What started with a random number (BXB) (GAY)

A half-assed explanation.

Emory sat on the small couch in his apartment, crossing his arms and leaning back as he tried to think of a reason why Tyler would do that to him.
"Maybe he was forced. Threatened, possibly." Emory thought.

He tried to convince himself that Tyler would never choose to do this. That Tyler would never want to hurt him. But deep down, he knew that he had planned this.

The messages on his phone leading up to the incident, the way his eyes held no remorse while he was choking him. There was no doubt about it that Tyler had it all planned out. But Emory couldn't believe that. He didn't want to believe it.

Red walked into the living room holding a large bag of frozen peas, tossing them into Emory's lap.

"Ice your neck," He commanded, taking a seat next to Emory as he pulled out his phone.

Emory pressed the bag against his throat, staring at Red with an expectant look on his face. Red glanced up at him, staring back into his eyes for a few seconds.

"Oh, right. I'll explain later, you should get some rest and take a nap," Red said, turning his attention back down to his phone and tapping on the screen.

"No," Emory answered simply, shifting uncomfortably as the bag of peas stayed against his neck. Red glanced up again and set his phone facedown on the couch, turning his head to fully look at Emory.

"Either I explain after you wake up or I don't explain at all. Your choice, Em," Red responded, waiting for Emory to pick an option. Emory rolled his eyes but nodded as he laid down on the couch, his feet hanging off the side of it.

Red grabbed both of Emory's legs, pulling his feet onto the couch and putting them in his lap, resting a hand on top of his ankles.

Emory fell asleep shortly after, tired from the altercation with Tyler. By the time he woke up, it was 5 PM and Red was staring straight ahead as he tapped his hand against Emory's ankle.

Emory grunted slightly as he sat up, pulling his legs back and leaning against the couch. He looked at Red, waiting for him to start talking.

"How's your throat?" Red asked, genuine concern hidden in his voice. Emory rolled his eyes as he tapped his foot against the scratched-up wooden floors, annoyed that Red wasn't getting to the point.

"Fine, but—" Emory started, getting cut off by Red.

"Yes, I know," Red interrupted, sighing before continuing to speak. "Tyler isn't who you think he is. He's not some stupid cashier, that's just a cover-up job." 

Emory furrowed his brows. It was an explanation as to why Tyler had such a nice house, but what was his real job if being a cashier wasn't it?

"He works in a... powerful group," Red continued, pausing for a moment to study Emory's expression.

"Which is?" Emory asked, a sore feeling still lingering in his throat and a slight rasp still prominent in his voice.

"It's," Red stopped, sighing before starting to talk again. "a mafia group."

Emory looked away from Red's gaze, his words repeating in his mind. After a few seconds, his eyes snapped back to Red's.
"Like... the one on the News?" He questioned, replaying all the details of what was said on the News, applying it to Tyler and what he could be doing.

"No, not the one on the News. It's a different group," Red answered, breaking eye contact and turning to stare straight forward again.

"Called?" Emory winced slightly at the sharp pain in his throat but ignored it.

"That doesn't matter," Red replied, shutting down Emory's question instantly.

"Why?" Emory continued, irritation spreading throughout his body. Red sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.