#ficlets

SNeo

He pinched your cheek with a smirk.

You were talking, ranting about something. And he was listening.

... Not really. Whatever you were talking about was a tad bit too boring for his taste at that moment. But you had to hand it to him, he was polite—he feigned interest, and it got you going just fine. Though, this chivalry ran short with time.

So he pinched you. Because he was bored, and because he could.

You flinch at the slight twinge of pain. It's not enough to hurt, but it snaps you out of your sentence. His eyes are narrowed from the wide smirky grin on his face, the joy he's getting from your stunned response obvious. And he's anticipating more—perhaps a glare, a push... Maybe a funny scowl?

But you do the unexpected. Your hands reach to where his hand still holds your cheek, and they wrap around his. Gently bringing them down, then interlocking fingers in a light yet firm grip. Your thumb strokes the concaves of his hand softly, smoothly. Lovingly.

You stare where hands meet with a tender look in your eyes, and he stares at you. The cocky smirk gone.

He sees no traces of retaliation in your gaze. It's just soft. Yielding. And the near ticklish touches you brush along his fingers, to his nails—then underneath to the skin of his fingerpads... It's... Something else.

He finally gets his eyes back to yours, realizing he's been staring at your touches with a noticeable silence. Startled eyes meet knowing ones.

He seems almost unsettled. Like your response rattled him to his core.

Then he closes them shut with a deep sigh, lips forming a thin, wavery line. And he angles his head away, peaking his eyes just slightly to leer at nothing in particular.

"... I don't get you. Weoncito."

But his hand goes slack in your hold. Any remaining tension forgone as he lets you caress him. For as long as you want.

SNulla

He was quiet when you found him.

Just sitting on one of the chairs in this memory, he was hunched over on the table. Arms bent and flat on the surface, cushioning his downcast head.

You make your steps silent as you approach him. Without warning, you pull back the seat next to his and take the spot. The act produced a grating sound, piercing the quiet and eliciting a flinch out of him. It seemed like he might lift his head up to face you, but he doesn't. The only sign of acknowledgement is the way a lone finger makes a single tap on the table. Then another. And another. And he continues, settling into a slow yet consistent rhythm.

... It seems like he isn't in his best state.

More so than usual.

...

You reach for his hand—the one making the taps—and you blanket it with your own, stopping his hand from creating anymore sound on surface. The touch is feather-light and slow as not to alarm him with the sudden contact.

Under your palm, you feel his hands tense. Yet he doesn't look up.

So you begin tracing the lines on the back of his hand, feeling along bone and the dips between them. It's like you're trying to paint his hand with the way your fingers glide along every inch of skin they can reach. Heat conducts along these trails, sharing a warmth that spreads and consoles.

... He still has his head burrowed.

But now he moves his hand.

He tilts it, making his palm face up to meet your own. Then he bends his fingers, slotting them between yours and clasping down to hold you like a snare. He does it quick, in one fluid motion without hesitation, it's doubtless. No—it's desperate. The act may be wordless, but the way he clenches tighter, digging crescent-shaped indents into the back of your hand—it speaks volumes on just how much this sliver of comfort was needed.

You look at him.

He's a mess. His hair wild despite the gelled efforts. His arched shoulders holding a rigidity that have persisted since the start of this debacle. And you can even make out the crumpled lines of his clothes in this proximity, defining an exhausted condition not so far off from its wearer.

But that's just the exterior, isn't it?

You truly look at him.

... And you see a broken mess. One that feigns to be unmendable despite craving a mending. A mess that's been left to rot for far too long, it has since lost much of what it was before—neglect tarnishing it into something woefully unrecognizable.

Your heart twists. It aches. For him. Call it compassion or pity, something truer or something less, but it aches.

For him.

... You let him hold your hand and ignore the building pressure around his grip.

This is the least you could do for him.

Q: How would they respond to you isolating yourself when you're sad?

SNeo

He notices, spends just a second to assess the situation, then goes straight to your side. He would crowd you, acting nonchalant as he says something like,

"What are you doing here? All alone?"

In a tone too casual to seem caring, at least superficially so.

But you know him by now.

