Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It would be hard to pinpoint where it started. Technically, they made the breach when they were thirteen, when Grief managed to convince Stakh to kiss him, "just to see what it’s like", since it didn't look like either one was getting kissed anytime soon ("I don't care and don't have time for that" Stakh had said back then, but who isn't curious about this stuff?). It was alright then, nothing mindblowing, but not bad. And it was actually true that time, although Grief would end up getting kisses from Artemy and Lara in the next few months using only slightly changed versions of the same line.

So maybe it would be more accurate to say it started around two years later. By that time, Grief had already given up any semblance of what the others would call 'dignity' and flirted openly and exaggeratedly with any of his friends, but usually Artemy was the only one to join in and jokingly flirt back. Perhaps he might have gone a little too far then, but when he didn't get a snappy line or exasperated sigh from Stakh, he took it as a challenge. After all, he wasn't one to let go of a joke easily. 

But mayhaps, it wasn't that much of a joke, because when Stakh started letting him braid his hair, he jumped at the opportunity. Back then, his friend had kept it long, just past his shoulders. It was a good chance to practice what Lara had shown him before, and Stakh even let him stick flowers there, despite some easily seen-through whining. And maybe that's when they figured out touching felt nice - that, or it could have been all the bickering. Nobody managed to rile up Stakh quite like Grief (although Artemy often gave him a run for his money), and if anything, this new development in the relationship gave them a good reason to make up sooner. 

There was also something else that brought them together, something a little harder to put into words, though neither really attempted to. The friendship of their group was like a beating heart, making blood flow steadily through all the four parts, but they couldn't pretend they were all on equal footing with the world. When Captain Ravel was around it was hard to get a grip of Lara, and sometimes a tutor from outside town would stick around even when he wasn’t, and sneaking her out wasn’t always feasible. Artemy wasn't busy in the same way, but he too always had a home, a duty, and a father to return to. 

So Stakh and Grief bonded over that, without ever actually talking about it. The uncertainty of their futures was always there hanging just around the corner, and at times the unspoken jealousy and resentment over their friends’ plans and home lives would rear its ugly head. And when it did, for all their petty arguments, there was an understanding that tied them together. 

At least it did, for a while.

Slowly, the boundaries started to broaden. There were held hands under the dark of the night while sitting around the fire, then furtive, short kisses when they thought no one was looking. It wasn't even anything extraordinary - Grief, the most affectionate of the group back then, enjoyed giving kisses whenever his friends allowed (and Artemy did, more often than not). It was the secrecy that made it feel so intimate, the sneaking out to the warehouses and seeing Stakh in a way that he knew that nobody else had access to. The privilege filled him with pride, even though it wasn’t something he could exactly brag about. To be able to get around Stakh’s hard shell was truly a feat, as if he needed any more reason to want to kiss his friend's dumb face.

But secret fooling around or not, that vertice had always been the most volatile of their friend-square. Stakh valued hard work, and tried to walk the line and hold onto the opportunity to better himself wherever he could find it, while Grief… well, he didn't see much of a point to any of that, as it was. He preferred to preach about freedom and pull cool stunts. They'd fight and bicker and spend days at a time without speaking, to their other friends’ dismay, before making up and moving on from whatever it was this time,  just to argue again in a few days. It was hard to understand- one heated argument one day, just to be back to their (presumed) secret thing on the next, whispering and lagging behind when all four of them went on adventures. 

In a few months' time, Stakh became a frequent presence in the Burakh household, as he had been taken in as an apprentice by the elder Burakh after his mother’s death. So when he excused himself one night to help out Isidor with cleaning (giving Artemy a cold glare for skipping on it, which was promptly ignored), Lara and Artemy decided to confront their other friend with their theory. The three of them met at their usual spot, under the steppe night sky and around the bonfire, the weeds tickling their ankles when they walked.

“So...” Artemy had started, slumping on the ground next to Grief and nudging him with his elbow, Lara sitting on his friend’s other side. “You and Stakh, huh?"

Grief didn’t take the bait, but he could feel his face heat up. All that he could hope was that it wasn't that visible under the dim light. 

"Ah, yes, the reignin’ king of asshats…” He said, feigning idleness while checking for dirt under his fingernails.  “Whaddabout him?"

"Come on, Grief. The gig is up."

There were few that lived to see that mischievous glint in Lara Ravel's eyes, but Grief knew it well at this point. There was no running now, he might as well make it quick. He shrugged in frustration, raking his hair back and out of his forehead with his hand.

"Fine, you vultures. We've been messin’ around a bit, the two of us, so what? None of your business, last I checked. How’d ya even know?"

Lara held back her laughter, but Artemy didn't even bother with it. "We didn't, you doofus. We had a suspicion, and you just confirmed it."

“Oh.”

His eyes widened for a moment, and he covered his face with his open hand, eyes narrowed at Lara from between his fingers.

"Fuckin’ hell, Gravel. Grillin’ me up with those military tactics-" He grumbled, and Artemy gave him a friendly pat on the back. "Nah, buddy. You guys just aren’t that subtle.”

The other boy huffed, resigned, and Lara’s hand joined Artemy’s on Grief’s back.

“You guys aren’t gonna spill to Stakh that you know, right? He’d blow a fuse, lose his marbles-”

“Worry not, loverboy, your secret is safe.” Artemy assured him, with a nudge and a nod of agreement from Lara. “It would be pretty funny, though-”

“Don’t even think a’ it. Besides, it ain’t nothing like that, we basically just hang out. I mean, we, uh-” he stalled for another second before giving up, groaning and lying on his back, forearm over his eyes as if to block the (already scarce) light. “-just forget it, alright? It’s nothin.”

Lara and Artemy exchanged a satisfied glance. They were curious about it, how this had even started - or at least Artemy was, but Lara shook her head and he got the message. That was enough for the night, they’d better let him keep at least some of his secrets.

Grief was quiet for a bit, but eventually he recovered from the embarrassment, joining the conversation about some other silly topic they all knew didn’t matter in the slightest. The topic of Stakh only resurfaced briefly, to poke fun at his habitual bullheadedness, and the topic of the thing between the two of them wouldn’t come back for a long time.

"Stakh." the boy whispered, lying on his side, torso tilted towards the other boy sitting a few feet away. The lack of response made him repeat himself, slightly more impatient this time. "Ey, Stakh."

It was a pretty boring day for their little gang, all things considered. The storm raging outside had effectively trapped them in, and to make it worse, Artemy had shown up to their warehouse-lair exhausted, mumbled something about picking herbs, and immediately proceeded to crash on one of the flimsy mattresses they kept around. It was impressive how he managed to sleep like a baby on a thing like that with the relentless beating of the pouring rain against the warehouse's roof, but Grief had checked: the guy was down for the count.

Lara had a tutor this month, and therefore "homework". She had brought her books, her pencils, everything, and although Grief had spent a good hour doodling with her things, he had now grown bored of it and she was still absorbed in her studies. He knew better than to bother her when she got like this - caught up in a world that he didn't understand and didn't have any desire to be part of, and yet seemed to matter so much to her.

So that left Stakh - technically. The boy seemed at least slightly more rested than Artemy, sitting there criss-cross with a book in his hands and a concentrated frown on his face. A book, Grief thought - that was easy to beat. It was true that he had been ignored so far, but that was fine, it was just like Stakh to never make things easy, and he could appreciate that.

