The bar wasn't the kind of place Ethan would normally walk into, it was tucked down a side street he'd never been to before, the kind with flickering neon signs and cracked pavement that smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and old beer, but tonight he didn't care where he ended up, he just needed somewhere to drink.
He'd been doing this for days now, wandering into different bars every night, sitting alone at the counter, ordering drinks he barely tasted, hoping maybe he'd meet someone new, maybe a pretty girl who'd make him forget everything, forget Luana, forget the break up, forget the way his chest still ached every time he thought about it.
But this bar was different.
The moment he stepped inside, he noticed it, the crowd was mostly men, rough looking men with sharp eyes and harder faces, the kind who looked like they'd been in more fights than conversations, some wore leather jackets, some had tattoos crawling up their necks, others sat hunched over their drinks like they were hiding from something.
Ethan hesitated for half a second at the door, then decided he didn't care, he walked to the counter and slid onto a stool near the end, far enough from everyone else so that he could drink in peace.
The bartender was an older man with a scar running down his jaw. He didn't ask what Ethan wanted, just poured him a glass of whiskey and set it down without a word.
Ethan drank it in one go, the burn in his throat felt good, grounding, he pushed the glass forward and the bartender refilled it without comment.
The bar wasn't loud but it wasn't quiet either, low conversations filled the air, voices layered over the faint hum of old music playing from a speaker somewhere in the corner, Ethan tried not to listen, tried to focus on his drink, but the voices kept pulling at his attention.
"Did you hear what happened at the docks?" someone said from a table behind him, their voice was low, cautious.
"Jasper's men?" another voice replied. "All twelve of them, dead."
Ethan's hand froze halfway to his glass.
"Not just dead," a third man said, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Butchered, shot in the legs, arms and chests… all of them!"
Someone let out a low whistle. "That's brutal even by our standards."
"That's the Scourge," the first man said, and the name seemed to suck the air out of the conversation. "That's his calling card, he always leaves his name carved into something, always the same word, Scourge, so everyone knows who did it."
"I heard he doesn't just kill them," another voice added. "He makes them suffer first, makes an example out of them and leaves the bodies where they'll be found. He probably wants people to see what happens when you cross him."
Ethan's stomach turned slightly but he kept listening, his fingers tight around his glass.
"Jasper lost his entire shipment that night," someone else said. "Nine million worth of goods, gone, just like that!."
"Even the other small organization was found dead the other day," another man muttered. "What was their name again…?"
"Darkwater group!," the first man said. "Two of their secret warehouses were busted the other night too! More than fifteen guys died brutally too!. I'm just wondering when the Scourge is coming for Jasper next."
There was a heavy pause, then someone spoke again, their voice tight with fear. "We never know.. Jasper might find him first, he's been seriously looking…."
"And he's found nothing," one of them said. "Because no one knows who the Scourge is, no one's ever seen his face and lived to describe it, the only thing he leaves behind are bodies and that carved name."
"Some say he's not even human," someone whispered. "Say he moves like a ghost, appears out of nowhere, kills without making a sound, then disappears before anyone knows he was there."
"Human or not, he's the most dangerous man in this city," another voice said firmly. "People like Jasper, they've been running things for years… after the Slades family disappeared twenty years ago. But the Scourge, he doesn't care about territory or respect or any of that, he just takes what he wants and kills anyone who tries to stop him."
"Just imagine," someone repeated quietly. "Imagine being tied up and executed one by one, can you imagine what that must've been like? Waiting your turn, knowing you're next, hearing the others scream?"
The group fell silent after that, the weight of the conversation settling over them like a heavy blanket.
Ethan felt a chill run down his spine, he'd heard rumors about gang violence before, everyone in the city had, but this was different, this wasn't just violence, this was calculated terror, someone who killed not just to eliminate threats but to make people afraid.
He took another drink, trying to wash away the unease crawling up his throat.
"Alone?"
The voice came from right beside him, so sudden that Ethan jerked in his seat, nearly spilling his drink.
He turned his head and found a man standing there, leaning casually against the counter, the man looked to be around his age, maybe a year or two older, with dark hair that fell slightly over his forehead and a smile that was easy, relaxed, the kind of smile that made you feel like he'd known you for years even though you'd never seen him before.
"Sorry," the man said, his smile widening slightly. "Didn't mean to startle you."
Ethan blinked, his brain was already fuzzy from the alcohol but he managed to nod. "Yeah, alone."
The man slid onto the stool beside him without asking, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he raised a hand and the bartender came over immediately, not with the same gruff silence he'd given Ethan but with a slight nod of acknowledgment.
"Two glasses," the man said, his voice was smooth and easy.
The bartender poured two drinks and slid them across the counter, the man pushed one toward Ethan. "On me."
Ethan stared at the glass for a second, then picked it up and drank it all in one gulp, the whiskey burned but it felt good, made everything a little softer, a little easier to bear.
The man laughed. "Rough night?"
"Rough everything," Ethan muttered, setting the empty glass down.