You pick up the genuinity in his voice. The subtle sternness in it, steadier and clearer. His eyes are serious too, locked onto you with something intense—with a need to know.

What's got you so sad? Tell him.

And he will make it all better.

With a scoff and a groan perhaps.

But he'll make it better.

SNulla

He notices, spends a long moment pondering how exactly to approach you, then creeps up to your side. He would give you space, let you breathe before he asks,

"... Do you want to talk about it?"

The words are spoken slow with uncertainty. But his voice drips care and worry, eyes searching yours as if he's trying to find the roots of your distress in them.

He fears of overstepping, of you rejecting. So he tries to contain his reactions, but it doesn't work, every corner of him is telling enough.

He hopes you would want to share your sorrows with him.

Because he's here.

He can't promise that he'll make it better.

But he'll be here for you.

===

Gah damn another big one. Ahahahdhsjsjd

I enjoyed writing this one, especially SNulla's section. It almost became sort of a character study? I dunno, something a little deeper. And as one can tell, the second question has a shorter response for each. This was because I was tired lmao.

❥ Leona Kingscholar

It was hard not to notice when you seemed to be on the brink of exploding. How you’d stare at awe in Leona’s presence, as you should. But your eyes would always wander to his ears, teeth, tail, nails. It got to a point that he felt like you were mentally dissecting him. It was his downfall to growl out a short “what”, as you started to pile on questions to the beastman prince. “Are your nails sharper than a humans?”, “How much better can you hear?”, “Does your tail help you balance?” All Leona could do was stare at you with boredom. Who knew his herbivore was a nerd? He supposes he could humor you for a little bit. Press his sharp nails lightly into your skin, a teasing smile as he asks if you’d like a test. Perhaps a nibble to show you how well his canines work? It all goes awry when you start taking interest in other beastmen, who cares about the cheetah or leopard bestmen when you have a lion prince right here?

❥ Azul Ashengrotto

Azul never thought twice about where he’s come from. He’s seen many kinds of merpeople, many kinds of fish or crustaceans or sharks. But he knew land dwellers didn’t have that, which is why he has the giant aquarium in his lounge. He got used to the awed expressions as well, more focused on swindling the poor souls. So when your jaw dropped and how you clearly restrained yourself from running up to the giant aquarium, Azul felt giddy. He could offer you something most couldn’t. He’d watch as you’d point out a fish or ray that you saw and explain how much you loved the color or how magnificent it looked. When you brought up how smart you thought octopi are, it was over. His heart couldn’t take it. You know he was an octopus merperson right? You were basically complimenting him without realizing it. He couldn’t get over how you stared in wonder at the blue ringed octopus that was waving back at you. And oh sevens you were giggling at it? He wasn’t getting jealous over another octopus, no way…

❥ Jamil Viper

Jamil noticed the excited look in your eyes when you learned his last name was Viper, but nothing had happened at the time. It wasn’t until Kalim had you rambling about animals did Jamil realize just how much you seemed to love snakes. How you named your favorite in a heartbeat to how you scrutinized the ones you looked into as pets. It wasn’t until Kalim started to offer to buy you all those snakes and more did he have to step in. Yet Jamil felt flustered when your gaze landed on him, your eyes that had been filled with fondness while rambling about snakes had only seemed to get brighter when looking at him. Reluctantly, Jamil let you drag him to a reptile show, something Kalim had pushed him to do. For his own sanity, Jamil ignored the giant pouch of money Kalim tried to stealthily hand you, instead, focusing on your awed expression at the variety of animals. He couldn’t help but watch the snakes in awe with you, and when you asked him if he wanted to help you set up an enclosure for one…who was he to say no?

❥ Vil Schoenheit

Vil is a busy man. With photo and movie shoots to interviews to taking care of himself, there isn’t much time to stop and smell the roses. But with you, he tries to make time, and it's like a breath of fresh air every time. It was nice to sit outside and bask in the sun (with sunscreen of course) and talk with you. Something had clearly caught your eye when you dropped from the bench to scoop something off the ground. Vil thought he knew you well enough…apparently not. He hadn’t expected to see you shove a rolly polly, pill bug, potato bug, whatever you want to call them into his face…okay maybe he’s exaggerating. You held the little thing far enough away that it wasn’t all too startling. He swore he never saw you so excited about something, or how you rambled that they weren’t bugs, but crustaceans that live on land. The way you gently held the critter to how fondly you looked at the curled up thing made Vil’s heart flutter. You always seemed to find beauty in things most would shudder at. How odd.

