The vibration of his phone diverted Noel's attention. He quickly checked who was calling. It was Gregory; Noel had just remembered that thirty minutes ago, they had agreed to meet in the parking lot. The phone screen showed 9:47 PM—thirteen minutes past the time they had set. When Noel was about to answer the call, Rolan snatched the phone from his hand with lightning speed and moved away from Noel. The teenager turned on the speaker, and then a voice was clearly heard from the other end.
"Noel, where are you? I'm waiting for you in the parking lot."
Noel froze. His name. Gregory had said his name in front of Rolan, in front of Alexei. He saw Rolan blink in confusion, then turn to him with a look that had changed—from warm to slightly suspicious.
"Who's Noel?" asked Rolan, glancing at the man he knew as Nate from the corner of his eye.
"Rolan, is that you?" The husky voice on the other end asked.
"Yes, Uncle Gregor, it's me," Rolan's voice softened.
"Where's Nate?"
"I'm asking again, who is Noel?!"
Noel flinched upon hearing his name spoken. Did Alexei hear it? He must have. Did Alexei start getting suspicious? Who knows.
That thought crossed his mind and forced Noel to take a deep breath. He glanced at Alexei from the corner of his eye. The man hadn't changed his expression at all. Still the same as before, apathetic. No surprise, no curiosity. As if the name Noel meant nothing to him.
There's no way Alexei didn't hear. Has that man completely forgotten Noel? Or perhaps Alexei thinks it's someone who might have the same name? Yes, there were many people with the same name on this earth.
"Uncle, you're in the parking lot, right? I'm coming there." Immediately after saying that, Rolan ran off, taking Noel's phone with him.
"Wait!" Noel called out. He stood up to chase the teenager. However, his foot had only swung forward once before his wrist was firmly gripped.
Alexei was holding his right wrist tightly. The man's palm was warm—too warm, like before. And Noel hated that he still remembered that warmth.
"Where do you think you're going?" Alexei asked.
Noel didn't answer, trying to free his fingers from Alexei's handcuff-like grip around his wrist, which was causing him pain.
"Alexei, let go!" Noel said harshly, casting a hostile glare at the man.
"Tsk, so cold." Alexei finally released Noel's wrist. Even so, his gaze remained locked onto the figure who was now rubbing his wrist. "We haven't seen each other for a long time. How about we have some fun tonight?" Alexei suggested casually.
Noel could hear the teasing undertone beneath those words. And he hated that this body—Nate's body—responded with a rapidly beating heart.
Noel snorted. "Didn't we just meet four weeks ago? Besides, I don't have time to have fun with you. I have unfinished work."
"Work spying on me, you mean?" Alexei raised one eyebrow.
Noel didn't answer; he was busy trying to regulate his racing breath along with the pounding in his chest. It turned out he was still a helpless toy, about to be played with again by someone who had never even owned him.
"A brief meeting wouldn't be fun. Besides, didn't I already say I wanted to have fun with you tonight?" The man stared into the grey eyes of the other man, but Noel quickly avoided the darker hazel eyes.
Noel didn't know that behind that gaze, Alexei was observing. Every movement, every blink, every breath. There was something different about the man before him—the way he stood, the way he refused, the way he avoided eye contact. Not the Nate he knew. But not a stranger either. There was familiarity there, in a place where it shouldn't exist.
"Are you still angry about what happened back then?" Alexei moved slowly toward the door, locking it silently while Noel was still looking away to avoid meeting Alexei's eyes. The click of the door lock was almost inaudible, masked by the rustle of Noel's clothes as he shifted restlessly.
Back then? Noel didn't understand where Alexei's conversation was heading, but it was certainly a matter between Alexei and Nate.
"Don't put on that expression. I'm not dealing with them anymore, so you're safe." Alexei took a bottle of champagne from the table, pouring its contents into two clear glasses. The bottle had been on the table since before they entered—the hotel's preparation for VIP guests who booked this suite. Noel didn't know that Alexei had booked this suite a week ago, long before the Bai Group announced their event. As if the man already knew that tonight he would need a private space. Or as if he had planned something.
Noel grew more confused—who were the "them" Alexei was referring to?
After pouring the contents of the bottle into two glasses, Alexei handed one to Noel. With some hesitation, Noel accepted the glass filled with the golden-colored drink. Meanwhile, Alexei had already downed his drink.
"Drink it."
It's just a sip. It won't get you drunk. Noel reassured himself before taking a few sips. He knew that in his previous life, his alcohol tolerance had been poor. But this body was Nate's body, he thought. The body of a hitman who must be accustomed to alcohol. A small sip wouldn't be a problem.
As Noel drank, he heard a voice whispering, "That drink has been drugged."
