him know just how much the man had won even in his grave.

Gavin slowly cracks one eye open again, a weak and wavering smile on his face; the split lip is more of an inconvenience than he thought. “Can’t handle much,” he rasps, hopes it’s enough for Ryan to understand. The screaming and crying had taken all of his voice.

And it is enough, Gavin finds out, when Ryan grows more devastated. His hands are trembling as they cup Gavin’s cheeks, and his eyes are anguished in a way that Gavin’s never seen before — not on Ryan, not on anyone else. There’s a choked noise that escapes Ryan, and Gavin can feel guilt swallowing him up.

“Love,” he calls out, near inaudible. It’s enough to capture Ryan’s attention anyway, for his lover to sniffle quietly and brush his shaky thumb over his purpling cheekbones, his broken nose bridge. He makes eye contact with Ryan, puts as much reassurance and confidence he doesn’t feel into his gaze. “I’ll be okay.”

Somehow, Ryan becomes shakier, and the choked sob from before is a soft, teary whimper. The big, bad Vagabond, in all his painted glory and infamous reputation, is reduced to a human like the rest of them.

Despite unshed tears, Ryan voices out, “You will, and I’ll make damn sure of it. I should’ve been more careful, should’ve known that things would have caught up, and you’d be stuck in the middle of it.” His voice is tight, sounding more pained with each word that slips out. “I never meant for this to happen, I thought we would’ve been safe. I’m so sorry, I promise I’ll help you through this, but afterwards...if you don’t want me, I can leave forever. I can move across the country if it means you’re safe.”

And if Gavin could, he would laugh softly, the type of laughter saved for bitter moments when he doesn't know what to say. He just knows he’s hurting, and the moment is too painful, so he deflects, because it’s easier than handling the issue head-on.

But this is Ryan who looks so genuine in his words, Ryan who Gavin can trust to not hurt him like Adam had with his apologies. Who’s willing to put away his happiness if it meant Gavin was safe and could find his own happiness separate from Ryan’s. This is Ryan who is sweet and gentle, still holding onto Gavin kindly.

As ruthless as Los Santos is, a hurricane of a city wreaking destruction on whatever it touches, Ryan is the calm safety in the middle. Gavin can’t give him up so easily.

“No,” he murmurs, fingers twitching with the urge to hold Ryan’s hand. “Stay with me. I’ll be okay,” Gavin says. Still quiet, still weak — but a little more stubborn. “ We’ll be okay.”

It sounds much more hopeful and bright, a welcome thought against the dark descent Gavin’s mind had fallen to and the swirling pool of emotions that encompasses Ryan. We . Like a promise of sticking together through thick and thin, if Gavin had been a romantic, the situation less despairing, he’d say it’s almost like a vow in sickness and in health.

“We’ll be okay,” he repeats when he sees the flickering doubt in Ryan’s eyes, the way his throat jumps at a hesitant swallow. His eyes are fiery, and if he can’t express it outwardly, he knows in his soul that he means his words. It’s still not confidence or reassurance, but a belief in them.

It leaves Ryan silent for a moment, and Gavin can see the cogs rumbling in his head until Ryan mumbles, “I…okay. Us, this is an ‘us’ thing.” He leans his head forward, pressing their foreheads together and ignoring the running the paint; it’s comforting the way their noses graze, eyelashes fluttering against cheeks, and the shared space where their breath intertwined. “Us.”

Gavin closes his eyes shut, plays trust fall with Ryan and lets himself savor this moment of relief. His entire body stings and aches, mind littered with deeper wounds he can’t bring himself to face right now but can’t run away from without consequences. He’ll have to address the new insecurities clawing at his core, new scars he can’t hide so easily, and this atmosphere of guilt that hangs over both their heads, but he’s tired. They’re tired.

For now — being alive, being here with Ryan is enough. It’s okay. They’ll be okay.