"Stakh." he said again, louder, almost dropping the pretense of whispering. The other boy didn't move, but from the corner of his eyes Grief saw Lara's gaze flicker toward him before returning to the book in front of her. No, this just wouldn't do. He had heard enough from Gravel for interrupting her homework time before and he wasn't interested in hearing any more.

He started considering his options - he could always get up and go bother Stakh directly, but it didn't feel like the situation was that desperate yet, so he devised a better idea: a paper ball. He took a couple of sheets from his earlier doodles (had to be more than one, for mass) and crumpled them together into a very efficient paper ball that was then launched towards the back of his friend's head. It hit the target with a soft but satisfying sound.

Stakh winced, and it took an outstanding amount of self-control not to pick up the paper ball and try to shove it down Grief's throat. But no, that would be admitting defeat - the little pest wanted attention, and he couldn't concede yet. It wasn't even about truly finding him a nuisance -in truth,  he had read this book before, and was frankly a little bored, so the distraction wasn’t entirely unwelcome.  No, he ignored him purely out of spite, a position that had been cemented by that damned paper ball. And Grief knew that - of course, the fool was a lot less dumb than he liked to pretend he was. Most of the time, he even seemed to be willing to back off when Stakh actually wanted to be left alone, so he allowed for times like these, too. It was a pretty stupid game, but that's how games are, aren't they? To have fun you have to indulge in stupid a bit,  and to his credit, Grief seemed to be better at it than any of them.

The sound of the rain masked the sound of movement, and it took Stakh by surprise when he felt the sudden proximity, a warm presence almost against his back, making him tense up, blood rushing to his face. Then fingers running over his hair, tugging slightly, pulling it to the side so the invader of his personal space could rest his chin on his shoulder. "Hey, jackass. You ignorin' me?" 

"Yeah."

Silence. Artemy's snores got significantly louder.

"Yeah?" Grief asked, eyebrows raised, genuinely confused.

"Yeah. Didn't you hear me?"

"Hm." He could see the outline of Stakh's smirk from this position, and smiled back. Smartass. With another glance towards Lara (nose still buried in her work) and Artemy (still passed out), he shifted behind his friend, putting his arms around him. "Not doing that great of a job, then."

They kept whispering, confident the weather would provide cover.

"Not looking for your approval."  Silence.

"-okay, huh," Grief leaned in further, trying to see his friend's whole face. "Imma need you to be more clear if ya want me to back off. I was thinkin' we-" 

Stakh turned his face, lips brushing against his friend’s cheek as he spoke, mumbling. "Shut up, she's going to hear you."

Grief jerked back in surprise, then opened a big smile, hiding his blushing face on his friend's hair.

"Gotcha. Quiet as a mouse, leave it to me." 

"-just go, I'll follow in a second." Stakh cut in before he could say more, which earned him an even bigger grin.

"Promise?" Grief booped his nose with his finger.

"Get out of here." The tone was sly, playful, and he didn't need to be told twice, crawling off beyond the mat where Artemy slept and onto a corner obscured by a bunch of crates left by whoever had used this warehouse before them. He had claimed this spot as his personal "nest", and decorated it with blankets and a few pieces of junk he found interesting. The main purpose of it was just to sleep (it was where he would spend most of his nights), but he had grown to see it as his own private space.

Stakh followed a couple of minutes later, closing his book and walking off with such rehearsed casualness that Lara would have been suspicious, had she looked up. But of course she didn't, Lara was busy doing real things, for her future.

Grief grabbed at his ankle when he got past the crates, and Stakh shook him off with a 'shh' before flopping down and being immediately taken in a tight hug. It would feel strange to remember it years later, this kind of hug - Grief stopped giving them away so freely not that long after, and Stakh had never been a big hugger, even more so now that his limbs had grown so much longer and awkward so quickly. But the spontaneity of the hug as Grief pulled him down was such that he couldn't stop from holding him back as they tumbled down, his friend peppering his face with short kisses.

The distraction lasted a little less than half an hour, since more than that would be more suspicious than Stakh was willing to be (Grief, who knew Lara was well aware of things at this point, found it hard to resist the temptation of arguing, but conceded). He went back for his book, skimmed through the pages, and waited. At one point, a loud thunder startled Artemy awake, and Lara put away her homework not long after, then Grief left his hiding place and joined the group again. The storm lasted several more hours and well into the night, leaving them trapped inside the warehouse for the meanwhile, but with all the chatting and making up games to pass the time it didn't really feel that long. 

As the four of them grew older, comfortable evenings like these would grow more and more infrequent.

Chapter Text

If Rubin had thought about it back then, he could have seen the cracks when they had started to show. Maybe he did, in the back of his mind. At least, it was obvious when the cracks had become too much to bear. That would have been hard to miss indeed. At a certain point, tensions between the four of them had started to rise over any issue, no matter how small. There had been joking discussions over how a cow would wear pants that had turned into bitter arguments about their futures. A memorable one had been just a couple of weeks before Artemy had left for the Capital. It had been getting progressively more difficult to gather together as a complete group, with Rubin working more with Isidor, Grief disappearing mysteriously with his new “friends”, and Artemy making preparations to leave. 

The hurt they all had felt at that particular issue tended to bubble up and catch one another in the crossfire when it burst-- and it happened often these days. It certainly wasn’t the only issue among the four of them, but it was a big fresh wound.

“You’re late,” Rubin muttered that one night, when Artemy finally had shown up. The three of them had been waiting for him. Rubin had almost left. 

“Sorry. But I’m here now.” Artemy sat down, pulling his hands out of his pockets to warm them against the fire.

“Oh great,” Rubin snarled. “The high and mighty Artemy Burakh graces us with his presence. The rest of us should be grateful he even took time out of his busy day to see us.”

 Lara sighed from her seat next to him. 

“Stakh, shut it, let’s just relax,” Grief complained from across the fire.

“Yeah?” Rubin turned his glare to Grief now, who held eye contact for a moment before ducking his head and uncapping a bottle. He lifted it to his lips. “I haven’t seen much of you around either--” He could’ve sworn that Artemy and Lara gave each other a look at that, but he ignored it. “-- guess you decided you’re too good for the rest of us just like Cub did.”

“Twyrine?” Artemy asked Grief. Grief nodded, passing the bottle. 

“New recipe. Lemme know if I’m gettin’ any good at it.”

“See?” Rubin’s righteous anger grew. “New friends, new shady enterprises. Butchering Steppe recipes, now. Is this what you’ve been doing the last few days?”

Artemy took a long drink from the bottle and then coughed hard. He grimaced and shook his head as he handed it back to Grief. “This is undrinkable .”

Rubin was immovable. “Are you going to answer me?”

“Come on, Stakh,” Lara said, rolling her eyes. “Can we not ?”

“What,” Rubin shot back, “we can’t have discussions with each other now? Let him answer the damn question.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you. You give me a roof over my head and start fixin’ my clothes and then you can give me a curfew and treat me like a child all ya like.”

“He--” Artemy started.

“You, shut up. You lost your right to an opinion here the moment you decided to leave us.”

Artemy’s mouth snapped shut and he glared at Rubin. “... That’s not fair.”

“Tough.”

“If you three are going to argue all night, I’m leaving,” Lara announced, scowling.

“Fine. Go.”

“ God , Rubin! For our sanity’s sake, take a break from your pathetic pity party!” Grief was glaring at him as well. Lara was already halfway back to town, having left without saying goodbye. The rest of them split soon after, when it had become clear that the night would only get worse. It had been the last time the four of them had been together as a full group for a long, long time.

