Yuanfei had fallen asleep in mere minutes. Katsuyuki wasn't surprised; it had been an exhausting ordeal, physically and mentally. The least he deserved was a peaceful rest, and clearly he needed it. They both did. But Katsuyuki knew it wouldn't come for him tonight. He tilted his head to the clock: already half past three.

He silently slid off the bed, looking back as he reached the bedroom door. Yuanfei didn't stir, still in deep sleep. Even through his bruised and bleeding face, he looked so peaceful. Katsuyuki's face creased in frustration; never again, he'd promised himself, yet once again he'd put Yuanfei in harm's way, left him to take the blow when he was too cowardly to do it himself. He had finally gotten them out of this situation for good, but the cost had been steep for them both.

The living room was tinted with the typical murky orange glow of city lights. It felt strangely still, quieter than usual, somehow unfamiliar. Katsuyuki dropped down onto one of the sofas, eyes locked onto nothing, as though staring through the floor. The events of the evening had already started to feel like some distant, awful dream.

It really was all gone.

It hadn't fully sunk in yet, but he knew it would come in time - and it would hit hard when it did. Right now, he could barely even process it, the thought little more than a dull acknowledgement.

He had nowhere to go, no home he could return to. Though, he supposed, nowhere ever had felt like home. Back in Moscow, the family house was always unwelcoming. His father's 'real family' made sure of that. No matter how much he tried to occupy its common areas with the confidence of someone who was, in fact, entitled to occupy them, the endless contempt that followed him room to room made the exhausting endeavor of merely existing in that space not worth the effort.

And now here in this apartment, a space he even paid for himself, that weariness had followed him. Tiresome spats with Hunter, the losing battle on no shoes indoors, the inability to settle into a book undisturbed in the living room for even just an hour or two, it all made the space... Not his. Just as it was in Moscow, the only room that felt safe was his bedroom - but to feel so backed into a small corner didn't feel comforting as much as it felt defeating.

Nowhere felt like home, as nowhere ever had; and now, it felt like nowhere ever would. All those years of suffering, and nothing to show for it. That better life he'd hoped to build for Yuanfei was dead on arrival; Katsuyuki couldn't even provide him with a place to call home.

How far he had fallen in just an hour. How close he had been to the top... Though he knew, ultimately, the top was just an illusion. There was never a way to consolidate his dreams into one unifying, winning move. But still, for just a moment, it had felt so close, as though he had just barely grazed it with his fingertips before it crumbled to dust under his touch. He thought he had started from the bottom before, having to sweat and suffer for even a shred of acknowledgement from his father. He had no idea just how far down rock bottom really was.

All gone. No money. No safety net. No family.

The thought pricked the back of his head, just for a fleeting moment, but left him with a lingering disgust; sure, perhaps his mother hadn't fully turned her back on him yet, but he wasn't quite so desperate as to dredge up the bloated corpse of that relationship. He had no family. He couldn't let despair turn to desperation, he told himself. Still, he found his fingers curling around his phone, scrolling through contacts, and landing on a familiar, much maligned number.

He ran a hand through his hair, hunched over and grimaced.

This was a bad idea.

The phone rang for a moment. Each droning tone filled him with roiling dread, an ominous siren urging him to turn back while he still could. He gripped the phone tighter. The ringing stopped.

“Ilya! Oh, hello!”

Again with that damn name. Off to a bad start already. He silently scolded himself; he knew it would be like this. She never changed. Never cared.

“Don't-...” Katsuyuki trailed off. As much as he hated how she insisted on giving him that name, he didn't have the energy to contest it.

“How are you, my little treasure?”

He took a deep, slow breath. “Not good.”

“Oh,” She said, the lackluster response bookended by long, awkward pauses. “... That's unfortunate.”

Katsuyuki scoffed. Unfortunate. That's an understatement.

“Well,” She continued blithely. “I'm sure your father with his endless resources can sort it out for you. If only we were all so lucky.” Katsuyuki rolled his eyes.

“I--”

“You know, I'm barely making ends meet and he still can't scrounge up a little money for the mother of his son.”

Katsuyuki scowled. Mother. That's an overstatement.

“Did you ever even ask him to send me something?”

