Marked For Her

It went without saying that bathing was a quick affair: after being told the approximate location of the necessities within the bathroom to jog his memory, the door was closed behind Kush with a quick farewell. Left alone, Min crossed the short distance and lifted a hand to find the shower basket hooked over the shower head, felt for the lip and slipped the body wash bottle back in place—each action done with practised ease and minimal awkwardness. Then, he scrubbed his body, rinsed it clean, and finally shut off the pouring water.

Dressing up afterwards, despite what most thought, was far more challenging—as there were many things to consider, such as colour, palates, design choices, and outfit combinations—but thanks to Kush, any potential problem was hopefully averted. Soon, Min was wearing clothes that fit properly and felt right before they (with his hand grasping his friend's elbow) left the apartment. 

As they walked down the stairs, Min couldn't help but notice slight differences compared to earlier: their pace was atrocious, each step forward revealing an uncertainty he didn't know the origin of but could feel (as if it was a tangible aura around his friend), evident in the cadence of Kush's breathing and the stiffness of his body's language.

It was clear Kush was grappling with a decision—he knew his friend well enough to almost hear the internal, although meaningless, chatter; meaningless because he couldn't actually read minds—as they eventually slowed to a stop. Kush shuffled his weight from one foot to the other, but hesitancy was a barrier holding him back, one his friend would not breach for whatever reason.

Kush's hesitation resonated with Min, as he too (like most) had faced moments of uncertainty in his life. The feeling of being on the edge, unsure of what lay ahead, was something he knew all too well—and, at one point in his life, was the only thing he knew. So, he decided to reach out and offer his support the only way he could these days. 

"You good?

Kush sighed. "That noticeable, eh?"

"The vibe was off. Now"—Min pinched the elbow he held not-so-gently—"spit it out. What's up?"

"Well," Kush began, "you know I love you…"

"Yeah?" A part of him suddenly regretted reaching out, but the greater part of him leaned in interest, curious to know where this was going. 

"…but, try as I might, I still can't get over the fact you came to my place when you are being tracked, putting me at risk. I'm not like you, man; I'm no MU. I can't fight for shit." Min's perceptive ears caught the soft quiver in his friend's voice, especially at the tell-end of the statement, and the gentle sway of a trembling hand seeking comfort. He made to interrupt, to try and address his friend's valid fears, but Kush wasn't done talking. "I know, I know; you stopped using phones and other electronics, but you aren't stupid. Couldn't you have figured out a way for us to meet somewhere else?" 

Min rubbed his neck sheepishly. "I didn't really think that far, to be honest. The moment I woke up, I immediately came here, and only thought of the repercussions when I arrived."

"Figured."

They continued down the stairs, but try as he might, Min couldn't dismiss the unease he felt at Kush's words—the feeling pervading his mind (once a haven of reason) and allowing it to succumb to a maze of unsettling thoughts, creating a narrative of impending doom.

Maybe he was wrong in his earlier assessment. Maybe the criminal underbelly would not hesitate to work on the (correct) assumption that they were close and capture Kush to be used as a hostage. Maybe his friend was really in danger because of him.

His friend's presence beside him offered little solace; it only seemed to intensify the anxiety, the never-ending questions less of a ritual of appeasement to the possibilities and more of a hole down a spiralling path of negativity. It was all too easy to sink further down.

Didn't that mean he was better off alone? That would limit his options severely, but wasn't that better than constantly worrying about the safety and well-being of his loved ones? Such a situation would only breed resentment for all parties involved, and having gone through it once already, he was in no rush to go through it again. 

But, despite his decision, Min found himself hesitating. His words, like butterflies in a jar, fluttered restlessly, seeking an escape, yet restrained by the thought of how Kush might take it—the simple act of speaking becoming a daunting endeavour. However, he summoned courage from the depths of hesitation and soldiered on. 

"I have an idea—but you might not like it," he began, his voice a fragile thread in the air even with his visible grimace, and his friend (probably sensing the shift) stopped them in their tracks. 

"Spit it out." Kush echoed his earlier words.

"I'll give you one of my cards; withdraw as much as you need and move as far away from me as you possibly can."

The moment afterwards hung in a delicate balance, the outcome unknown, and it left him unable to resist shuffling uneasily on his feet, head turned away from Kush's general direction. Thankfully, before that fragile space between hesitation and revelation could overwhelm him—and he broke the silence with a rush of apologies and pleas–his friend took mercy on him and spoke. 

"What?"

The strangled question wasn't what he expected, so it caught him off-guard, leaving him a floundering mess. "I-I know it's a lot to ask of you, but most of my money is sitting in my account gathering—"

"Damn right, it is!"

"—dust and I can't risk anything happening to you, man." His words came out strangled, the unsaid stories of countless lost loved ones adding a poignant air to the conversation. "And you can do a lot better than this place. Fucking hell, I can still remember the first time I visited you and the way you described it: the peeling paint, the stained floor, the insects. I won't even be surprised if it hasn't been renovated since I was a crotch goblin—"

"The walls are paper thin too," came a muffled voice from the apartment nearest to where they had stopped, and Min couldn't help but feel like smacking himself—though he settled for a grimace instead. Once again, he had left himself exposed and the public, but this time, he had also unintentionally divulged private matters to strangers. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

"I wouldn't worry, son. Kush is a fighter." A second voice from the apartment on the opposite side of the hall chimed in. "He can take care of himself. I don't know who you are, but I'm willing to bet my savings on his ability to make it out of any situation."