And then, Artemy had left them for a brighter future in the Capital, and the three remaining sunk deeper into their own worlds. At the beginning, there was an attempt to keep things normal. They got together a few times here and there, but nothing felt the same. The absence of their friend stung-- more so than ever when they would try to get together. Nobody really talked about it. There wasn’t much they could talk about, these days. There were invisible walls now, all around each of them.

Rubin was happy to take on the rest of the responsibilities Artemy had abandoned. If he wanted to leave all of them-- including his father, for some fancy school in the Capital, that was fine. He would do better, he decided, and nobody could take that away from him. 

Following that, he and Grief’s little arrangement broke down quickly. Even when they weren’t fighting, finding the time to meet up was a challenge. Their secret time together was pushed aside to make room for the more important things going on in their lives. 

Every so often, they would bump into each other, both with a look in their eyes that almost certainly meant they would spend the night together. Despite everything, in these moments, things almost felt normal again. Sneaking out, holding hands and exchanging kisses under the cover of night, out on the train tracks, or even by the Gorkhon… It felt familiar. The world was changing, but at least, for now, there was this. The two of them no longer talked much-- it led to arguments most of the time, but Rubin was content to sit in silence beside Grief until one of them decided to break the tension and lean into the other’s embrace. 

No amount of sneaking could repair the damage sustained, though, and soon even the best nights ended in bitter arguments, regardless of how much they spoke. It was evident that the era of somewhat peaceful nights together was long over.

Rubin could remember the last night they spent together, even now, despite himself. They had met in the steppe at dusk, and just sat together for a long time in complete silence, each exchausted from things that were better not talked about. It felt nice to just lean against each other and do nothing, wait until the tension drained and it felt natural again.. He couldn't remember exactly who made the first move then, but it had gotten easier after a while. Tentative cheek kisses turned into touching, holding, the warmth of human contact was at least one subject they could still agree on.

 After a while, when it had gotten too cold, Grief had taken his hand. He had led the taller boy (man, now, really) through the warehouse district, pulling a heavy door open and leading him inside. 

“Oh, so now we're breaking into Vlad's warehouses?” Rubin commented, serious, face twisting into a frown. Grief turned around and winked with a grin. 

“Not quite, my dear, you see,  this one’s my own! Thought I needed a new base of operations an’ all that, and the boss agreed. Big things are comin’ my way, after all... Whaddya think?”

“...” Rubin pulled his hand away, scowling. Grief frowned and leaned against a pile of boxes. 

“Really? You really thought I’d be on board with this?!”

“Come on, Stakh, don’t be so uptight now! A king’s gotta have his castle! You’re no fun at all.”

“You? A king? Don’t make me laugh.” 

It was Grief’s turn to scowl. “I thought you’d be happy for me, movin’ up in the world and all that. From a street urchin to a kingpin! And only getting better from here!”

“You’re ridiculous. This is ridiculous,” Rubin muttered, refusing to look at him. He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to leave.

“Stakh--” Grief grabbed his arm, an emotion that Rubin couldn’t quite place creeping into his voice. Anxiety, maybe, hurt? He couldn’t tell, but it didn’t matter. This was Grief , after all, he knew how to put on an act.  

“I’m done,” he said, not turning back to face him. “I mean it. I don’t want anything to do with any of this. I don’t want anything to do with you. Don’t fucking drag me down with you, Filin.”

And with that, Rubin was gone. He made his way back to the Burakh house alone, arms wrapped around himself against the cold. It snowed that night, the first snow of that year.  

After that, instead of sneaking around with some try-hard criminal,  Rubin threw himself into his work with even more vigor and dedication than before. He made sure he saw much less of Grief, avoiding him when possible and ignoring him when it wasn’t, but Lara… some friendships just crumble under time, he supposed. They would still bump into each other every so often-- sometimes even attempt a conversation, but things felt stiff, unnatural. Her eyes seemed to be growing colder, tired, and he was sure that his were the same. Eventually, the awkward small talk became too much to bear, and they stopped trying to force it. 

People grow apart. Friendships weren’t made to last forever, so what? Why put energy into dying friendships when he had his studies to focus on? He still had much to learn, and time was more valuable than gold, especially with Isidor’s original heir off galavanting in far off cities. 

Nothing convinced him that he had made the right choice more than the disaster in the Crude Sprawl, the first outbreak of the Sand Pest, an occasion in which Isidor Burakh had, more than ever, risen above. The impression that it left on Rubin added to the deep respect he already had for the man. He buried his head in his work even more, devoting every waking moment to learning what he could from his mentor.

And that was why he found himself late one night in his small flat, going over his notes from the day, determined to grasp one of the more challenging concepts he had been taught. The night was calm, a gentle rain tapping against his window. One could almost say he was at peace. Almost.

It didn’t last long. His head shot up as he heard an odd noise outside his door-- steps out in the hallway, something bumping against the wall. He got up quietly, holding his breath, and tried to find anything within reach that could make a good weapon.  He most definitely wasn't expecting visitors tonight, and despite Isidor's protection, there were still people who would be happy to have him gone. He flinched when an agitated thumping began, followed by the doorknob rattling and turning as if the person outside had completely given up any pretense of secrecy. The turning of the doorknob got more and more frantic, shaking noisily, like the intruder had run out of patience (it had to be a burglar or an assassin, Rubin thought, why else would anyone be so desperate to get in?). He crept towards the door, slowly, muscles tense, when-- 

“Stakh,” a familiar slurred voice came from the other side of the door. Rubin took a deep sigh. Not an assassin, then, just a petty thief. “Open up, I can see yer shadow there-”

He took a breath and massaged his temple before opening the door a crack, glaring daggers at his new guest. “What the fuck do you want?”

Grief stood before him, leaning on the doorway as if he wanted to give the impression of nonchalance, eyes out of focus and a flush over his cheeks, strands of red hair stuck to his forehead with either rainwater or sweat. The strong and distinctive smell of twyrine made Rubin somewhat nauseous.

“Uh- I was in the neighborhood, and I thought... huh, heard Stakh lives around here now.” Grief pocketed the lockpick he hadn’t even bothered to hide and tried to grab the door to force it open the rest of the way. “C’mon, don't - why are ya looking at me like that? 'tis your good ol' friend Grief, remember?”

“I wish I didn't,” Rubin replied dryly. “Get the hell out.”

“You ain't even lemme in yet-"

“ Out .”

“I just thought ya-” Grief gave up pushing the door open, and instead slipped his arm through the crack in the door, putting his hand on Rubin's chest, grasping at the fabric of his shirt. “Just thought ya would be lonely, ya know? We haven’t seen each other in so long…!”

He laughed and winked awkwardly, the twyrine coming off strong in his breath. Rubin, in his hurry to push his hand away, let his hold on the door slip and the other man (ever opportunistic, he thought for a split second) managed to worm his way into the apartment and lean in close, throwing his arms around his neck. He pulled the taller man down closer, until their faces were only inches apart.

“I missed this,” he mumbled, fluttering his eyelashes for effect.

“ Get away from me - what is wrong with you? How did you even know I moved here?” He pushed Grief away, who looked with confused betrayal in his eyes for a moment, then shrugged, scowling up at him.

“Didya get taller since I last saw you? Or did I shrink?”

“No.”

“I coulda sworn-”

“Get the hell out,” he repeated firmly. Grief rolled his eyes and scoffed, then reached inside a pocket of his (frankly ridiculous) oversized coat and took out a half-filled glass bottle. Rubin slapped it out of his hands when he had it halfway to his lips, and the thing hit the floor loudly-- it didn’t break, but left a sticky, dark puddle behind. Grief groaned, throwing his hands in the air.