❥ Idia Shroud

Idia had no idea how you managed, but you had convinced him to get a plant. You had called it a zz plant, and thought it would be perfect to liven his room up as it didn’t need direct sunlight. He watched the plant as it sat next to a grow light, it needed something since he didn’t have any windows. The dark purple leaves were pretty, you were right. As much as he tried to keep up with watering, he would forget, but Ortho seemed to have it covered. When little leaves started sprouting, Idia felt proud, a weird feeling he wasn’t used to. When you came over and saw how well it was doing you beamed. That stupid fluttery feeling filled him as you praised him, not to mention it mixing with feeling proud. Not a good combo, as now he was thinking of asking you if there’s any other plant you may recommend, just to get you rambling once more about different plants that could thrive in his little cave of a room.

❥ Malleus Draconia

Although Malleus loves to hear your voice, you always seem content to hear him ramble. The way your eyes watched intently, trying to find what he was pointing out on a gargoyle, or how you’d ask questions about the differences of a gargoyle and grotesque. At first, he was concerned when you gasped, had you gotten hurt somehow? Yet he found you excitedly pointing out a house gecko that stood near the gargoyle he was talking about. He watched you in awe as your eyes glittered, and how you were basically jumping up and down. Then you started going on about geckos, reptiles, and all sorts of odd things people keep as pets. The way you basically swooned at the thought of owning a crested gecko or a crocodile skink, Malleus was ready to hand you all the money you needed. He is the best and worst, as he’ll never tell you no and fund your hobby till your heart’s content. Just make sure to pay attention to him too, yeah? Unlike skinks or tarantula’s, he likes your affection. Plus, he’s the best reptile of them all, no? He’d gladly show you his dragon form.

The sun was beating down on the residents of Lyari, mercilessly. The day was sweltering and the dust of the foul smelling streets had covered everyone in a thin layer of scratchy refuse.

But Uzair Baloch seemed unperturbed.

His face, a mask of perfect eery calm, red splattered in a macabre tattoo on his left cheek and smeared across his forehead like a symbol of pride. His clothes were drenched in blood, his fingers stained so deep that it would probably never come out. There were bits of bone stuck in the unruly curls of his soiled hair.

He was a nightmare materialized in a demonic form.

The snivelling man being dragged by his collar at his heels, was still begging pathetically. His face was so brutally beat down that he was almost unrecognizable to most people. But anyone who has lived in Lyari for more than two months could identify him blindfolded.

Arshad Pappu whimpered in pain as Uzair dropped him carelessly when he reached the centre of the square.

"Please....please... leave me.. spa..re me. I didn't do anything!!!!", the disfigured gangster almost wailed in despair and terror.

Uzair's eyes flashed manically. Murder clear in his ice cold gaze. And for the first time his calm inanimate expression twisted in a horrifying parody of the usually jocular smiling handsome man that he was.

"Spare you?", he whispered once, brandished the butcher's blade. Almost caressing it's edge like a lover stroking his beloved's naked waist.

"Spare you!!!", Uzair shouted next, almost startling the assembling crowd jarringly. Basheer, Ismail and the boys were standing guard like sentinels, their blood soaked faces drawn tight and ghostly against the nervously teetering crowd.

He bend down and picked up his victim's collar again, forcing him to look at the ruthless fate waiting for him in Uzair's bloodshot eyes.

"Do you have any idea of what you have done???", he shook Arshad's collar violently.

A sudden hospital corridor. Hamza's tears and two bloods, dried and drying, clinging to every inch of both their skins. The struggle to keep his heart from literally exploding into pieces. The empty air in the senseless grief of the throng of strangers outside. The sirens of the police and the media channels prickling incessantly.

His brother's face messed up almost beyond recognition - they hadn't yet managed to clean the blood. The virulent tapestry of violent starbursts of bruises staring accusingly at Uzair from his limp frame. Whatever was visible of the skin unmarred by blood or any scarring and bruising had turned ashen.

