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He filled a plastic basin with cold water from the kitchen and grabbed a stack of clean towels. He set them at the foot of the couch, took a deep breath, and looked down at Jun.

Still breathing. Still here.

He sucked in his breath. If Jun were awake, he’d want permission first. He’d have to hope for forgiveness later.

He reached for the hem of Jun’s shirt, but it wasn’t there. The fabric had been torn away, exposing Jun’s lower belly to the cold. He gently lifted what was left over Jun’s arms and dropped it on the floor.

His heart almost stopped.

Jun’s torso was a map of damage. Scrapes and darkened bruises covered nearly every inch of skin. And blooming across his entire left rib cage: a massive, ugly bruise so deep it looked like something had tried to push through from the inside.

His fists clenched so hard his knuckles cracked. He could have prevented this. The thought sent something black and violent through his chest. Going back to the farm. Making that piece of shit pay in ways he wouldn’t recover from.

But Jun was here. Jun needed him now. Everything else could wait.

He wrung out the towel and began wiping Jun down. First the collarbones, then stomach, gentle as he could manage. Jun winced every time the cloth dragged across a gash. The towel turned dark with grime and blood almost immediately. He tossed it, grabbed a fresh one from the stack, and started again.

“Woah, what the hell?”

He whipped towards the door, hand already on the gun at his belt. Rafael stepped into the monitor’s glow, hands raised. “How long were you there?”

Rafael shrugged. “Just got here.” He looked between him and Jun’s shirtless, battered body on the couch. “You care to explain this, or should I guess?”

“I just followed him to the farm,” he said without looking up, wringing out the towel for another pass.

Rafael crossed his arms. “And you decided to bring him here. To my apartment. Out of the goodness of your heart.” The flatness in his voice could have cut glass.

“He won’t be a threat.” He laid the damp towel flat on his palm and slid his hand under the small of Jun’s back, lifting him just enough to reach the other side of his waist. “I’ll take full responsibility. He won’t get in our way. You have my word.”

He continued to gently lift him off the couch one section of his back at a time. He was sure he got every part when the towel came out completely bloodied.

Rafael sighed, grabbed the remote, and clicked the TV on. “Then I bet you didn’t hear the news.”

“What news?”

He was pulling a clean shirt from his suitcase when the screen settled on KTLA 5. A reporter stood outside a mansion he recognized. Concrete and glass. Red and blue lights strobing across the marble driveway.

He stopped moving.

“Police are scouring the mansion for evidence of an illegal drug ring. Recovered substances include cocaine, LSD, and Nixzin—a drug discontinued by Paragon Industries earlier this year. One suspect has been taken into custody: talk show host Covey Lakeridge, found in critical condition. Senior Officer Han stated the mansion served as ‘the perfect nesting ground for distributing highly illegal drugs.’ Paragon has yet to comment…”

He turned back to Jun and carefully threaded the shirt over his arms, rolling it down his torso. He paused. He knew this shirt. He’d worn it a lifetime ago. The same high school spirit shirt, faded and soft. This was the second time Jun had worn it. It was still too big on him. Something warm in him cracked a small smile.

“Nicky is going to be so pissed,” Rafael interrupted his train of thought.

He scoffed and cleared his throat at the same time, hoping Rafael didn’t notice his lingering gaze on Jun. “Does he know?”

Rafael sighed as he turned off the TV. “If he doesn’t by now, I’d be surprised.” Rafael glanced over as he started rolling Jun’s pants down.

He shot Rafael a look. Rafael turned away with an eye roll, suddenly very interested in the ceiling.

“But knowing him,” Rafael continued, clearing his throat, “he’s probably buying a first-class ticket back from Italy right now.”

He froze. Jun’s pants bunched at his ankles, bloodied kneecaps exposed, and the entire operation was suddenly on a countdown. “Now?”

“I mean…” Rafael drawled, heading towards the fridge and opening a beer can. “If he does, we can’t move forward,” he muttered into his beer.

“We can. We just move the moment he arrives.”