"Are you sure he said Kush?" asked a third voice. "I thought I heard Mush."

"Oh please, Martha, get the ear wax out of your big ears," a fourth voice from down the hall joined the fray.

"Uh, his name's actually—" Min's attempt to set the record straight was silenced by his friend's hands. He didn't need to see to know his friend was frantically shaking his head, eyes wide with panic, and Min gave his silent thanks. On second thought, he didn't want either of them involved in the situation brewing. 

He was so fucking stupid. 

"Don't talk to Martha that way! You know she's sensitive about her ears…" As the second voice countered, rather hotly mind you, they took that as their cue to hurry down the stairwell—and once they were far away, they couldn't help abandoning themselves to their burst of smothered yet uncontrollable laughter. 

"Oh, man," was Kush's eventual exclamation.

"What the fuck was that?"

"I can't tell you what I don't know, man."

The entrance door opened, and they stepped out of the building and into the hot morning, the gentle breeze offering little in the way of respite. Kush had stopped, probably already regretting leaving the cool confines of the building, but Min tugged at his elbow to get his friend to move. Their earlier conversation had resurfaced in his mind, bringing with it thoughts of someone he knew who was unusually in the know.

"If you can help me to Mushi's, I'll be grateful. Not only am I starving, but I think he might be able to help me out." When no reply was heard, he continued, "It's been a while, but I still remember enough landmarks to guide us—or better yet, you can simply search the place up: Mushi's Family Tea House."

No response so he added, slightly annoyed. "Kush, don't tell me you're still thinking about what I did. I said I'm sorry, man. I truly am."

Still no response. 

A tingle of unease slithered along his nerve endings, but he forced himself to take a deep breath before he could start worrying. Kush had probably seen a random woman and was staring like a creep; beautiful, ugly, tall, short, white, black—it didn't matter to the manwhore. 

Maybe he was finally ready to get over his ex. 

Min bounced on the balls of his feet, waiting for his friend to get his fill of whatever visual spectacle he saw, intentionally ignoring the way his hands shook in place. However, as he waited, peculiar sounds—hurried and spoken in a foreign language—drew his attention. 

"Min?" There was no denying the slight tremble in Kush's voice, nor the terror that grabbed his own heart and squeezed. 

"Yeah?" His hands clenched the crook of his friend's elbow hard. 

"The street is deserted," Kush's voice came out shrill, and as if that was the cue, Min became aware of the lack of cars honking their way down the road—nos squeals and hums filling the air—and the usual bustle of the everyday people, "and there's a gun pointed—"

The sharp crack of a gunshot echoed loudly in his ear. Screams followed suit, even as self-preservation immediately overwhelmed his senses and he sought escape by tugging at the strand leading to his mark—and it was only when he was in the safety of Kush's apartment that he realised it was only his voice that he heard. 

His friend was silent. 

There was a moment of stillness as he struggled to process the absence, the very world muted in response, and then realisation dawned on him. The initial shock was disorienting, leaving him feeling faint and dazed as if he was dreaming. 

Speechless.

He didn't know what to do; a part of him wanted to cry his heart out and the other wanted to hit something, preferably himself, to release the sudden wave of sadness that enveloped him.

Hindsight was indeed twenty-twenty. Someone had been watching him, probably part of the city's criminal underbelly as this wasn't Death's MO, but rather than pay attention to his paranoia, he had overanalyzed shit—did what he expected the criminals to do: rely on assumptions— and the result was the death of his close friend. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Min paused in his tracks, his palms pressed against the wall of the passageway. Kush was dead. Kush was fucking dead and it was all his—

He shook his head forcefully. He didn't have the time to dwell on his friend's death now; he needed to get out of the building, and since downstairs was a no-go for obvious reasons, up was his only option. Yet, he couldn't—wouldn't—move, enveloped as he was by memories of their shared laughter earlier, their conversation, and the promise of a life away from his problems flooding his mind. Fuck. It was his fault. If only he had not come here, Kush would still be alive. Bemoaning his breakup and living like a NEET, yes, but still fucking alive.

Unbidden, knees buckled beneath him and he collapsed to the floor in a dishevelled heap, lips trembling and thoughts of escaping fleeing his mind as quickly as they came. Shaky hands rose in tandem with his dropping shoulder to cover his face as a great tremor overtook him, his body wracked with an onslaught of sobs and tears. 

He didn't know for how long he cried, but soon, the streams of tears tapered off and he was left sniffling, his hands wiping his eyes so much he wouldn't be surprised if they were red and swollen—or, at least, that was the thought until he felt the cold steel of a gun press against his back, and heard the thumbing of the safety catch, filling him with the truly terrifying notion that he could die in one of the most horrifying ways unimaginable.

He had to be calm, Min told himself, but—fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! That was easier said than done because he was about to fucking die! And as such, his brain couldn't help but seize up with an 'oh my god, oh my god, oh my god' cycle.