Karim had been owned by rich men before. He had been taught to cook in an Archduke's mansion, and learned how deeply he enjoyed and how talented he was at cooking. The Archduke was a gourmand, a true glutton, who expected the finest foods at every meal. Karim had become a personal favorite by the time the Archduke died of a heart attack when Karim was seventeen or eighteen. He had missed having the ingredients to really cook after that, though he'd been much sought after as a slave for his skill in the kitchen and his well-trained, obedient demeanor.<br/><br/>When Karim walked to the gate of Kiri's house, in other words, he wasn't startled or taken aback. He even had enough taste left over from his time as the Archduke's beloved pet to see the marks of simplicity his former master would have scorned.<br/><br/>But never before, since he was a little boy, had his heart beat this hard waiting for his first moments with a new master.<br/><br/>Those first moments were always an act before. This was real. This was a small moment of his mother and the childhood estate, the hardships and also the joys he'd faced with Kiri. They had been so close, bosom brothers, but the pacts they'd made to always be friends, bound in spit, and the endless games they'd played, ended abruptly when Kiri was sold. A year and a half later, when Karim was newly fourteen, his mother had committed suicide to escape the attentions of their master.<br/><br/>He had no use for a teenage boy, and sold him immediately to the gladiatorial rings. From there, he'd been resold not a year later when they realized he was growing into a beautiful young boy, and could get higher coin than he'd ever get as a feeder, like the skinny little dogs in the dog fights tossed in to wet the fighting dog's desire for blood.<br/><br/>It was long ago. Karim had lived more of his life this year away from Kiri than with him.<br/><br/>He didn't know what to think or expect.<br/><br/>They reached the door and it opened before they could knock. The slaver explained Karim's contract. Kiri signed the paper and shoved them into the man's chest, who took them and turned, leaving them here. Karim stepped inside, but his eyes didn't leave Kiri's face.<br/><br/>When the door shut, and the slaver was away from Karim's private moment, Karim whispered, "Kiri. Is it really you?" He'd said it several times already, but he needed the confirmation, he needed to hear it.<br/><br/>He reached up to touch him, but put his hand back down self-consciously. "Sorry, Master," he said softly, since it was a crime in the legal code for a slave to refer to his master by name without a proper title or honorific. He couldn't wrap his head around it. It was insane—surreal as a dream.