“Aaw, what didya do that for? I was gonna share, I swear, I brought it as a gift-”

“I don't want your gifts, Filin. Go find someone else to bother.”

“You didn't have to be so fuckin' rude, then! Hell, Stakh, try to have fun once in yer life-"

“Leave." he cut him off, pointing to the door.

Grief stared at him for a moment, squinting as if he was trying to gain focus, then swayed forward to face him again with a cynical smirk.

“Gonna go back to yer precious doctor work, then?” He asked, stepping closer. The movement made Rubin take a step back, taken aback by the sudden boldness of his tone. It didn’t take him long to recover, though, and he scowled and pushed back.

“Yes, in fact--”

“Yeah yeah, we know, Stakh, you’re sooo much better than me, than what I do,” he said slowly, with disdain. “...but at least I'm not trynna replace Cub.”

Rubin opened his mouth to retort but Grief put a finger over it as if to shush him, as if they were just playing, an unexpected move that earned him extra time to carry on wiggling his metaphorical knife through the other man's defenses.

“C’mon, what are ya trynna achieve here?  You're not the man's son, you don't even know the - you can't know the... uh what was it called again…? Eh, whatever.” He flippantly traced something in the air.

“Shut the fuck up,” Rubin cut in, voice rising, hands balling into fists.

Grief just laughed in response. No humor to it at all, just bitter malice. 

“Get out of here. Now."

“Open your fuckin eyes, Stakh! You can pretend as hard as you want, but as soon as the prodigal son returns, you're gonna be left in the dust again.” Grief leaned in so close that Rubin could feel his warm twyrine breath again, seemingly delighted at the scene he was creating. The taller man stared at him in shock, unable to do anything but shake in rage. “I mean, I'm sure you're a great charity case, hard-working, dearest Stakh --”

“Shut UP!” Rubin yelled. He swung a punch at Grief without thinking, but the traitorous snake managed to duck out of his reach. With any further thought obscured by righteous anger, Rubin swiftly managed to grab onto his ridiculous little scarf. Grief sneered at him at first, the picture of confidence, but as he lifted his gaze to see a kind of rage he didn't recognize in his friend's eyes, his bravado seemingly seeped out to be replaced by fear. Working on his chosen field, Grief had gotten pretty good at smelling danger by now.  He clawed at Rubin's hand, trying to wiggle out of his grasp, slurring and tripping over his words. 

“Stakh-- look, Rubin, I'm sorry, alright? I just thought if I came here, ya would, ya could--”

“You thought I could what?” Rubin repeated, sounding hollow. He was pulling Grief up, dangling him off the ground, letting his toes just graze the floor. Grief avoided his eyes, trying to look anywhere else. Rubin felt sick again, like he needed to throw up, and it wasn't only from the twyrine smell now. “Go on, asshole. What did you think?"

Grief flinched, bringing his hands in front of his face as if anticipating a punch. “Just forget about it, pretty please? It was just ol’ bird-brained Grief not thinking things through as usual, just forget it, okay? … Please. ” 

There was a long stretch of silence where Rubin just stared at his old friend while Grief's quick and short breathing started turning into whimpers. It all felt so ridiculous, he almost wanted to laugh. So, this was Bad Grief,  Town-On-Gorkhon's newest criminal kingpin, shit-faced and pleading like a frightened child on his front door. That's what they had come to.

 Finally, he let go of Grief’s scarf and let him drop to the floor. He didn't bother looking down, but he heard him hit the ground, hard,  and scramble to his feet. Grief reached for the lockpick in his pocket, but the small iron tool slipped through his shaky fingers and landed on the floor with a loud clink. He kept his eyes on Rubin, wide and alert.

“Stakh, I -”

“Get out,” he snarled, making the other jump back. “Get the hell out. I'm not going to hit you, but don’t let me catch you around here again.”

It felt like an eternity before he heard the scrape of Grief’s unstable footsteps as he walked back to the door, flinching as he heard him stumble over the fallen twyrine bottle. That was another mess that he'd have to clean, Rubin thought, feeling numb. He wasn’t even angry anymore, it was like it was happening to someone else and he was just watching it from outside. What a pathetic scene. What pathetic people.

The sound of the door slamming shut snapped him out of his trance, and as he stood there, alone, in his empty room, he felt rage wash over him again. His breath began to quicken until his chest was heaving and his hands started to shake. Clenching them into fists didn’t help, but regardless, he squeezed them so tight he left indents in his palm from his short nails. It wasn’t enough, but it was better than nothing.

A few more seconds, and he felt in control enough to walk towards the door. As the lock slid into place with a quiet click , his eye caught his reflection on a mirror hung on the wall, and he turned to look at it. His bloodshot eyes and ugly scowl stared right back at him, angry tears starting to form. His breath was coming in short, quick bursts, and he didn’t know how long he stood there, but--

The crash of the glass splintering against his fist was a much needed release, and so was the blood trickling down his knuckles as the rest of the mirror fell and shattered against the floor. He kicked away the bigger pieces that landed on his shoes and cursed himself, hands still shaking violently. There might have been tears running down his face at that point, but he didn't care for that, didn’t have time for that, so he just wiped his face and ran his bloody hand under the cold water from the sink. 

This wasn't so bad, was it? If Grief had learned to leave him alone for good, this was for the best. Cutting off the rot for good so it wouldn’t infect the rest, or something like that.

He dried his hand on a cloth, then wrapped the cuts in gauze without paying much attention to what he was doing. Attempting to revise his notes after that proved fruitless, as he could barely focus, and he ended up reading the same few lines over and over until the sun rose.

The crooked, half-broken lockpick still lay on the floor. The puddle of twyrine did too, staining the floorboards and infecting the room with a sickly sweet odor.

Rubin pointedly ignored them both. 

Of course, he was asked about the gauze the next day, but a mumbled excuse about a “stupid accident” was enough to satisfy Isidor’s curiosity. He didn’t see Grief for a long time afterward, and when the asshole turned up months later to ask for Rubin’s help patching up one of his men, he didn’t mention that night. Rubin didn’t either, refusing to help his thugs. And that’s how things more or less stayed, each drifting further away into their own particular world, until catastrophe hit.

Chapter Text

It had been three days since Artemy returned to town. Almost four, now.

Grief expected that he'd be the first one to arrive at their little reunion. In fact, he expected that nobody would come at all, considering the news that had broken in the afternoon about the Sand Pest. Artemy was probably drowning in new duties, and Rubin... Rubin probably wouldn't come even if there had been no bad news at all. 

To his surprise, he found out when he arrived that Lara was already there at their spot by the apple basket, sitting on a rolled-up mat with a book in hand. It was far too dark to read, he noticed, and she was probably just staring at it and letting her mind wander. Either way, he felt like he was interrupting something. "Hey, Gravel. I brought some wood for the fire."

"Hi, Grief. Good, just leave it."

There was silence for a moment as he dropped off the wood, and Lara slowly raised her eyes from the book to look at him. He hadn't been under her gaze much lately, but he could feel the cold from it. Lara always had a powerful glare, but since Captain Ravel died, it had turned icy. Grief shuffled on his feet.

"So uh, you think they comin' or-"

"They will. Just sit down and wait, they’ll come."

Silence again. Oh, Gravel, obstinate and willful Gravel, still acting like if she wished hard enough, she could make anything happen, even in times like these. He sat on a chair opposite to her, with the small fire between them.