The mortuary. The harsh hospital lights. The superimposed haunting ghost of his older nephew staring at him from the darkened corners of the room. Eyes so much like his father's, staring remorseful and blaming.

Rehman's hand falling limply from the steel slab they had kept him over. His oh so familiar fingers, long and loose, bereft. The ever present magnetic aura of his soul was gone. The heavy pressing weight of his person that had always felt like a protective blanket around Uzair had been rudely snatched away.

And the blizzard that had frozen him after had been merciless.

Suffocating, gagging and then wheezing in anguish, unable to let lose the scream trapped inside his throat. The pain choking him like barbed wires around his throat, his entire chest, squeezing the life out of him. Then staggering and almost falling over his older brother's dead body.

Hamza's arms stabling him somewhat, Basheer trying to lift him up from the ground where he had crumbled, finally managing to hold his weight and make his knees stop trembling under the dead weight of his broken spine.

Uzair had lifted himself up and clutched his brother's ice cold hand, hanging from the edge. He had tried pressing his own warmth into it with his face, his burning eyes, his quivering lips, but to no avail. Try as he might he couldn't will Rehman back to life.

His grief had been useless.

"Arshad Pappu...", Hamza had uttered desolate, his words a churning mantra in Uzair's ears, "they were waiting for us, Uzair. The SP and his dogs. Pappu couldn't even be bothered to show his face, that coward-"

Arshad Pappu - Finally, a direction for the tsunami of Uzair's rage and in turn his pain to follow.

First Arshad, then the SP and every last bit of that fiendish taskforce. Uzair would kill them all. He would tear their limbs off one by one and bleed them dry and then burn their husks on display for their families to see.

It had at least helped him brave through seeing his beloved sister in law, the very strength reflecting in Rehman's visage break down in front of his eyes, as she saw the hollowed out brutalized shell of the man who had once been her husband.

Ulfat hadn't exploded like they had expected, as she once had, on Naieem's death. She had seen Rehman's body, let out a single gasp, a whimper, her beautiful eyes had rolled up and she had simply fainted.

Uzair had caught her at the last moment, his broken chest splitting open a bit further on seeing the rest of whatever flickering of life was left, drain out of his sister in law's once vibrant gaze completely.

The light ever burning in her hazel orbs had gone out with a cruel flick.

For the next few days, as Ulfat lay listless and raging in the claws of a grief stricken fever, Uzair had prayed and prayed and prayed like he had never before. He had been certain at one point, seeing the doctors' helpless faces, that he would have to bury his sister in law with his brother too. He had roamed the silent halls of the house Rehman had made with his wife and his kids, like an unwanted spectre, begging any sort of reprieve from this endless chasm of darkness.

Feeding Faizal, carrying him to bed, shaking with him while they pretended to sleep, as Faizal curled up tight into his chest, trying to stop himself from bawling alongside his young nephew as he muttered tremulous, gentle but ultimately empty consolations in his soft hair.

Faizal smelled like Rehman.

The scent of petrichor and the faint whiff of rosewater - not the iron tang of rusted metal and gunpowder or that comforting fragrance of bitter tobacco and old papers.

Ulfat as usual defied all expectations and rose up, sweating, fever broken on the fifth day, eyes empty but clear. She had done all her raging, begging, bargaining and screaming in her fever driven delirium. She bundled up her crying son to herself and stared at Uzair. There was not a hint of that perennial warmth and love remaining in her eyes.

There was only a yawning darkness. Like a person forcibly returned from the grave. And a hint of newly awakened bloodlust.

"I want his head on a platter."

She had said. Calm. Unconcerned.

And Uzair knew he had lost his sister in law.

Rehman's Ulfat had died with her husband. This was just a phantom of her presence, holding on for her younger son's sake. A mother - not a person anymore.

Just a title.

Arshad's continuous snivelling brought Uzair back to the present. Back to the cloying scent of blood and the tangerine flavour of revenge sitting heavy on his leaden tongue.

"Do you have any idea what you have taken from me?", Uzair yelled again. He had to make this fool understand. He had to make someone understand.