The voice came from inside his own head—an instinct that had spoken too late. He had felt it since the first sip, a bitterness that shouldn't be in high-quality champagne. But he had been too focused on Alexei's presence in front of him, too busy managing his expression, too tired of pretending to be Nate.
When had Alexei mixed it? When had the man had the chance to do it? Before Noel entered this room? Or while Noel was talking to Rolan in the corridor?
Damn it! Noel cursed at his own carelessness. His strength was being forcibly taken from him, just like fifteen years ago.
His vision began to blur. The glass in his hand felt heavy, his fingertips numb. He tried to stand upright, but his knees were weak, his body swaying. Before him, Alexei was still standing calmly, watching him like someone waiting for a small child to fall asleep after tiring themselves out playing.
In the midst of this desperate situation, nostalgia came to visit. It turned out that no matter how hard he tried to fight Alexei, the man remained unmatched. Noel, inside the body of Nate the Killer Rabbit, was still the same as Noel, the seventeen-year-old boy who had once been under Alexei's control.
This time, he didn't fall to the floor. Alexei caught him before his body collapsed, embracing his waist gently—as gently as before, when Noel still believed that this man was his hero.
Along with his vision growing increasingly blurry, Noel's fingers clenched tightly until all his consciousness faded. His body lay on a king-size bed with white sheets. The same bed that the hotel had prepared since the afternoon, with fresh rose petals on the pillows and small chocolates beside them. A suite for couples, indeed rented for a romantic night. Ironic.
Alexei smiled, his hand picking up the empty glass that had rolled on the floor to put it back on the table. He lifted the unconscious man's body fully onto the bed gently and slowly, as if afraid that the body would be injured if he treated it roughly. He pulled the blanket, folding it neatly over Noel's body, then sat on the edge of the bed. For a while, he just stared—staring at the face he knew as Nate, but behind it, there was something else. Something that made him willing to book this suite, prepare the champagne, and wait.
One of Alexei's hands slowly reached out to brush aside the strand of blonde bangs covering almost all of those beautiful closed eyes, while his other hand loosened the tie Noel was wearing. His fingers moved slowly, almost reluctantly, like someone opening a package they had kept for a long time.
"You are mine, and you will always be that way," Alexei whispered seductively into Noel's ear before leaning over him. But his eyes—his eyes never blinked. He stared at that face, searching, searching for something missing. Or perhaps, searching for confirmation of the suspicion that had been growing in his mind since that night in Manhattan.
*
Silence greeted Noel as he opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was a white ceiling in a strange room. The crystal chandelier on the ceiling was still glowing dimly, creating shifting shadow patterns. Thick curtains tightly covered the large glass window, but through a small gap, Noel could see the darkness of the Moscow night sky. He blinked several times, trying to adjust to the bright light. He asked himself, how long had he been unconscious? Until he felt a pair of arms tightly embracing his waist.
Noel turned toward the owner of the arms he was using as a pillow. He found a man he already knew. The man was fast asleep. The distance between their faces was only a few centimeters, allowing Noel to feel his steady breathing. So warm, as warm as his embrace now and in the past, before the man had removed his Batman mask.
Noel groaned softly, his eyes rolling to stare straight at the handsome face radiating a peaceful expression. Fifteen years had passed, but his physical appearance hadn't changed much. Without saying a word, Noel continued to gaze. His face, his locks of hair—fifteen years felt like yesterday. Noel wanted to laugh, but his laughter was trapped in the remnants of suffering. His pale lips moved to form a bitter smile as his mind replayed memories full of grief that had created wounds.
He remembered again some sequences of his memories when he was still with that man. The truth was, even though so much time had passed, some things never changed. Remembering all of it, it had all become a nightmare for Noel. Pain clawed at his heart over the bad memories that he could never discard. Creating new wounds over old ones that had festered in the depths of his heart, because his old body had long since ceased to exist.
"Alexei, I hate you." He expressed the feeling roaring in his chest through a whisper.
"I know."
That voice—calm, without emotion—made Noel flinch. He didn't have time to react before the arm around his waist tightened, pulling him closer.
It turned out Alexei hadn't been asleep; he had only been pretending to sleep so he could hear the heart of the man in his arms regarding him.
Startled, Noel reflexively pushed Alexei's body to the side until his embrace was released. The effect of Noel's push on Alexei's body didn't amount to much, only shifting his body slightly. Noel then got up to run. However, that sudden movement made his head throb painfully, still under the influence of the drug. As a result, he staggered backward.
"Ughh, my head," Noel held his head, his vision blurry, while his entire body felt weak.
"Don't move too much! The effects haven't worn off yet," Alexei interjected.
Noel gritted his teeth in anger, asking with clipped words as Alexei walked closer. "What do you want? Let me go!"
Alexei pretended not to hear him; he still stared at Noel calmly as if nothing had happened.