"You okay?" An attempt to make conversation. She nodded impatiently.

"Yes. Yeah, I'm fine. After all, what do I have to worry about? I'm not the one who is going to have to deal with this mess up close."

He nodded sheepishly. Was that referencing Artemy and Rubin being doctors, comparing themselves to the two of them? It was better not to prod. It was just like Lara to feel bad for not being able to help as much as someone else. A couple of minutes passed where only the crackling of the growing fire and the singing of the insects of the steppe could be heard between them, and Grief fidgeted with the sleeve of his coat. Then Lara spoke again, her voice still cautious, but softer.

"...how are you?"

"Fantastic, thanks for askin'." He said, perking up and giving her a small bow and a smile. Lara grimaced.

"Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"This, all the faking. Pretending everything is alright."

"Gravel, what's yer damage? Calm down-"

"-don't you dare tell me to calm down."

"Fine! Things have gone to the dogs. Whaddya even want me to say?"

Silence again. They glared at each other until Lara sighed, shaking her head and averting her gaze again.

"Sorry. It's all so much right now... I'm glad you're alive. I worry about you, you know, and the rumors-"

He cut her off, defensive, annoyance clear in his tone. "Yeah. Uh- I missed you too."

"Don’t be like that! I missed you, of course, but you know what I mean-"

The sound of a branch snapping announced the arrival of a third person, and the two turned to look. The tension was so big that they had managed to miss Rubin until he got up close. Under the cover of the shadows, Grief’s body tensed up. For a few seconds they all just looked at each other.

"Stakh..." Lara broke the silence, again.

"Hello, Lara." In theory,  it was somewhat reassuring to have someone else getting the brunt of Lara's glare, but as Rubin came closer and she got up to give him a short hug, Grief felt completely on his own again. For a few moments as they talked in serious whispers just out of his hearing, Grief imagined he wasn’t there at all, and that Artemy would come and the three of them would talk and have their happy reunion without him and form a wonderful small team to combat the plague, or mourn his loss, or something like that. It would all be pretty touching.

But the fantasy didn't even last a full minute, and soon he could feel Rubin's eyes on him. With a sudden burst of courage (or resignation, perhaps), he looked right back.

"Grief."

"Long time no see, huh?"

"Well, I was in no rush." Rubin mumbled. Grief scoffed at that, relaxing slightly. That was their old bitter Stakh, alright.

“Yeah, I could tell by how you’ve been avoidin’ me like I already have the plague.'' He said, with a joyless grin.

Between them, the fire crackled and shot sparks into the air. 

“... I’m glad at least one of us can make light of the situation. Great time for your business, isn’t it?” Rubin muttered, arms crossed from where he was. Next to him, Lara grimaced.

Is this how he wanted to play it? Fine. 

“For both of us, isn't that right, Stakh darling? One of my men saw you stalking 'round the graveyard not long too ago. If ‘tis really the Sand Pest, you won’t have to walk so far anymore just for some stiffs.” 

Rubin got up, fists balled and eyes dark with fury.

"I'm trying to save lives, you asshole! People are being murdered in the streets because of you! Lara, you know-” He turned to their other friend, who put her hands up, glowering.

“I don’t know anything. Neither of you have bothered to talk to me for years.”

“Oh c’mon. Don’t play the victim here, Gravel, I tried back in the day, and neither of you have had any love to give for your old pal-”

“... And I’m sure you know why that is, don’t you?” She cut him off, voice stern, daring him to answer. Grief opened his mouth to answer, but the reproaching faces of both his friends (if that word even applied anymore) made him close it again. Something that had been creeping up for the last couple of days reared its head for a moment, and he took a deep breath and dropped his eyes to the ground, letting shame, guilt and anger wash over. Why did he even agree to come? Of course it would be like this. The silence lay heavy over them as the cold September wind made itself known. Rubin sat back down across from him, staring at the fire, and Grief chose to look at the flames instead of facing either of his friends. Finally, after a couple of minutes that felt like an eternity, Lara took a deep sigh.

“... Whatever. None of this really matters much anymore, it’s old news. Cub needs us now.” From the corner of his eyes, Grief saw Rubin wince. “I’ll just have to be the bigger person here and say it’s time to put all this behind us. No more arguing.”

“...” Grief and Rubin exchanged a glance, then both looked over at Lara. She was staring at the fire as they had been, but her gaze was resolute, lips pressed together tightly into a firm line. 

“... No way you’re the bigger person here, Gravel. Look at how big this guy is. ” He pointed at Rubin without looking at him and then held his breath as he waited for a response, for the two of them to yell at him again or something. But then, Lara snorted. The hint of a smile ghosted over her face. And for a too-short second, the tension seemed to dissipate slightly and it was a little easier to breathe. Even Rubin seemed to calm down a little.

And it was Rubin who first heard the steps, turning to look at the large silhouette running towards them from the direction of the town. Then the others did too, but nobody said anything until Artemy was close enough to hear, the light of the fire revealing a sweaty, tired face.

"'been running, Cub?"

"Yeah. Sorry I'm late, I had… a thing to take care of."

They all shrugged. Rubin rolled his eyes and got up on his feet, and it was to him that Artemy turned first.

"I better get going. I have a lot to do."  Of course. They all had wasted too much of Stakh’s time already.

"I didn't expect you to come." Artemy said what they were all thinking.

"Neither did I. I -"

It felt intrusive to listen in on the conversation, so Grief tuned it out and turned to Lara instead. It really had been a while since they had seen each other, and it seemed like she had grown so much older since they had all been around a fire like this, he could see it in the bags under her eyes, the smallest signs of wrinkles at the corners. She looked back at him, her eyebrows knitted together in thought. When he lifted one of his own as if to ask what she was thinking about, she shook her head, and then after another moment, her lips moved to form a silent 'sorry'. Or at least, that's how he wanted to interpret it. He gave her a discreet thumbs up and a tired half-smile. For a moment, things felt a little like old times, with Artemy's and Stakh's voices alternating in the background.

Then it was Lara's turn to talk to Artemy, and he turned his gaze to Rubin. Their eyes met and for a moment it was like they were seeing each other for the first time that night, actually looking. God - the guy looked like hell. Both of them did, probably, but Stakh looked like he was barely holding the flesh on his bones, thin as a rail compared to how imposing he used to be. Grief thought about saying something, perhaps that it looked like he hadn't been able to get much sleep without him around, but Rubin looked away again with his perpetual frown and he gave up on saying anything.

The conversation with Artemy went like expected.  Grief explained to him again exactly how fucked the town was if this was anything like the last outbreak, and how he himself was fucked in particular. The guy was naive in a way, optimistic, maybe all doctors have to be to a degree (even Stakh, secretly... maybe). The hug afterwards was short, but strong, just like Cub's always had been, and it may have even caused Grief’s eyes to get just a little misty. Or maybe it was the twyre air of September, the fire, the lack of sleep. Nobody noticed, and as it should be, nobody gave a shit.

Artemy’s stay was brief, claiming that he was dying of exhaustion and needed to get ready for the next day. As his heavy footsteps grew quieter and further away, things grew tense between the three remaining again. Rubin stood up for the third time, ready to  leave before another argument started, but he stopped when Lara spoke, raising her voice to be heard clearly:

“... Grief, tell me, and don’t lie. Those men, the ones killing and cutting, are they under your orders?”

“Of course they are, Lara, he-” Rubin jumped in.