The words had tied into unforgiving knots inside his aching chest. He has been hollowed out like a papaya skin whose insides have been scooped up completely.

"Tumne sirf mere bhai ko nhi maraa. Tumne mujhse mere rehbar ko cheen liya! Mere guroor, mere wajood, mere khuda the woh!"

The proclamation was hysteric and opened up a dam Uzair had kept locked since the past decade.

"You broke my spine! Ripped it out of me while I wasn't even looking", he shook the other man so hard one could hear his broken teeth clacking, "You! You aren't even worth licking the dust off his feet let alone touch a single hair on his head! You spineless worthless weasel! I should have killed you the moment you colluded with that jackass of a SP that day!"

Uzair snarled and threw the man right back on the ground with as much force as he could muster. Arshad didn't even get time to groan before he was being barrelled by punches.

Every punch was punctuated by Uzair's words.

"He was my big brother! My father! I worshipped the ground he walked on! You took that from me! You murdered him and half of me as well! I didnt even get to say goodbye! He died and I wasn't there! And you want me to spare you!"

Every hit was followed by a new spray of blood.

How much blood did a person have in their body anyway?

The same question had lingered in his mind, when he had seen Rehman battered for the first time that horrifying night, all those years ago.

That night which suddenly flashed in Uzair's mind - almost like a mocking taunt. Reminding him of all the ways he has failed the man he loved the most in his life and all the ways the latter has always protected him - seen and unseen.

It almost felt like a different lifetime.

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

Poverty as a concept was still fairly new to Uzair. The death of his parents and Haji Laloo's men clearing off all their assets and money had left him with literally nothing except the clothes on his back and a burning need for revenge.

And an older cousin who for some reason had unilaterally decided that Uzair should come and live with him.

Now Uzair had always been a little starstruck of Rehman, who wouldn't when they saw a teenager with such a magnetic aura that even the elders deferred to him. So he had accepted the proposal easily enough.

It would only be later that Uzair would marvel how Rehman had made it sound that living with him was an option Uzair had chosen himself instead of the only option he had left if he didn't want to die on the streets from starvation and disease.

But the problem was that Rehman Dakait, the illicit bastard son of Babu Dakait was also, not as well off as he would have liked to be. And taking in another mouth to feed seemed rather irresponsible of the seventeen year old. He had also spent two years in prison for killing his own mother. And Uzair was half certain, Rehman worked in a gang.

It wasn't a very healthy proposition to stay with a person like him for a ten year old.

But who even cared about orphaned, invisible, ordinary, malnourished, bones peeking, Fate's least favourite children like Uzair and Rehman.

Anyway, so Uzair was staying with his older cousin for the moment. In his mind, it was but a temporary arrangement and he would move out as soon as he could find another place to stay.

The only caveat to his brilliant plan was that for getting a separate place, he needed money and for getting money, he needed to work and his dear stubborn cousin, for some god forsaken reason, had gotten it inside his supposedly smart head, that Uzair should go to school instead.

"But how will I earn money, if I go to school and don't go to work?", Uzair had whined for the thirtieth time since the morning.

Rehman who was busy tying his shoelaces, raised an eyebrow at the petulance in his younger cousin's tone.

"How will you work without learning how to work that only happens when one does go to school?", he asked calmly.

"You haven't been to school since the past two years, I know. How are you working then?", Uzair countered smartly.

Rehman smirked, a hint of a canine and a dimple on his left cheek.

"Shut up and go to school, you witty brat. I don't need to go to school because I am older than you and you will listen to me-"

"But whyyyy---"

"Because I am older than you. Now go and be a good boy. Here's your tiffin", he stuffed the half rusted steel box inside the worn out second hand school bag and cuffed a grumbling Uzair upside his head.

Suddenly a honking sound broke the familiar sounds of their small one room flat. Rehman pointed Uzair to sit down and went outside, tugging on his patchy ash blue kurta, almost nervously.

Uzair, always ready to disobey his older brother, peeped outside from the window curiously. He saw a big black car at the front of the squalor that was the building that their rented room was in. Rehman opened the door of the car and a big burly man stepped out.

