His engagements in pleasure were to ultimately be his downfall when the right day came.
For the most part he enjoyed it, the mystery of romance, playing the game, dressing up and renting a cheap hotel room for the night, indifferent to the amount of noise that was heard through the walls by the bastard who were fortunate enough to be in the rooms next to Clopin and his companion.
On the other hand, nothing is perfect, and there were bad days. Days that made Esmerelda tell him to stop going out, to find another job, anything just please don't go out again.
Clopin didn't listen. A man, yet still stubborn like an immature boy, he did as he pleased regardless of the consequences.
---
It had been a good day. He'd slept in, and done the groceries, made himself lunch and gone to the library with Quasimodo for a bit. It had been a lazy and quiet afternoon with books piled up around that and a nap around three o'clock. He'd driven Quasi back to Esmerelda's and said hello to his dear friend before stopping for dinner and heading home briefly before work.
It was November, and the days were still just warm enough to walk around in a sweater, though the nights got cold and windy. It made work a little harder, but you could get by with draping your coat off the shoulder when someone passed you. It worked for Clopin anyways.
Soon enough, there was a tall, stocky man looming over him in the shadows of the alleyway he was typically stationed in, with an arm outstretched next to his face, leaning on the brick wall behind him.
"You do this regularly?" the stranger mumbled, and Clopin nodded.
"Boy's gotta live." he reasoned, looking up at the man, wrapping his arms around his neck.
"So you're gay?" the stranger asked, and Clopin frowned in the dark, taking his arms back. He hesitated, but took the risk. It was like gambling, a little.
"Why else do you think I'm here?" he asked, smirking.
"Thank god, I was hoping to fuck up a fag tonight." the man said, stepping back before landing a punch square in Clopin's gut.
He lost all his money, a bad bet, a gamble gone wrong.
He gripped the mans shoulder for support, as if the stranger would give him any at all, and he gasped for air, fear flooding his senses.
"No- please-" he got out, before the man shook him off like a bug.
"Get off of me dirty queer, should've chosen a different fucking job." he sneered, landing a knee into Clopin's chest, and it only got worse from there. From out of nowhere, more men showed up, and held him down, landing blows to his face, kicking his ribs, anywhere they knew it would hurt, spitting insults at him until he was nothing but a bloody ball, curled up and sobbing on the pavement.
There was one last "faggot" thrown down before they ran away into the night laughing and jeering.
Everything was dark, and his face felt painful and wet. He tasted something metallic in his mouth and lay still, hiccupping, smelling the dirt and asphalt on the pavement. Blood mingled with his tears and it dripped quietly onto the ground. It hurt to breathe and Clopin just lay there, unmoving, still curled up, not budging.
Maybe his whole life was a mistake.
Maybe he should have given it all up.
Maybe Esmerelda was right.
Esmerelda.
Wincing, he pushed himself up and slumped against the cold, brick wall and felt into his jacket.
The men had taken all his money, but in their hurry had missed a few coins stuck at the bottom of the deep coat pocket.
He groaned and whined in pain, forcing himself up, leaning against the wall, scraping the fabric of his coat against it. His jacket was torn. There was a rip present at the shoulder all the way down to his elbow and fluff poked out of the tear. He felt like he might throw up, like his insides were mushed in the assault. He clutched his stomach, wincing again when he felt a spot by his ribs that felt like fire if he pressed on it too hard.
Blood dripped down the side of his head and over his eyebrow and he rubbed it away, feeling a gash on his temple. His lip was split and bled steadily, and Clopin sucked on it as he stumbled out of the alley, still gasping for air.
The city was deserted and the streets were empty, or at least the parts lit by street lamps. For once in his life, Clopin stayed in the light, fearful of what would happen to him if he went back into the dark. The old clock tower in the square rang twice, the bells sending their sound across the ghostly town. The wind blew, and it blew cold and sharp, causing Clopin to hug himself as tight as he could without beginning to cry in pain.
He almost sobbed with joy when he finally found a payphone on the corner of a street. With trembling, shivering fingers he got the few coins he had into the slot above the telephone and hanging onto the stand for support forced his freezing fingers to press the right buttons, calling Esmerelda, praying to a god he didn't believe in that she would pick up.
