#nhnf

“Why? Because I bettered you? Darling, you saw it coming. You let me. You could have saved yourself, but you wanted me on top.” A chuckle rose from his throat, leaning back on the couch to watch the blond.

In comparison, this did not amuse Kai. Not this. Not with these circumstances. Not with what was at stake.

“My main, Ace, I have not lost, you think I’d let you win, you sick fuck? Lucina doesn’t lose, Ace, not to fucking Jigglypuff.” Smash had not gone well. Smash always goes well. Ace usually screwed around and paused the game at random, inconvenient times to zoom in on a character and laugh as if he were heavily intoxicated. Kai ‘kicked ass’ and playing with his boss only fueled his ego, fed it like a flame. Though, maybe showboating through the years had brought his guard down. It was easy to avoid Jigglypuff.

 “If you were paying attention, you wouldn’t have let me approach you in the first place. We have to be touching for me to destroy you like that,” the younger man reminded, wagging his finger in a form of chiding his friend. Then, because he loved Kai and knew how delicate his pride was, “It wasn’t for lack of skill, you simply let your walls fall. Because it’s me, and I’m great, and you love me.”

 “…Yes. Shut up.” Came the reluctant reply. The other had curled in on himself, feet brought up under him and arms around his knees. Compared to Ace, he was small, and he was even without the unintended scale, but now he appeared even younger than he did. With his hair down and him in this state, loose flannel pants and one of his boss’s tank tops, anyone could and would mistake him for an adolescent girl rather than an angsty 26-year-old who probably has an alcohol problem. Ace smiled sadly at him, reaching over to pull the blond into an embrace that more less simply involved the ball that was Kai leaning to the right, vision obscured by olive arms painted in sleeves of plant tattoos. He didn’t say anything, and for that, Kai was grateful.

Considering he showed up at Ace’s door that night (morning?), still in his formal bartender attire that he took pride in, the tie neatly tucked under his vest, he was grateful the other didn’t mention it, didn’t question him. The only thing that gave him up was the trembling. His eyes weren’t red, as he didn’t cry—he doesn’t cry. Ace knew this by now, even if Kai broke that rule every once in a while. The only thing his bartender asked was what Ace’s pronouns were that day, to which he received the response of “It’s too early, even for me, to comprehend my gender right now.” It wasn’t annoyed, and his voice was soft.

Later, after changing into his boss’s clothes and burying himself into the other’s chest, Kai had spoken. The sun was rising, the incessant chirping of the too-awake birds climbing to a crescendo as the sky turned light gray, like after a refreshing rain. He could still taste the unholy chocolate milk in his mouth, but by now it was sour.

When he walks, he is prepared to flee, to run, but on an early, early morning subway, there is nowhere to go when you hear voices that sound too familiar. Baritones an octave too low, chatting idly to each other as they head home from God knows where.

But it’s too similar, and then He is there, and He whispers into Kai’s ear.

“You will come with me.”

No.

God, no.

Please, it can’t be Him, it can’t be, you can leave, you can shout at Him or jump out, the car is slowing, spit, growl, shout—

Do not call Him by His name.

“Yes, sir.”

And then Kai steps out of the car, it has pulled to a stop, no one follows him but he sees it, sees the dark hair and amber eyes, sees the arrogant smirk.

“Good boy. You remember.”

He’s staring straight ahead as he walks, guided, not seeing anything. The streets melt into each other, lights of all night Duane Reads slipping into those of shadier establishments. Bumping into a drunken man brings complaints and a clear head. The city is quiet now, he is not on the subway, he is somewhere aboveground and He is not here. Kai’s fingernails are almost digging through the cloth of his vest, hands gripping his sides tightly.

 After the explanation, the telling of how he ended up at Ace’s door, his boss only said one thing.

 “It’s him or they today.”

Lustful people stayed longer in hopes of taking the blond bartender home at some ungodly hour when his shift ended, and lustful people bought more cocktails to see him move, shake, pour, and garnish. The thing was, although it was easy to embarrass yourself in front of a packed nightclub, bartending was an art. Kai would deny it, but it made him happy. Impressing people was intoxicating in its own way, and sometimes it made them realize he wasn't just there as eye candy.