Uzair's eyes widened. He knew this man. He would recognize this man anywhere. The screams of his mother still rang in his ears at night. The way they dragged his father out - the finality of the door shutting behind them. The loud bang following it. The sneering glee on the giant's ugly face.

This was Haji Laloo.

Sudden terror gripped Uzair. What if he dragged off Rehman with him too? He couldn't let that happen. Rehman was the only person left in the world who gave a damn about him.

They were supposed to go to the docks in the evening.

Rehman had promised to finish reading his Urdu lesson with him tonight.

He can't... he can't----

Uzair was about to storm downstairs and forcibly drag his brother upstairs if possible or become a human shield in front of him when he noticed the giant gangster's hand resting on Rehman's bony shoulder.

He didn't seem to threaten him. He was leaning in a way which suggested easy familiarity. Uzair's mind churned. He knew his older cousin worked for a gang. He had seen Rehman come back home with shadows underneath his eyes and unexplained bandaged wounds on many an occasion. There would be voices of strange men at odd hours in the night from outside the building, his brother's comforting cadence being one of them.

It was all a lie then!

It was a carefully crafted plan to hold Uzair hostage!

Rehman was working for Haji Laloo.

Betrayal pierced like stinging tears in Uzair's eyes and he furiously wiped them off. He couldn't afford to be weak now. Everyone around him was a lying cheating selfish bastard. What if Rehman catches him like this and realises that his cover is blown?

Would he give Uzair up to his master to tear into shreds like a stray cad?

They were supposed to read his Urdu lesson together...

Uzair hatched a plan. Rehman had not yet returned. Dusk had broken on the horizon painting the Lyari sky into shades of vibrant purple and orange.

His father had always been fond of the saying, 'Offence is the best defence'.

Uzair would kill Haji Laloo. And then he would run away. Away from this smelly damp one room flat and the half filling meals and the tattered second hand school books and overused clothes falling apart at the seams being stitched by unperfect hands again and again.

The Urdu lesson was boring anyways.

It was much later that Uzair would realised how stupid his plan had actually been. Where would he have gone? How would he have even gotten past the first round of guards to even reach Haji Laloo, let alone kill him? He hasnt killed a fly before this, how would he kill a man?

He was caught even before he could slink in the narrow gates of Laloo's three storied mansion. The men grasping at his lean arms had the hold of a pair of mountain trolls and the figures to match their personality. Their tobacco stained foul laughter and meaty grasps pulled Uzair inside as he flailed uselessly between them.

"And what was the plan, you little Baloch snake?", Laloo leared from his throne.

"I'll kill you!", Uzair screamed.

The men just burst into raucous laughter. Humiliation was burnt into tears fighting to escape him even as the guards holding him between them, tightened their grips impossibly painfully on his impoverished biceps.

"Bring the whip. Let's have some fun!", Laloo smirked and his men cheered as what looked more like a horror story than a bullwhip appeared in one of the men's hands.

The whip was a leather monstrosity, scarred and tough, smelling of an entire tannery, one side lined with what appeared to be small metal spikes. It would tear through skin and muscle faster than any normal whip.

Uzair felt the first stirrings of fear.

They would kill him.

Maybe he would get to see his mother then and the constant hunger burning inside his stomach would finally rest.

They threw him in the middle of the cement floor and forcefully made him kneel. He was slapped mercilessly for his resistance till he finally acquiesced. Better to get it over with. He knew when he was beat. The whip cracked in the air, cutting across the jeering mirth of his demonic spectators and came down with a frightening agonizing vengeance.

It hit flesh with a sharp thud.

But no pain blossomed on his back as Uzair had expected. But the whip had hit something. There was a strange silence in the aftermath and he opened his tightly screwed eyes only to see a wall of light blue and dark hair and long arms around his small body.

Rehman grunted so faintly it was hardly audible.

Uzair tried looking upwards at his cousin's face but he was pressed too tightly against his bony chest to escape. There was a strange unforeseen desperation in Rehman's embrace. It spoke of a mute terror and a fierce edge of helplessness.

"What is the meaning of this? Rehman, get off him this instant!", Haji Laloo roared like a lion denied his prey.

"He is a child. He didn't know any better", Rehman said through gritted teeth.