“I already told you, he won't--”

“He won't if you don't try! You're the only one he'll listen to! You have to try, Ilya! You owe me at least that.”

“It's over, Lyubov,” He snapped. He sighed, and his stiff, rigid posture slipped down to a sad, lifeless slump. “He... That's not going to happen. Not anymore.” Katsuyuki swallowed a hard lump in this throat. “... I can't. That... That's why I wanted to talk to you.”

She was quiet for a rare moment.

“He's gone,” He said, barely able to hold his voice steady. “He's abandoned me.”

“... What do you mean?”

“He's done with me. Disowned me. I don't know how else to say it. He doesn't want me as his son anymore. He never did, but now...” He sighed, calming his tone. “Now he's finally cut me off. He's left me with nothing. I have nothing. So if you want me to be the middle man between you two, I can't. There's nothing I can do for you. I just... I don't even know why I'm telling you. I guess I just figured, as your son... ” He trailed off. It felt shameful even to say it; a pathetic last-ditch attempt to feel like family to someone.

“Oh, Ilya...” She said with a sadness - a forced sympathy that poorly concealed her own disappointment. Katsuyuki waited in silence as she floundered, searching for words; but through her sighs and sounds of consternation, he already knew at heart she would have nothing good to say. A tightness gripped his chest, squeezing out the last whispers of hope with each wracked breath. “I'm sorry, my darling. There's nothing I can do for you either. I'm sorry. ” The silence between her sentences stretched out for what felt like an eternity, a miserable, lonely purgatory. “... Goodbye,” She eventually said quietly, and the speaker went quiet with a soft click.

“Hello?... Lyubov?”

There was no reply.

“... Mom?”

The tightness was crushing, agonizing. He brought the phone to his face - sure enough, the call was ended.

Perhaps it was a mistake. Just unfortunate timing. He brought up her details once more, thumb hovering over the dial button. He waited for a minute, his eyes stinging. Every moment that passed, the weight of the humiliating agony pushed harder against his chest.

It wasn't a mistake. He knew.

He squeezed his phone tightly, his fingers shaking under his intense grip, before ultimately letting it tumble from his grasp. His head collapsed into his hands. It took all of his willpower not to cry. Not for this. Not for her. She wasn't worth it.

The soft padding of bare feet on the hardwood floor announced the arrival of another. He didn't raise his head. He didn't want to be seen like this. The seat sank a little to the side as the visitor sat beside him. He still didn't move. An arm wrapped around his shoulders and gently pulled him close. A long, quiet moment in that comforting touch was finally enough to melt his stoic resolve, and he went limp, leaning into the embrace. The two stayed that way in silence for a minute.

“... I called my mother,” Katsuyuki eventually said. “She...” He sighed. “... I don't know what else I expected. I knew she'd do this.” Yuanfei held him tightly, resting his cheek against the top of Katsuyuki's head.

“I'm sorry, Yuki.”

Katsuyuki's voice was a weak whisper – he could barely find the strength to speak, yet somehow couldn't stop the pathetic words from forming either. “... What's wrong with me? Why don't either of them want me?”

“It's not your fault.”

“I'm just...” The word caught in his throat, like a blade twisted through his flesh. “Unlovable.”

"You're not. Of course you're not.” Yuanfei pulled him even closer. “And you don't need them to say it for it to be true.” Katsuyuki's eyes burned from tears still unshed. “You deserve so much better than them. I think they know that too. I just... I hope you can see it too, you know? That you can see what I see in you.”

His embrace was warm, enveloping him in a gentle softness. It was a small shelter from torment, but one that provided just a little much needed respite – just enough to gather himself once more. “I'm sorry. I'm being...” He rolled his eyes, embarrassed, and sat up. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “... Emotional. Again.”

“It's okay.” Yuanfei stroked Katsuyuki's cheek with his thumb; perhaps he hadn't managed to hold back all the tears after all.

“I just felt... lost. Neither my mother or father have ever been here for me, but I guess I still wasn't ready for them both to completely leave like this. It's like my entire safety net's just... gone.”

“It's okay. But you're safe here, you know? I'm gonna keep you safe.”

“Yeah. I know.” He managed a small smile. There was that softness again. That shelter. Perhaps home needn't be a physical place after all.