"-I didn’t ask you, Stakh, I asked him.”

Grief glared at Rubin with contempt, and was met with the same fire. Another silent pause. Grief groaned.

"Who the fuck do y'all think I am?" He could almost physically feel the weight of his friend's judging gaze. "Shit, of course not! It's all chaos right now, they ain't listening to me no more."

Stakh gritted his teeth and Grief could feel the man’s mistrustful gaze on him, but Lara just nodded, serious, her arms crossed. “... Alright. I believe you.”

He bit back a remark about it being oh-so-merciful of her to believe him and instead shot her a half-assed attempt at a smile. She responded in kind, but neither really reached their eyes.

Rubin shrugged, mumbled a goodbye, and turned to leave without saying anything else, although Lara intercepted him and gave them all a short hug before heading off her own way. 

"The last one before disaster strikes'', she said as she put an arm around each of them. Grief later contemplated if she wanted one of them to walk her back to the Backbone (what with all the thugs running around at night now), but frankly, he would rather not go back to the town so soon tonight anyway. Watching the dawn in the Steppe used to be a thing they took for granted and he had almost forgotten about it, but now he wanted to stay and see it again one more time, since who knows if there would be another opportunity. Tomorrow he could go back to his Nest, to the criminal heart of Town-On-Gorkhon where all that bloody, shambling business was waiting for him, but for now, he wanted to make this night last just a little longer.

Rubin stood outside the door to Grief's lair, hesitating. Thinking. Maybe sulking a bit, but that was beside the point. He had gone over this a million times in his head - there was no way around it. He needed help. He needed help, and as much as he hated to admit it, Grief was his best shot right now. If he was lucky, the man could at least buy him enough time to finish...

His pride was worthless next to his work, more now than ever. He stalled for a moment more, drew in a deep breath and opened the door. Held his head high as he walked across the threshold and past idle men to approach Grief’s ridiculously flamboyant throne. The man had been talking with one of his crooks when Rubin entered, some shady-looking guy in a green cap, but he got quiet as soon as he caught sight of his new guest, turning to face him with a wide grin.

“Well, well, well, look at what the storm tossed in my shore today...” he spoke, dragging out the words and leaning back lazily in an attempt to hide his unease. If Rubin hadn’t known the man as well as he did for so long, he could have believed it.

“To what do I owe the visit, Stakh?”

“I…” Rubin paused, shoulders tense. He couldn't let old grievances get in the way of this. “...I need a favor.”

“A favor? From moi ? The lowly thief?” He said with facetious shock, bringing a hand to his chest. Rubin struggled not to scoff, but before he even could, Grief leaned forward with a glint in his eye.  

“Shoot. Whaddya need?”

Rubin shifted uncomfortably. He would’ve been annoyed by the antics if he wasn’t so goddamn tired - but he couldn't afford to waste time arguing right now. Instead, he averted his eyes, looking around the warehouse instead. Grief's men... not all of them were looking at him, but even the ones who had their eyes elsewhere were obviously paying attention. Waiting for something. His eyes met the mute dark gaze of a herb bride (what was one doing here? a friend of Grief's?) sitting near a corner and his blood ran cold, eyes quickly returning to Grief. “The less people that know, the better.” 

“These ain’t snitches, Stakh. My boys know how ta’ keep their traps shut.”

"Is that so? I heard you've had some issues recently," Rubin responded, impassive.

Grief glared at him before sighing dramatically and standing up slowly, making a big show of it. He stepped off his dais and circled the taller man, eyes narrowed like a hawk circling a prey - or a merchant sizing up his wares. Rubin forced down the bubble of anger he felt rising through his chest at the thought. Grief could do whatever performance he wanted, it didn't matter as long as he could finish his work.

Suddenly,seemingly having made up his mind, Grief made a gesture with his hand, some kind of sign that immediately caused his men to busy themselves with quiet conversation or some other pointless activity. Apparently satisfied with the reaction, he reached to grab Rubin's sleeve, but the man yanked it out of his hands, stepping back, his adrenaline spiking with the sudden movement. He recoiled, squeezing his hands into fists. Grief just looked at him with annoyed surprise, and shook his head.

"Fine, be like that, then! Just follow me." He grabbed a lantern from the top of a crate and walked back around his throne and near some boxes to the back wall of the warehouse, pulling some draperies out of the way to reveal a door. He held the door for Rubin, who ducked through, still feeling the herb bride’s gaze burning on the back of his head until the door slammed behind them.

“Let's get to the point. What pickle didya get yourself into?” Grief asked, leaning against the wall. Rubin scanned his surroundings, alert. It wasn’t much different from the other side of the warehouse with boxes strewn about, only smaller, more cramped. 

“What’s this?” 

“The business side. Backstage. Nothin’ ya'd be interested in.”

“I didn’t expect this place,” He ran a hand down his face, closing his eyes and trying to think for a moment. The other at least gave him the time to collect his thoughts, despite the scowl. “... Do you have any more of these spaces free? I need a workspace, somewhere hidden.”

“A workspace? I thought you had a whole apartment just for you. And whaddabout your new best buddy, Doc Fancypants, can't he help? '' Grief sneered, but it quickly faltered under Rubin's withering look. When he spoke again, he was serious, voice lowered. “... how bad is it?”

“Bad. I don't have much time left, and I can't tell you more than that.”  He took a deep breath. “I'm at the edge of finding something that could save everyone, and if I can't finish my work now, everything will be lost. I'll never ask anything of you again- ”

“Finally bit off more than ya could chew, eh, Stakh?”

“I’m serious -”

Grief gave a cynical snort.

“When aren't ya? You and Cub both, with your big, big ideas, to save everybody,” he rolled his eyes at how Rubin's face scrunched up at the comparison.  “Anyway- listen, I think I have somewhere for ya.”

“How soon can I move there?”

“I could show you now, if you don't have anywhere else to be.”

"Please do."

Grief huffed, then walked past him to another back door, this one leading outside. Rubin winced at the cold wind on his face, and watched as Grief mechanically turned up the collar of his coat to protect against the rain. They walked in silence a short ways, Grief treading calmly, silently, while Rubin struggled to not jump at any unfamiliar sound or strange shadow. When they reached a small, inconspicuous warehouse, Grief pulled a key off of a ring in his endless pockets. He unlocked the door and pulled it open, shaking the rain out of his hair.

“'tis no palace, but I know nobody comes here.” He spoke, once they were both inside with the door firmly shut behind. He tossed his friend the key, looking satisfied when he caught it. A smile, almost. “Think it’ll work?”

Rubin looked around and felt the weight on his shoulders lessen, just a tiny bit. He could survive another day here, yes. He nodded.

Silence. The sound of the rain against the steel roof of the warehouse felt almost comforting, familiar, even after so many years.

Grief’s voice pulled him back out of his thoughts.

“... hey, ya been sleepin’ at all? The bags under your eyes are big enough to carry a -”

“I’m fine,” he interrupted, exhausted annoyance rushing back to him.

“Are ya, really?”

“Yes.” Rubin practically barked back the word. He didn't have the energy for a potential argument. Grief seemed to resign himself to that, even if he didn't bother to look convinced. 

“I guess this makes us neighbors now, huh? I'll stop around to check-”

"Don't. Forget this place after you leave today. I mean it - for your own safety."