She would sleeping the night peacefully away near her two closest- Phoebus next to her on the bed and Quasimodo fast asleep in his room with their french bulldog resting at his feet, the two thick as thieves. Nightlights would adorn the hallways and in Quasimodo's room, glow-in-the-dark stars would glow gently on the ceiling's and walls.
With every ring of the payphone, Clopin became just slightly more afraid everything was truly down the drain. He felt like he was in a nightmare he couldn't wake up from, where everything was harshly bright and hypersensitive. His eyes darted up and down the street, scared to see someone potentially walking towards him, coming back to finish an incomplete job. The blood on his face had dried in the bitingly cold wind and left him with just an aching in his head, and pieces of hair that were dark rusty red in the lamplight, if you looked close enough.
"Hello?" a sleepy voice asked, and Clopin started crying, overjoyed to hear a familiar voice.
"Esme, please." he choked.
"Clopin?" she assumed, her voice immediately filled with concern.
"Please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you, please just-" Clopin sobbed, tears washing bits of blood off his cheeks, leaving light red streaks in their place.
"Where are you." she said and it was more of a demand than a question. She turned away from the phone and Clopin could hear her say "Phoebus, get up, get the keys."
"I'm on the corner of King and Second." he told her.
"What happened."
"I was working- and-" he remembered the icy feeling in his chest the moment he realized something was wrong and dissolved into a puddle of tears. "No- no I can't, I'm sorry." he cried, voice strained.
"No no no, that's okay, listen, are you safe now?"
"I- yes- I mean- they're gone."
"Okay," and then away from the phone. "He said he's on the corner of King and Second."
"Clo? Are you still there?"
"Yes, yes, please, please hurry my time is running out, on the phone." he said, hyperventilating.
"Okay, you need to breath. Do what we taught Quasi. In for four, hold for four, and out on four. We'll be there in a couple of minutes. Just hang tight okay?"
"Okay." Clopin replied, and heard the click of the receiver.
The payphone sputtered out a nickel.
The man slid down against the cold box and hugged his chest to his knees, his hands and fingers numb from the cold. He leaned his head against the metal and closed his eyes.
Perhaps this would all just go away.
Perhaps this really was a nightmare.
Perhaps this was his punishment for everything he'd ever done wrong in his life.
He'd been roughed up before, but nothing like this. Nothing like this situation, where he wasn't able to get out safely at all.
Clopin was trying hard not to focus on the pain in his head and the dark spot on his chest that kept blossoming larger with every passing minute when a speeding car disturbed the silent streets.
Phoebus' pickup truck screeched to a halt near the corner of the street and Esmerelda hurried out in jogging pants and a pajama shirt and converse sneakers, with Phoebus following close behind in a white t-shirt and striped pajama pants.
"Oh my god." Esmerelda said, rushing over and cupping Clopin's face. He flinched.
"No, no, no, it's me. Hey, look at me." she asked, and Clopin lazily opened his eyes to see his best friend, close like a sister, come to rescue him. His eyes filled with tears again and he leaned forward into her chest, sobbing once more.
"It's okay, we've got you. You're gonna come home with us, and we're gonna clean you up, and you'll be safe there okay? You can sleep on our couch, or we can set up the cot in Quasi's room, whatever you want honey." she told him, smoothing his hair, almost frightened when she felt a bump on his head. "Phoebus, can you help me?" she asked and her lover came over, gently helping to pick up the smaller man covered in blood, tears, and dismay.
"Hey Clopin, I've got you, ok? Just lean on me, we're gonna get you to the car, and we're gonna drive you home, alright man? You just keep breathing like Esme told you to on the phone." Phoebus explained, his voice soft. Stumbling, with his arms wrapped around Esmerelda and Phoebus' shoulders, they helped him into the backseat of Phoebus' truck, where it was warm and soft and secure. Phoebus cracked something over his knee and a strong hand took Clopin's carefully away from his ribs, replacing it with something cold wrapped in an old towel.
"You hold that there okay? It'll feel better, I promise."
The howling of the wind disappeared and Clopin leaned into the polyester of the car seat, the new car smell still slightly present, though it was comfortably mingled with the car freshener and the sort of warm musty smell that was most present on a hot day when a vehicle's been baking out in the sun for an hour.
"Sorry, I'm bleeding all over your new car, Phoebus." Clopin said feverishly, swallowing.