The man gestured to the bartender again, another glass appeared in front of Ethan almost immediately, he drank that one too, not as fast this time but still without really tasting it.
"Want to talk about it?" the man asked, his tone was casual, not pushy, like he genuinely didn't care either way but was willing to listen if Ethan wanted.
Ethan let out a bitter laugh. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Try me."
So Ethan did.
He didn't know why, maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the fact that this stranger didn't know him and would never see him again, maybe it was just the weight of everything finally pressing down too hard, but the words started spilling out before he could stop them.
He talked about Luana, his girlfriend, about how they'd been together for years, about how she gradually became distant and ended up breaking up with him.
Ethan felt like it was somehow his fault even though logically he knew it wasn't. Everything in his life felt like it was falling apart and he didn't know how to put it back together.
The man listened, he didn't interrupt, didn't offer empty reassurances, just listened with that same expression, occasionally taking a sip of his own drink.
When Ethan finally ran out of words, the man nodded slowly. "Sounds like you've been carrying a lot."
"Yeah," Ethan said quietly, staring down at his glass. "Feels like too much sometimes."
"Maybe you just need to let go for a bit," the man said, his voice was softer now, gentler. "Stop thinking so hard, stop trying to fix everything, just exist for a while."
Ethan looked up at him, the man's eyes were dark, there was something in them that felt almost comforting, like he understood in a way most people didn't.
"How do I do that?" Ethan asked.
The man smiled, it wasn't the easy smile from before, this one was smaller, more private. "You start by finishing that drink."
Ethan did.
Then another.
And another.
The bar around them started to blur, the voices faded into background noise, the world narrowed down to just the two of them sitting at the counter, talking about nothing and everything, laughing at things that probably weren't even funny but felt hilarious in the moment.
At some point, the man's hand brushed against Ethan's, it was probably an accident but Ethan didn't pull away, at some point, the man suggested they leave, said something about getting some air, about how stuffy the bar was.
Ethan agreed without thinking.
His head was still spinning, his thoughts were still tangled, the man's hand was on his shoulder now, steadying him, guiding him down the street.
"Where are we going?" Ethan asked, his words slurred slightly.
"Somewhere quiet," the man said. "You need to sleep this off."
That made sense. Ethan nodded then let himself be led down the street, until they reached a small hotel with a sign above the door.
The man spoke to someone at the desk, Ethan didn't catch what was said, everything felt distant and fuzzy, then they were in an elevator, then a hallway, then a room.
The door closed behind them with a soft click.
Ethan sat down on the edge of the bed, his head was pounding now, the room was spinning slightly, he closed his eyes and tried to breathe.
He felt the bed dip beside him, felt a hand on his back gently.
"You okay?" the man asked.
"Yeah," Ethan lied.
The hand moved, fingers trailing up his spine, slowly. Ethan started breathing roughly, he was too drunk to realize what was really happening.
"You don't have to do anything," the man said quietly. "Just let go."
And Ethan did.
*******
When he woke, the room was bright, too bright, sunlight came in through the thin curtains and stabbed directly into his eyes.
He groaned, his head felt like it was being crushed from the inside, his mouth was dry, his body ached in ways that didn't make sense at first.
Then he tried to sit up.
Pain shot through his lower back, he gasped and froze halfway up, his hand instinctively going to his ass where the ache was worst.
That's when it hit him.
The memories came back in flashes, disjointed and hazy, the man's hands on him, his own voice saying things he didn't remember deciding to say, the feeling of being pressed into the mattress, the sounds he'd made that he definitely didn't want to think about.
"Oh god," Ethan whispered, his face burning with shame.
He looked down at himself, he was naked, completely naked, the sheets were tangled around his legs and there were marks on his skin, faint bruises on his hips, scratches on his shoulders.
He turned his head slowly, almost afraid to look.
The man from last night was still there, lying beside him, half covered by the sheets, his dark hair messy, his face relaxed in sleep.
Ethan's heart pounded in his chest, panic clawed at his throat.
He'd just had sex with a stranger.
A man.
And he'd been the bottom!
"Oh god," he said again, louder this time, then immediately clapped a hand over his mouth.
The man stirred slightly but didn't wake.
Ethan moved slowly and carefully, every movement sending a fresh wave of pain through his body, he slid out of the bed as quietly as he could, his legs shook when he stood, he had to grab the nightstand to steady himself.
His clothes were scattered across the floor, shirt inside out near the door, pants crumpled by the chair, one shoe under the bed and the other halfway across the room.
He dressed as fast as his shaking hands would allow, not bothering to button his shirt properly, not caring that his belt was twisted, he just needed to get out, needed to leave before the man woke up and they had to acknowledge what happened.
When he was finally dressed, he glanced back at the bed one more time, the man was still asleep, looking peaceful and unbothered, like this was just a normal morning for him.
Ethan swallowed hard, grabbed his jacket, and slipped out of the room as quietly as possible.
The door clicked shut behind him and he stood in the hallway for a moment, breathing hard, his heart still racing.
Then he ran.