...Please Read: This chapter contains mentions of drug withdrawal, addiction, and psychological trauma. It serves as a bridge to more intense themes in the following episodes. Reader discretion is advised....
... previously on: Gay Because of You...
...Coming Up in Chapter 3: When You’re Hurt...
🎥 [Ya sitting behind his desk, hand trembling as he holds a pen]
💄 Ya: "I don't want to pamper him... I want him conscious so he can feel the weight of every bruise."
🎥 [Shadows stretching across the cold concrete of the basement]
⛓️ Pit: "Please... I'll be a good boy... please, Dad, I'm sorry!"
🎥 [The sound of a shirt sleeve ripping in the dark]
🖤 Ya: "What is it, P'Pit? Did you see the reaper?"
🎥 [Ya dropping a piece of fabric like a dead leaf]
🚬 Ya: "How does it feel to go through what you did to others?"
...Chapter 4: Things that won't go away...
The morning sun filtered through the heavy velvet curtains, but the room still felt cold.
Ya sat on the edge of his king-sized bed. The golden silk sheets were cool against his skin, the intricate black embroidery—designs of sleek, intertwined handguns—catching the light.
He was shirtless, his lean but well-built upper body exposed. He wore only smoky-white silk pajama trousers that hung low on his hips.
On his left side, the ink of his wolf tattoo seemed to come alive. The wolf’s head rested on his chest, its fur tracing a path across his shoulder and down his bicep, a permanent symbol of the lone predator he had become.
His hair was a mess—disheveled and wild. It was clear he hadn't slept; he had spent the hours before dawn running his fingers through the dark strands, trying to comb through the chaos of his own mind. The events of the previous night played on a loop behind his eyes like a broken film reel.
"Dad, please—"
Ya groaned softly, his fingers raking through his hair again, the silver hoop in his eyebrow glinting in the morning light.
Why did he say that? Ya thought, his jaw tightening.
He knew the science of it. He’d seen enough junkies to know that when the drugs leave the system, the brain fractures. You see things that aren't there. You do and say a lot of shit just to make the pain stop. But the desperation in Pit’s voice hadn't felt like a random hallucination. It felt like a deep-rooted reflex.
"I can’t understand," he admitted to himself, his ice-blue eyes fixed on a stray thread on the golden sheets.
His mind was still wandering, trying to map out the fractures in Pit’s psyche, when the soft chime of his phone broke the silence.
Ya stared at the screen. His expression shifted instantly, the vulnerability of the morning dissolving into a bored, lethal calm.
Tiw: P’Ya, your captive has been thrashing from withdrawal. He’s demanding Special K. We sent four of our people in to quiet him down, but he trashed them all. He’s losing it.
A slow, knowing smile crept onto Ya’s lips. It wasn't a smile of kindness; it was the look of a man who had just found a reason to be entertained.
He didn't rush. He never rushed.
Ya took his time preparing for the day, stepping into a bathroom that looked more like a sanctuary of marble and gold. He began his ritual, using expensive charcoal-infused soaps and oils that smelled of sandalwood and cold rain.
Once dried, he stepped into his dressing room. Today felt like a day for power. He selected a custom-tailored, deep forest-green suit. Underneath, he donned a silk black shirt, leaving the top three buttons undone to reveal the base of his wolf tattoo and a thin, discreet silver chain.
He stood before the mirror to handle his hair. He meticulously styled his mullet undercut, ensuring the sides were sharp and faded, while the longer, dark strands at the back fell perfectly over his collar. He adjusted the silver hoop in his brow, checking that every detail was flawless.
He looked like a masterpiece.
Leaving the penthouse, he skipped the SUV today and opted for his midnight-black Aston Martin Vantage. The engine roared to life with a low growl that vibrated through the steering wheel. He drove through the city with a calm precision, the blur of the morning traffic reflecting off his dark windows.
When he arrived at the headquarters, the guards at the entrance didn't just bow; they scrambled to stay out of his way.
The elevator doors opened to the top floor with a soft ding. Ya stepped out, his leather shoes clicking with purpose against the polished floor. He pushed open the heavy mahogany doors of his office, his eyes immediately scanning the room for anything unusual.
In the mafia world, the golden rule was simple: trust no one. Even in his own sanctuary, Ya didn’t let his guard down. As the heavy doors clicked shut, his eyes swept the room with clinical precision, checking for anything out of place—a shifted shadow, a bug, a breath that didn't belong.
After finding nothing unusual, he finally crossed the room and sank into his leather seat. He leaned back, the dark green fabric of his suit shimmering under the office lights. He pulled out his phone and dialed a familiar number.
