[CONTENTID1]The Other Side of Glory[/CONTENTID1]

[CONTENTID2]Glory Return[/CONTENTID2]

[CONTENTID3]

"I knew it!" Luhan exclaimed pointing at him excitedly and practically hopping up and down. He certainly didn't look the part of multi-millionaire businessman. Xiumin didn't even reply, didn't let any expression show. Luhan had been one of the few humans he showed any emotion around, but no longer. Xiumin's affinity had always been with horses, and now that was all he would have a relationship with.

"Xiumin! What are you doing? We need to get to the winners circle!" the sheikh was eager to claim his prize, clearly. Without blinking, Xiumin turned like a robot and attempted to leave.

"What are you doing here?!" Luhan's fingers had snagged at his sleeve, but Xiumin brushed him off, not even giving a passing glance. His heart was cold, stone, and his world was a daze.

"Minseok! Answer me!" Luhan sounded desperate, frustrated, relief already fading to something akin to anger. As though he had a reason to be any of those things. Why couldn't he have just stayed in his own country? Invading South Korea to find him in the first place, then dragging him to America. He'd made it impossible for Xiumin to return to his own native land of South Korea. Luhan would have known where he was in an instant.

Xiumin pulled away and scampered through the crowd, quickly losing himself as he followed behind the taller Saeed silently.

"Why did he refer to you as Minseok?" Saeed's eyes were narrowed and Xiumin felt a small trill of fear pierce his heart. Oh god.

"He mistook me for someone else," he replied in clipped tones, gaze unwavering. Saeed didn't say anything but the sinking feeling in Xiumin's chest said more than words that the trainer was suspicious.

A quick photo op and winner's ceremony, and they were done. But it was Luhan's piercing eyes from outside the ring as he was astride Toe accepting the award that had Xiumin awake the entire night.

~~

The room was spinning slightly and the music pounded in his ears with a sickening beat. From one cliche to another, he was at a crowded club in Dubai, ready to let go with a few too many shots and cans of beer. Yet he still couldn't do it. Couldn't let loose like everyone else seemed to be able to. Couldn't be reckless and wild, letting his frustration explode from him in a senseless wave, lost. No matter how much alcohol, the desire to kiss a random stranger, dance, throw up in the disgusting bathroom, had never once appeared.

He felt mildly sick, it must be said, so much so that he didn't think he could force another shot down his throat for fear he'd pass out and wind up somewhere entirely different.

Stumbling painfully, he would have panicked over a possibly re-sprained ankle (an injury that had plagued him since the Belmont), had he not been so completely smashed. Instead he hailed a taxi, back to his small rented apartment that was way too expensive per month to be worth it, but he no longer cared. He had made quite a bit of money being on retainer for three years with the Fei family. He had been one of those 'lucky' jockeys, he'd made it.

He supposed he was still making it, he'd made $1,900, 10% of the purse today - that certainly wasn't bad money. But he really needed to start riding other horses, not just one, something he was notoriously bad at. Once he found a horse he at least liked, he stuck by them. Riding another horse for $50 didn't really feel...right, somehow. Like betrayal.

Laughing quietly to himself over his skewed morals, he forced his key into the lock and fell inside. Picking himself up he moaned as his head pounded, falling back against the now closed door. He'd never had so much alcohol in his life. In the hospital the morphine had been controlled. Here his method of pain escape was all based on free will. Sliding down the door until he collapsed onto the floor, blearily he gazed about.

His heart stopped. Shiny black leather shoes, crisp grey slacks and jacket with a cut that tilted to the feminine side. Outlining his figure to perfection, even with his eyes a haze, Xiumin choked over the realization of who it was.

"I'll forestall your inevitable question, you don't look quite up to it. I told the security guard we are the best of friends, luckily I saved some of your photos or I don't think he would have believed me. Even with all the infinite charm too...," Luhan gave a quiet chuckle. He leaned down to sniff him before pulling away sharply.

"God, Minseok, you never used to drink -"

"Get out," Xiumin whispered, head banging back against the door. He had no reason to believe Luhan would comply with his wishes, after all, he never had before.

"And leave you in this condition? No, Minseok, I have something I need to discuss with you. Though I think I shall wait until morning when I may find you in a more...well, less thoroughly uncouth state than you are now."

"My name isn't Minseok anymore. And you can't stay. Go away," though he wished to keep his head, he already felt like falling asleep right there. Damn what Luhan had to say, he never enjoyed speaking on the best of days, and now less than ever. Pushing himself up, using the wall for support, he began dragging himself to his room just a few feet down the hallway.

"Whoa, whoa, wait a second Minseok - Xiumin, whatever you fancy," Luhan caught him about the middle, "There's no way I'm leaving you alone in this state," he practically cooed in his ear. One arm under his legs, the other around his back, and Luhan was lifting him in a princess carry. It just went to show how very out of it Xiumin was, that he didn't even mind.

"There's only one bed," due to his inebriation, he found this funny, and giggled softly.

"Is that an invitation?" the smirk on Luhan's face was plain just by his tone.