"I said move. I won't ask again", Laloo growled.

"He will die...", Rehman struggled for a moment and then spoke with the effort of pulling teeth, a word Uzair and everyone present knew he despised with a wild abandon, "please."

Haji Laloo seemed to consider something. The giant stalked in front of the two boys kneeling at his feet and felt the beginning of that pleasurable hit of sadism he enjoyed so greatly.

"You said he will behave if I let you take him in. That was the only reason I didn't let my boys have a taste before I sent him to his parents--", his voice was a whisper. A malevolent hissing of a snake.

Uzair felt his body freeze. He was still enveloped in his older brother's heat, almost violently shielded from the gangster lord's sickening vision. The ten year old might not have been able to grasp the true meaning of Laloo's words but he knew it was something remarkably unpleasant by the tightening of Rehman's arms.

"He didn't know. I will tell him. Let him go. He is just.. a kid", there was a distinct note of pleading in Rehman's otherwise stoic voice now.

Uzair felt sick.

Rehman never pleaded. Never begged. He always commanded.

"I might... considering you have proven yourself to be quite useful to me. But...I had already promised my boys a show, tonight. What to do about that then, kid? Haji Laloo doesn't break his word--"

Rehman sighed deeply and Uzair understood what was about to happen before the words were even out.

"They can have me instead. I will last longer than a starving ten year old anyway‐"

"No!"

"Uzair shut the fuck up! You have done enough already!", Rehman snapped sharply and Uzair couldn't help the shame flooding his body like a tidal wave.

"Good boy, I'll let your cousin watch..", Laloo said, saccharine sweet, almost magnanimously.

"But--"

"No buts boy. I can still change my mind. Now let go and let my men have their promised fun."

Rehman forcefully pushed Uzair away from himself, almost flinging him at the side as far as possible. Uzair skidded off and scrambled back till he hit the wall. There was a brilliant line of fresh dark blood blooming through the torn line on the back of Rehman's blue kurta.

The hit he had taken.

The hit meant for Uzair.

Uzair Baloch would never forget that night as long as he lived.

They had whipped Rehman till he couldn't sit up, till the blood pooling around his body had transformed into a stream, till the silent acceptance of pain had turned into small audible grunts which then had turned into whimpers and tight groans and finally screams, till Uzair's voice was hoarse from crying, till Rehman's back was a messy canvas of ribbons and rivulets of maroon and torn pieces of flesh.

At last the monster had had his fill and had carelessly thrown a stack of money on Rehman's upturned body.

"Get your back checked out. I want you first thing in the morning at the docks, tomorrow. My latest shipment is going to land there"

Then he had stared lasciviously at Uzair's sobbing form and licked his lips. As if he could taste his fear, his guilt, his pain from the very air itself.

"And remember little Baloch. The next time you try something foolish, I will pluck your brother's eyes out and feed it to you before I tear your stomach open and rip them out again."

Uzair had just flinched violently like a coward and sat trembling till Laloo and his men had cleared off. Then he had half run and half scrambled to where Rehman laid half delirious with blood loss and pain.

"Bhai.. bhai.. wake up. Please.. I am sorry. I am sorry. I am so sorry..... please I am sorry....please— ", Uzair had cried and cried and cried.

He would've done just about anything to make Rehman open his eyes at that moment. The chill of the night had seeped in through Uzair's knees on the icy stained cemented floor. He kept begging.

He would happily stay in that storeroom for the rest of his life, go to school without complaints, never ask for second helpings of the precious little tasteless rice and vegetables they managed to scourge, even do his homework on time, never grumble about his stained faded clothes, never cry for his parents in his sleep.

If only Rehman would open his eyes, get up and yell at Uzair for all the trouble he has caused him. But his cousin was blacked out from the blood loss and Uzair didn't know what to do.

It had been a kind auto driver who had found them and taken Rehman to the hospital.

Uzair had refused to go home or eat or even clean his brother's blood off his body till Rehman's eyes had finally fluttered open. His gaze was cloudy for a second, head full of cotton wool due to the anaesthesia and his back a mass of layered agony. They had kept him on his stomach on the paltry excuse of a bed in the emergency.