"Where are you?" Ya asked. His voice was thick with a lazy, bored resonance, as if speaking required more effort than he was willing to give.
"I'll be in your office in five... four... three... two... one," Tiw’s voice chirped through the speaker.
On the final count, the door swung open. Tiw marched in, carrying a plastic cup that looked wildly out of place in a room filled with mahogany and secrets. He placed a bright pink smoothie on Ya’s desk with a soft thud.
"I had to sneak in with this, you know," Tiw complained, throwing himself onto the leather couch with a dramatic sigh. He wiped an imaginary bead of sweat from his forehead. "You really need to quit this, P'Ya. What will people say? That after the recovery, the great God of Death is addicted to pink smoothies?"
Ya stared at the vibrant pink drink for a long beat, his expression unreadable. Then, he reached out, his elegant fingers curling around the straw as he took a slow, deliberate sip. The sweetness was a sharp contrast to the bitter metallic taste of the basement from the night before.
"They'll say I have excellent taste," Ya replied, his voice still lazy, though a faint, dangerous glint returned to his eyes.
"Now, tell me about the mess in the basement. How does a man in withdrawal 'trash' four of my best guards?"
"I was called at 2 AM," Tiw started, his tone shifting from playful to professional. "Pharm called saying Yi was trashed. Before I arrived, I asked Lee and Dai to go in and see what was happening... only for me to arrive and find Pharm dressing their wounds. And I’m the fourth one."
Tiw paused, pointing to a small bruise on his own jaw, then continued. "I didn’t want to use force because I noticed you didn’t really hurt him yesterday. I was being careful not to do something that would anger you."
Ya nodded slowly, his ice-blue eyes unreadable. He stood up, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over the couch. He moved with a silent, fluid grace until he was hovering over Tiw. Tiw instinctively shrank back, his eyes darting up, alert and slightly wide.
Ya leaned in, his lips inches from Tiw’s ear.
"You have a free day today," Ya whispered, the coolness of his breath making Tiw shiver. "For being a good boy."
Ya pulled back and resumed his seat as if nothing had happened.
"Ai, P'Ya! Can you please stop doing that?" Tiw grumbled, frantically scratching his ear as if to rub away the sensation. His face was a mix of annoyance and genuine fluster.
"Don't worry," Ya joked, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. "Even though I like men, you're not my type."
However, Ya’s eyes lingered on Tiw a beat longer than they should have—long enough to make the air in the room feel heavy.
"I hope so..." Tiw muttered, standing up and smoothing out his tactical vest. "Then I'll take my leave."
He didn't wait for a second invitation. He turned and retreated, the door clicking shut behind him.
The playfulness vanished from Ya’s face the moment he was alone. He looked down at the pink smoothie, then at the security monitor on his desk. It was time to stop being a "good boy."
It was time to pay Pit a visit.
...🎞️ Next On: Gay Because of You...
...Chapter 5: Love with a Hidden Agenda...
🎥 [The sound of a whip cracks through the basement, silencing Pit’s screams]
⛓️ Ya: "I’ll do you a favor today. I’ll make you feel what Pim felt whenever you abused her."
🎥 [A flashback of a younger, terrified Pit crying in a dark corner]
💔 Pit: "Dad said to do things to people we love... I did it to keep her!"
🎥 [Ya pins Pit to the bed, his voice a low, dark growl]
🖤 Ya: "I won't be gentle."
🎥 [Ya sits in his office, smoke curling around his head and his eyes cold]
🚬 Ya: "So satisfying."
🌑 The luxury ends. The punishment begins. See you in Chapter 5.
💬 Fan Corner: Let’s Chat About Chapter 4!
Ya is back in his element, but he’s bringing some interesting habits with him. What did you think of today's update?
The "God of Death" Aesthetic: Ya in a forest-green suit with a mullet undercut and an Aston Martin... on a scale of 1-10, how much "Boss Energy" is he giving off? 👔🔥
The Pink Smoothie: Tiw is complaining that Ya is "addicted" to pink smoothies. Why do you think a lethal man like Ya loves something so sweet and pink? Is it a memory of Pim? 🍓
Ya & Tiw: That moment where Ya whispered in Tiw's ear and told him he was a "good boy"... was he just messing with him, or is there a vibe there? And do we believe him when he says Tiw "isn't his type"? 😏
The Mystery of "Dad": Ya is clearly bothered by Pit calling out for his father in the last chapter. Why do you think he’s so determined to figure out Pit’s trauma instead of just killing him?
Leave your comments below! I want to know your theories before we head into the basement in the next chapter! 👇
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