Grief raised his eyebrows in disbelief, then squinted like he was trying to see through him. Rubin held his gaze, stubborn, refusing to give him anything. After a few tense seconds,  Grief backed down, pressing his lips together tightly with a frown. Rubin couldn’t quite read his expression as he started walking towards the door, dragging his feet a bit, stalling when he reached it. Rubin looked down at the key in his hands, then back up at the other man. This felt a little too much like a debt and he didn't like it, but it was his only option.

“... Thank you.” he said, in a tone softer than anything Grief had heard from him in a long time. He turned back around to face him, an odd twinkle in his eye, and for a  short moment, the tension in the room almost disappeared. 

The moment came and went, and the room felt just as cold and hollow as before.

“Don't mention it,” he replied with a joyless smirk. "'tis what friends do, y’know.”

Grief turned and walked out into the rain, leaving Rubin to try to figure out what he was trying to imply, if anything. He frowned at the door for a moment, then shook himself out of it. It was almost nightfall. He’d have to move quickly.

Grief wouldn't be able to pinpoint the moment when it all had ended  - even if he kept track of the time (which he hadn't, not lately), it had a way of its own inside the cathedral. He thought he understood it better now-- not completely, but he had the shape of it, at least. That tower outside, though, twisting up impossibly from the ground... that was something he could never hope to understand. He had never been up there - he wouldn't be allowed in, nor had he any particular desire to try - but he knew it was something out of this world, something that could only exist in dreams. 

As it turned out, even dreams were vulnerable to artillery, and he ducked on the floor with a start, hands going instinctively to protect his head when the loud CRACK echoed through the cathedral and the ground beneath him started to shake. For a long, terrible moment, it felt like the earth itself was roaring in pain, writhing and turning. Outside, it probably lasted no more than a moment, but everything in the Cathedral lasted longer, and Grief sat there, curled in on himself while the sound bounced through the empty space and the walls seemed like they were about to cave in on him. Crushed by a giant clock - that would be such a thematically appropriate way to go, he thought to himself. Very fitting... If that was his fate, then it was fine by him, he’d only wish that it was painless. He lowered his arms from above his head, closed his eyes, and waited.

However, as if to mock the idea that he could ever really know anything about how fate works, the shaking stopped. There was a heavy silence throughout the building and it felt like time was standing still again.

When he finally managed to set foot outside of the Cathedral, the Tower lay in sharp splinters on the other side of the river. Grief squinted against the harsh light of the morning sun - how was it morning already? How long had he been in that damned building? There were no soldiers, no sign of tanks - even the bodies outside had disappeared. He thought about the Inquisitor - if she knew what she was talking about (and it sure sounded like she did, at least more than anyone else), she had to be six feet under or just in a shallow ditch by now. It was odd to realize that, despite having spent the last days agonizing over the woman’s words, this outcome didn't make him feel any particular way - no sadness, no joy, not even surprise. But it was one less string to cut, he supposed.

He could see many pieces of whatever material the Polyhedron had been made of scattered around, and stopped to stare in quiet awe. Funny, he’d been told once that it was made of pure glass, or paper, but bored people deprived of something make up the most absurd things. A dark, iron-scented liquid flooded the surroundings, still gushing from an unseen crack in the ground.

The sight of it made him think about Artemy, and he stalled in place, taking it in. “Shit, Cub…” he muttered to himself. His friend was nowhere to be seen, probably still off running around like a crazy person, going on about knots and connections. He didn’t understand much of anything, but he knew by now that there was no way the guy wasn’t responsible for this turnout somehow, that one uniquely free bastard. Grief felt a pang of jealousy as he thought about it, but it disappeared inside the pride and fondness he felt for his friend at the same time.

 From there, he could see two (maybe three?) people standing closer to the ruins, observing with their backs turned to him.  He considered joining them for a moment, but quickly decided against it - that horse was not only dead, but blown up into a million pieces, nothing to be gained from staring at it now.  The numbness had just started to subside, and he felt exhaustion and hunger pull him down. But he had nowhere to lie down and rest his head for now, since his old warehouse lair was all done for. He took a deep breath and cycled through his options, eventually landing on a spot that he was sure would accept a poor destitute man.

He met Lara at the door to the Shelter, her hair a mess and pale as a ghost. She sprinted outside when she saw him there and pulled him into a tight hug, told him how relieved she was to see him alive, asked questions that he only responded with short, vague answers, knowing that neither of them had the energy for real conversation. He could see she was anxious, always checking the window, and that she had been just a bit underwhelmed when she had recognized the identity of her approaching guest. It didn't bother him though, they were all waiting for Cub, the man of the hour, the hero of the story. He didn't think Lara knew about the strings, about their set paths and how Artemy alone was free within it, but he could tell that she sensed that this was all their friend's doing - and that she wouldn't rest until she had checked on him. 

Lara provided some bread and milk, and they sat around her table while pretending to have a conversation. She told him how the big-city Bachelor had killed someone in her place the day before, and how she had spent the last few hours cleaning up blood and ash from the floorboards. He told her that he was closing shop, that he wanted to start a new life, and she didn’t look convinced, but was sympathetic. It was also possible that she just wasn't paying that much attention, her mind clearly elsewhere.

So, for a while, they sat there and waited for Artemy. When the waiting had become too much to bear on its own, Grief fiddled with a stray line of his coat, trying to work up the nerve to address the other elephant in the room. Or missing from the room.

"Hey,” he started. Lara glanced back at him, taking her eyes off the window for a moment. “... know anything about Stakh?" The last time Grief had seen the man was when he had still been in his hideout, looking so tired a stiff wind could knock him over. It seemed like years ago instead of days. An entire other life away.

She shrugged, gaze fixed on her own hands now. "Not really, but Cub told me yesterday that he was alive and resting. I have a guess where he could be, though. He always had that stupid fascination with being a soldier..." she said, bittely.

"Oh." 

The two of them sat in silence, sharing a quiet sorrow that neither would know how to put into words. When she talked again, her voice was hoarse, as if holding back tears.

"And he’d know I would try to stop him, so I guess he didn't drop by to say goodbye."

Grief gave a dry laugh, trying to break the tension, but it failed in his throat. 

"... just like our ol' Stakh to not give anyone the satisfaction, huh?"

Lara sighed, giving up completely on trying to hide her bitterness. 

"I still hoped he would." Her disappointment was transparent, and Grief got the impression that it wasn't all directed at Rubin. He didn't know the whole story yet, but the topic of the military brought Lara so much pain - first, it had taken away her beloved father, and now, it seemed she had lost yet another person she loved to the front.

Grief let her be quiet with her thoughts for a minute and stepped towards another window, leaning in to take a peek outside. There was no sign of Artemy (or anyone else, the city felt so empty after all the kids left), but there was plenty of sunshine, like the weather itself had decided it was done with all the tragedy.

"Imma go for a walk. Wanna join?" He gestured out of the window with his head.

"I should wait, in case-" She started, but he cut her off.

"You got all the time in the world to wait for him now, Gravel, what ya need now is to clear yer head a bit.” he gesticulated as he spoke, pointing to his own head.  “An' who knows? If he's runnin 'round town, we might even bump into him."

A moment of hesitation before she nodded, getting up from her chair. That sounded reasonable - a short walk to clear her head.  They could even assess the damages in the Flank, start thinking about a plan for rebuilding.

They walked in near-silence for almost an hour around the empty town until they spotted a familiar tall figure. As they approached, they quickly realized that the person standing there, seemingly lost in thought while contemplating one of the Stamatin's old Stairways to Heaven couldn't be Artemy. 