Granted, his boss always reminded him that the reason they get so much money is because half of the city comes in just to see their dazzling and excellently effeminate bartender. Kai then continues to remind her that he’s not effeminate, he just has a feminine figure and gorgeous blond hair that no one can seem to resist. Of course, this was said with a straight face and a dramatic flip of his ‘long, beautiful locks’ before turning back to his phone in the lounging position he had taken up on his boss’s couch, their legs tangled haphazardly together.

“I love when you have it up in the little bun, you look so delicate,” Ace had said with fondness in her voice.

“Don’t patronize me,” Kai had responded without looking up.

Although he seemed to brush off Ace’s playful compliments, it was the French braid in his hair, paired with the bun, that people kept pointing out.

“It’s fitting,” Ace had said, the smirk on her lips almost audible as she worked the braid around her bartender’s head.

“Va te faire foutre,” Kai had retorted without any bite to his bark.

He had, at one point, considered his native tongue a drawing point for customers—flirtatious, thin, blond, and French? Well, that’s just textbook submissive lover, right there.

“Illusion sells,” Kai had said one night, or morning, to Ace as he counted out his tips.

Anyway, he knew the whole French thing was out of line, he wouldn’t be comfortable with it, and Ace didn’t push it. Hell, it took a while for Kai to actually tell his boss he was French, much longer for him to admit the reason why he keeps it hidden. So, with paying customers that came for the drinks and stayed for the possibility of getting some, Kai completely masked his accent. Ten years and a hell of a lot of spite and determination will get you somewhere.

 Later that night, however, or morning, when he was cleaning the counter and his boss at across from him, nursing—

“Chocolate milk? Really?” Although the words conveyed otherwise, Kai’s tone was more mocking than surprised. It wasn’t a surprise. His boss was a child.

“Listen, Kai, let me tell you something,” Ace began, her own accent lacing her words as she looked up at her bartender. “You are never too old to have chocolate milk. And I don’t want coffee, couldn’t stand it, I need some sleep tonig—Hey—“ She was cut off by Kai wordlessly swiping her glass and finishing half of what was left before coughing.

“How—why in God’s name do you put that much chocolate in it?” Kai wheezed, finally letting the American accent fall since the night was over.

“I’m not drinking it because I had a rough childhood, mira, if that were the case you would be practically drunk on it. And because I am not suspect,” Ace said, explaining herself furthermore and then accusing her friend in a teasing tone.

“Just because I don’t want to lather my delicious Spanish skin in fucking cocoa butter doesn’t mean I’m a criminal,” the blond mocked, harsh words eased with a smirk as he took the night’s tips out of his pockets and began to count. One of the other bartenders, Xander, had previously conked out in the backroom, complaining his ‘small body couldn’t take the exertion’—a comment to which Kai had argued with his own small stature. Xander had replied with a whine.

“There’s plenty of other reasons I’m wanted by the police, Ace, and you’re like, half of them. Wait, no. All of them.” His boss had succumbed to a fit of seemingly drunken giggles at Kai’s comment.

“Okay, yes, but I’m also the reason you’re not in jail for those crimes, so, c’mon. And I highly doubt seducing rapists as a bait counts as a crime,” Ace countered upon gathering herself. It was true—she didn’t allow Kai to get that deep into the whole ‘gang’ business. He has enough to deal with as is, and he really doesn’t need a death on his mind. The death of a pervert, granted, but still. The Cicero Family, as they called themselves, after Ace’s last name, ‘dealt’ with the unsavory of humans in the city and branched out into the tristate area, the bar being a form of base for them. Ace, at least. The back of the bar was more like a living room, in which operations were discussed. Xander also had his unholy computer station back there, a place neither Kai nor Ace would peek into. The small man would eat them alive, anyway.

“True, but I feel like, just maybe, beating someone bloody would count as an offense.” Kai organized his tips in piles of ones, ten in each stack, fives, four in each stack, tens, ten in each stack, twenties with five in each stack and—those three fifties he got. Thank the Lord for capitalists. Ace smiled at him and finished her damned chocolate milk, pushing the glass forward and shrugging at the scowl her bartender gave in return.

“Are you heading up?” Kai asked, not looking away from his counting. His boss owned the bar and the apartment/loft/thing above it, having not wanted to stray far from her establishment.

“Mm. Te amo, Kai. Good night,” she said, sliding off the bar stool, one of her many piercings shining off the bar lights. Kai’s response was short and without much acknowledgment, but just having say the words were a big thing.