"Don't you worry about that." Phoebus chuckled, speeding home as fast as possible, praying they wouldn't run into a cop car. Not that it mattered, Phoebus was literally the chief of police, hence the first aid knowledge, and the new goddamn truck he was currently driving.
Clopin drifted in and out of sleep on the ten minute drive home, and continued leaning close to Esmerelda in the elevator ride up.
When they got to their apartment, the clock now nearing three in the morning, they found a couple lamps turned on, and Quasimodo in the kitchen, diligently boiling water for tea, and a chair near the medicine cabinet which he had climbed up on in order to reach the painkillers.
Phoebus took Clopin to the bathroom to get him cleaned up, with Esmerelda going to the kitchen to help Quasi, thanking him quietly.
Clopin was sat on the edge of the tub and felt Phoebus reach to take off his tattered coat.
"No, please." Clopin whimpered, tugging it back over himself with his free hand, the ice pack still pressed securely to his side.
"I need to see if your chest and arms are okay." he explained softly. "I need to make sure nothing's broken and that you're not so hurt you need to go to the hospital."
"Okay." Clopin nodded and let Phoebus take the coat that had become his security blanket for the past few hours.
His arms were fine, a couple bruises, but nothing concerning. He let Phoebus feel his chest and ribs, up to his collarbone and jaw, none of which seemed to be broken.
Phoebus wet a cloth with disinfectant and carefully tipped Clopin's chin up, brushing the blood and dirt away.
"I think they just bruised your ribs and kicked your forehead a little. You'll be okay, nothing to be seriously worried about, hopefully." he said, concentrated on the man's face. Tenderly, he dabbed at the gash on Clopin's forehead cleaning the wound as best he could.
Clopin barely reacted to the sting. His entire body ached and tingled now that the feeling was coming back into his hands and feet.
It was silent for a couple of minutes, Esmerelda and Quasi speaking quietly in the kitchen while Phobus finished with Clopin.
"There," he sighed. "I'll get out of your way and you can clean yourself up. We'll have a bed set up for you then. Are you okay?" Phoebus asked, trying to make eye contact with Clopin to no avail. The smaller man was quiet for a moment, numb, but when Phoebus squeezed his shoulder, yet another touch that was so much more gentle than the affection he'd been so lucky to receive earlier in the night, Clopin crumbled.
Big wet tears fell down his cheeks, rolling down his face, and his chin trembled.
"What's up?" Phoebus asked, staying for just a moment longer.
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what? Clo, you're like family."
"I worry you. I know I do. I just...I don't know what else to do. I need to support myself- I just-" he tried explaining, but he was too tired and upset to speak coherently. Phoebus pulled him close, hugging him so, so gentle, caressing Clopin's head with one hand, the other on his back, running his thumb up and down.
"Shhh, you don't have to explain it, it's okay. We can figure it all out in the morning. You're okay, you're safe here." he said, and Clopin hid in the safety of the crook of Phoebus' neck for a moment before pulling away and rubbing his face, looking up and into his eyes, trusting.
"I'll get you a towel, okay?"
--
The water was warm and felt the stream wash anything bad or dirty off of him, leaving him clean and renewed for whatever the future held to offer.
Esmerelda had come into the living room shortly after to check on Clopin one last time before kissing him goodnight and following her husband back to bed, leaving the man alone with Quasi on the couch in the early hours of the morning.
Clopin looked almost frail in Phoebus' shirt, like china glass that would break if you handled it too harshly, but he was clean, and that was all that mattered. Quasi rubbed his good eye.
"Might be blind," he started, "but you look so bad even I can see it." he teased, smiling playfully, hoping the joke would land.
It did, and Cloping let out a soft laugh, grateful for the humour.
"I probably do, don't I." he shook his head, glancing down.
The french bulldog was peacefully asleep between them.
Clopin didn't much energy to do anything anymore and he yawned, and blinked sleepily before signing to Quasi, "The tea was very nice. Thank you. You're a good friend, Quasimodo, I'm grateful to have you around. I love you."
Quasi put his hand out, with his middle and ring fingers down, like a "rock on" sign but with the thumb sticking out for a moment before putting his pointer finger down as well and moving his hand between his chest and Clopin's.
"I love you too."