"Bhai..", Uzair had whispered fearfully, his little hands trying to encircle his brother's bigger one but failing.

"Uzair... did they.. do anything to you? After I.. after I.. did he touch you?"

Rehman's words were confusing, his tone fractured from screaming and dehydrated from blood loss. But there was still a hint of fear in his voice.

"No. He.. went away. Said something about the docks and shipment-"

Rehman's eyes cleared off immediately like a light had been switched on, and he struggled to get up.

"Bhai, kya kar rhe ho? Stitches hain.. khul jaengi.. you can't even get up, let alone go to work."

"I have to Uzair. Haji Laloo, as you have seen, is not a very forgiving man. Nor remotely reasonable."

Rehman stood up, knees trembling violently, took a moment and then slowly straightened up. Uzair was in awe of his brother's strength. The man was a machine. A machine of unparalleled strength and reserve.

Then Rehman finally seemed to notice him, sitting crumpled into a ball on the chair, clothes still stained with Rehman's blood.

"Why are you still here?", Rehman frowned, "You have school in an hour. I told you--"

"Why did you take me in?"

This was the first time Uzair had cut Rehman's words in the middle. The ensuing silence pressed into the room like a boulder.

Rehman's dark eyes softened, and he sat on the bed, hiding his wince even if he couldn't hide the greenish tint of nausea on his face. He patted beside him with a gentle hand beckoning Uzair, who climbed up the bed to sit in the space beside.

His brother's large hand ran through his dried crusty curls with a tenderness, which brought tears to his swollen eyes.

"Mujhe maaf karde. Maine baat chupai tujhse. Par mere paas aur koi rastaa nhi tha. Lyari me sabse khatarnak gang abhi do hi hain, Haji Laloo aur Babu Dakait. Mujhe kisi ek mein toh janaa tha zinda rehne keliye. Haji ne Chachajaan ko maar diya aur tujhe bhi maar deta agar----"

"Agar aap ne mujhe nhi liya hota", Uzair completed for him.

Rehman nodded slowly. Uzair settled closer to Rehman and leaned against him carefully. The bandages wrapped around him made his bony lean frame look more fragile than ever.

"I'm sorry. I was reckless and you--"

"Learn from your mistakes Uzair. We need to be smart about this. Diving headfirst into danger impulsively or because of ego will get us all killed in a second."

Rehman tugged at his smaller form closer to himself and leaned his own head against his smaller one, bending down to accommodate the difference in their height, which must have been quite painful with his injuries.

But the seventeen year old didn't even flinch.

"Ab hum kya karein?"

Uzair asked, feeling like a little bird being pushed under the massive wings of a hawk. As if he was being protected by the harsh winds outside.

Rehman breathed above his head, ruffling his hair.

"We lay low and watch. We prepare and wait for the right moment. We strike when the iron is hot and we build our own empire."

There was a strange fatedness to Rehman's quiet declaration. The ever-present exhaustion in his tone was bellied by a wildfire of ambition and the thirst for revenge.

"We stick together. Always."

Uzair felt Rehman's dried cracked lips press feather light on top of his head, more a blessing than a kiss and felt the certainty of those words dig roots inside his bones like the universal truth - Undefeated, eternal and destined.

"Always", he echoed after his brother.

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

You promised me. You said 'always together' brother and you left me adrift in this ocean alone. Like an anchorless boat stuck in a cyclone.

"You will never know what you have taken from me", Uzair sneered into Arshad's face and stood up, dragged the other man up by his collar yet again, the blade now raised above his own head.

The blow was swift. Fluid. Unhurried yet lightening fast.

Just like Rehman had taught him.

Arshad Pappu's last words were lost midway as his head flew off the side. His decapitated body fell on the ground listless. The men didn't cheer. This wasn't triumph. This was retribution.

The fire inside Uzair was quenched. But the drought left behind took root like the desert itself - his heart a barren prarie. A wasteland of his dreams.

The sun was overhead and Lyari was still dusty and blood soaked.

Uzair closed his eyes and tried remembering how his brother sounded talking about building an empire out of blood and bones in these very lanes.

He couldn't recall the exact cadence of Rehman's tone, try as he might. It escaped him like he was trying to catch clouds with a net.