cocktails and gin

chapter one

The cold air bit at him like an angry dog. He wrapped his sad excuse of a jacket tighter around him in hopes to be shielded from the cold. But it was no use; it felt like his body was freezing from the inside out.

"Hey baby, how much for you right now?" a greasy voice slurred out.

"Nothing from you. Especially, from creeps like you." he replied. He barely looked towards the old man, but he already knew the type of guy; kinda short, face not shaved in days, shirt untucked, and the beginnings of a beer belly starting to show.

"What did you just say to me?" the greasy voice was suddenly right behind his ear. He turned around and tried to defend himself from whatever was going to come at him, but he was too slow. A hand grabbed him by the throat and pushed him against the nearby alley wall. He tried to claw at the man's hand, arm, face, anything, the back of his mind knowing it was futile. He saw the man's other hand start to creep into the waistband of his shorts. The boy began to thrash around in hope to stop him; the old man gripped his shorts as his vision started to go black.

He prayed this wasn't how he was going to die. The last thing he saw was the man's awful face ( he tried to memorize every nasty detail of it) and a shadowy figure behind him. But he couldn't do anything as his world soon turned black.

He woke up on something too soft to be an alley floor. Maybe he really did die back there. Wait, did the alley smell like chicken? He quickly shot up and almost instantly regretted it. His world was spinning, or maybe it was just him that was spinning.

"Careful now, you don't wanna hurt yourself." a voice warned through the blur of colors in his vision. He yelped as he dove under the covers, hoping the thick comforter would protect him, like a child does during a thunderstorm.

"You don't need to worry, I'm not going to hurt you." the voice was a boy's voice. And by the sound of it, the mysterious boy (with the motherly voice) was not much older than himself.

"Promise?" he said, peeking his head out, as if a simple 'promise' will ensure his safety.

"I promise." the boy chuckled, voice soft. "What's your name?"

"C-Changkyun." he replied, sitting up, blanket pooling in his lap. That drew his attention to his clothes, once old ripped up ones were replaced with a soft purple sweater. His voice was hoarse and it felt like there was a lump caught in his throat.  "Who are you?"

"My name's Kihyun." the boy's eyes crinkled as he smiled. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

With the mentioning of that, Changkyun's body began to light up with pain; his head was now pounding and dizzy, his throat felt drier than a desert, and his arm was tight. Wait, why were there bandages wrapped all along his forearm? Not trusting his voice to speak, he nodded his head and pointed at the places that hurt.

"Oh, your throat must hurt. That man must have had a stronger grip than expected." And with that, Kihyun walked out of the room. This gave Changkyun the chance to look around. He was sitting in a small bed, black sheets being a good contrast to white pillows. The walls were a boring beige, and there seemed to be a small, well-loved book case overflowing with more well-loved books. To the right of him was the chair Kihyun was sitting on and a small night table. A little lamp, that made the room a dim orange, was nestled in the corner of it and his stuff was scattered along the remaining space.

His things.

Without a second thought, he grabbed his things and put them back on him; a necklace (men seemed to love that on him and it also doubled as a key to his little safe, where he kept all of his clothes buried in the ugly sight of the streets), his pepper spray (it was empty but it scared off the ones who were annoying him and he was too broke to afford a new one), and his ring. His beloved ring. It was a gift from his older brother, the only person he could call family anymore. It was a simple silver band, with a small flying arrow etched on the inside of it. His brother had a matching one too, inside etched with a small bow. He twirled it around his left middle finger, a habit he picked up to comfort him on the lonely nights. Kihyun walked back into the room, handing him a tall glass of water.