Feeling a dangerous atmosphere beginning to emerge, following his instinct, Noel felt for something behind his jacket—a semi-automatic pistol. Noel brushed his jacket aside so it wouldn't obstruct his movement, placed his hand on the grip of the pistol, and aimed the object directly at Alexei.
It turned out that while he had been unconscious, Alexei hadn't taken the pistol from him. Or maybe Alexei didn't know that Noel was hiding a pistol. Or maybe—that thought flashed quickly—Alexei had deliberately left him armed. As a test. Or as part of a game he was playing.
"Don't come closer!" Noel threatened. He restrained himself from shooting Alexei, or perhaps he couldn't bring himself to shoot him.
His hand trembled. The gun's muzzle wavered in the air, never truly steady. Noel knew this wasn't how Nate aimed a weapon. Nate never trembled. But he couldn't control his body—not because of the remaining drug, but because of the man in front of him. Because of fifteen years of unhealed wounds.
Alexei didn't respond to the threat. He could see Noel's anger and overlapping expressions of fear. The man continued stepping closer, waiting to see what Noel would do next. Meanwhile, Noel kept shuffling backward until, without realizing it, his back hit the wall. The large glass window behind him felt cold, penetrating the thin jacket he was wearing. Outside, snow was falling heavily, covering the Moscow cityscape in a white blanket. Alexei smiled and gave a sharp stare.
They were only one step apart. Alexei could reach Noel at any moment. But he didn't. He just stood there, staring, waiting. Like someone enjoying a moment before a storm.
Then, the smile on the man's face vanished in a second. Alexei saw from the reflection in the glass window—a small red dot, barely visible if you didn't know where to look. A laser from a long-range rifle, aimed precisely at the back of Noel's head.
"Shoot!"
Then a deafening gunshot echoed. The window beside Noel exploded, clear shards scattering into the room like hailstones piercing the floor. At the same moment, Alexei moved—not dodging, but lunging forward, grabbing Noel, and throwing both of them to the floor.
The loud sound of the bullet's fury and the shattering glass window froze Noel. In the moment before the hot lead could pierce his head, Alexei had moved quickly.
Noel was momentarily disoriented, but he could still feel the embrace of someone carrying his body away with him to the floor. Noel quickly gathered his senses; suddenly, his position was on top of Alexei's body. Their faces were only centimeters apart. Noel could see those hazel eyes clearly—not anger, not fear, but something more complicated. Something that made Noel want to look away, but he couldn't.
Alexei quickly pushed him aside. "You were careless," he said, a note of anxiety in his tone. But Noel knew that the careless one wasn't him. Alexei had known about the shooter from the beginning. And he had still stood in front of Noel, becoming a living shield.
The chain of events outside this building was unfolding too quickly. Not far from where they were, gunshots were heard, followed by someone's scream.
Alexei took cautious steps toward the source of the sound, carrying Noel's pistol. The man moved quickly, his body crouched low, his eyes sweeping every corner of the room with high alertness. In a few steps, he reached the door, pushing it open slightly to peek into the corridor.
Meanwhile, Noel, seeing this situation, immediately took the initiative to go in the opposite direction—or rather, to run away from Alexei. Anywhere as long as it wasn't near him. He crawled toward the broken window, trying to avoid the glass shards scattered on the floor. The cold Moscow night wind immediately hit his face, carrying the scent of snow and something else—the smell of gunpowder. Noel seemed to have forgotten that his pistol was being borrowed by that man. In this dire situation, Noel regretted his decision to have been so reckless as to spy on his target alone.
He half-ran toward the exit door of the room, but his foot caught on something—Alexei's shoe, which had been thrown off when they fell earlier. Noel fell to a sitting position, his knee hitting the marble floor hard. Painful, but not enough to stop him. He immediately got up, kept running, and didn't look back.
Noel remembered Gregory again; that man must be worried about him by now.
"Gregory, I have to find him."
He dashed into the corridor, leaving the suite with its door wide open. Behind the door, he could hear Alexei shouting his name—calling "Nate"—but Noel didn't stop. He let that voice drown in the sound of his own footsteps, drown in the beating of his heart that was racing too fast, drown in the single awareness that filled his entire mind: he was safe. From Alexei. From that mysterious shooter. For this time.
But as he entered the elevator that took him down to the basement, Noel couldn't shake one question that kept disturbing his thoughts: who had fired the shot? Was it someone sent to kill Alexei? Or... to kill him?
The elevator doors closed, leaving the hotel corridor in silence. Behind one of the open suite doors, Alexei still stood at the threshold of the broken window, staring at the building across from where the red laser had originated. In his hand, his phone was already lit again.
"Get me the shooter," he said coldly. "Alive."
[•°]