"Stakh?" Grief recognized the bald head first, stopping in his tracks. When Rubin turned to see who was calling him, Lara was already only a leap away.

"Stakh! You're here, I'm so glad-" She smiled and wrapped her arms around him. He hugged her back, seemingly coming down from a daze. When she stepped back, her smile had been replaced by a concerned, suspicious look. "-but why? Are you hurt?"

"No. I just decided to stay."

She looked him up and down, then nodded. Lara knew her friend well, knew that there was much more that he wasn't telling her.  But either way, the worst was over now and they had made it through-- not unscathed, but in one piece- and were all here together .  That was enough for now. There would be plenty of time to figure out everything else. Grief approached quietly, hesitant about interrupting the moment.

"Hey-"

"Filin."

A short moment of tense silence, then Rubin offered his hand. Grief stalled for a moment, then took it and squeezed, managing a grin. They shared an awkward handshake, while Lara rolled her eyes next to them and groaned.

"You two are just like two mules. Kiss and make up already, will you? We could easily have all died." And before either of them could react, they were pulled forward into a hug, yelping when they bumped against each other. The position was awkward, uncomfortable, but Lara still didn't let them get away. 

And after a few seconds, it happened: they both put an arm around her, and, very stiffly, around each other. It was an awkward hug, but not a bad one, and when they separated and looked at each other, things felt much lighter.

That was it for a moment, before Lara let out a laugh. An actual laugh, the kind she hadn't had in a good while, breaking the eerie silence of the town around them. 

"I can't believe you forced me to do that. Clowns, both of you." The words could sound harsh in another context, but her tone was of affectionate teasing and she gave them a playful push. 

"Gravel, ya wound me." Grief laughed back, more in relief than anything else. And then they heard a chuckle and turned wide-eyed towards the source. They saw what they had thought impossible in the last months-- Stakh Rubin, exhausted, dehydrated, and probably undernourished, but looking more serene than anyone had seen him in years, and laughing . Once he caught the other two staring, his chuckle quickly stopped and turned into a scowl, but there was no real heat behind it. It made the other two laugh again, wrapped up in the relief and the familiarity of the moment. It felt like home again, somehow, or something close to it. 

As he thought that, a comfortable silence settled over the three of them. Grief turned away to hide his wet eyes, shoving his hands in his pockets and glancing at  the Stairway structure next to them. He nodded his head towards it.

"We should go up."

"Why?" Rubin retorted instantly, and it felt good, really good, to have him to quibble with again over dumb little things. 

"Dunno. Why not?"

"Stakh, he has a point. We can sit there and wait for Cub, it's a much wider field of vision."

Rubin looked peeved for a moment, mouth opening as if to snap back that he wasn't there to wait for Artemy, but then seemed to change his mind and forget about it. He was waiting for him too now, wasn't he? None of it mattered that much now.

They got to the top with some effort (how did those kids seem to run up and down it so easily all day?), and Grief sat down to appreciate the view, letting his feet dangle in the air. It was a nice day, and looking at their old little hometown felt good - even if it wasn’t quite the same town, not after the last two weeks, and it looked far too empty. But soon enough, life would begin again, and maybe they all could do a little better this time.

Grief started announcing the birds or even jerboas he could see from there, a game that Lara ended up joining. They both pretended to not notice when Rubin, thinking himself unseen, had walked away from them and to another floor of the bizarre Stairway building. They debated, in whispered tones, if someone should go after him, but no, just give him time. He'd come back around, "he needs to sulk, that's just how he is".

It must have taken a whole other hour for Artemy to show up and join them up there, but nobody seemed to mind that much. 

Grief took a deep breath, closing his eyes to feel the cold breeze on his face. Fall wasn't even over, but the air felt so much more clear now... It was like in the past couple of weeks they were all stuck in a cave, with heavy, dusty air, and that today was the day they could finally breathe freely again. There was still a tinge of melancholy, like a blanket over the quiet city, a hint of twyre still dissipating in the air, and there was everything else...but despite all that, today felt hopeful.

And it wasn't only the plague or the end of the season either. He felt... freer in a way, despite what he knew now. His gang was no more, and anytime before the thought would make him feel dreadfully alone, but now it made him feel the opposite. His friends were back too, all a little broken, but with nothing hanging over their heads like before... maybe they could make things work out better between them this time, too.

Chapter Text

The sound of lively conversation flooded Grief’s ears as he opened the front door of the Shelter, the cool summer night giving way to a warm and cozy inside. He made his way to the kitchen, sticking his hands in his pockets to give himself a nonchalant air when he leaned against the doorframe. This kind of get-togethers had grown common over the past months after the plague had gone, a replacement of sorts for the nights messing around in the Steppe (although occasionally they’d still meet up by the Apple road, in honor of the good times). Big meals together just felt more fitting these days, especially with Cub’s kids around - naturally, as a family man, he couldn’t go running around making trouble anymore. Grief had stopped making trouble for the most part too, true to his word, and the past year had been strange. Strange, but not bad. He could get used to it, probably.

Regardless, it felt really good to be able to turn his brain off and simply hang out with his friends. 

“Ya jerks started without me?” He asked, pretending to be offended. “But I’m the life of the party!”

“You were late!” Artemy retorted, grinning. He had a fish on the chopping board in front of him and a knife in hand. Sticky stood beside him, watching attentively, with Rubin at his other side chopping a myriad of different vegetables with extreme concentration. He couldn’t see Lara or Murky anywhere, but he spotted a flash of dark hair under the table, and Gravel hadn’t hid under tables since she had been at least thirteen.

“I’m no later than your tiniest, Cub. Can’t see her anywhere.” 

Artemy peeked under the table and then back at Grief with amusement, getting a grin in response. Grief walked over to Rubin and snaked an arm around him to steal a piece of carrot, getting a side-glare in response.

“No thievery will be tolerated in this house,” Lara announced from behind him. She had probably snuck in the kitchen while he had been distracted with his vegetable theft. She stood by the sink now, filling up a pot with water as he chomped down on the carrot in defiance.

“Old habits die hard, Gravel, what can I say?” Lara’s forehead creased in disapproval at the mention of his old life, but he shrugged it off. He then felt a tug on his shirt and looked down to see Murky, freshly out from under the table. She put a finger to her lips to shush him and pointed at the half-bitten carrot in his hands. Grief lifted a questioning eyebrow. She huffed and pointed again, then towards Rubin, still chopping vegetables. Ah, an accomplice! Grief winked at her and casually sauntered up to Rubin.

“I see you,” Rubin warned, not looking up. The other put his hands up in surrender.

“What, can’t a guy appreciate his pal’s veggie-chopping skills? What’s this world come to…” 

“Yes. How unbelievably tragic.” The man remained stern like a statue. They needed a better distraction than this… He caught Murky’s big eyes on him and motioned to his taller friend. A nod is a good as a wink, but as the little kid was still a beginner, he mouthed the words distract him to clear any doubt.  Her eyes widened in understanding before walking up to Rubin and tugging on his coat, little brow furrowed as if on a mission. Rubin stiffened ever so slightly before looking down at her.

“... Mm?”

“My sleeves are too long,” she pouted, holding up her arms. “They’re in the way. Can you roll them up for me?”

“... Can’t you ask Cub?”

“He has fish on his hands.” She wrinkled her nose. Rubin nodded, resigned, and bent down to help. Taking advantage of the distraction, Grief perused the carrot pieces, nimble fingers going for the biggest ones. While glancing around to make sure he had gotten away, his eyes met Sticky’s - oh. A witness, he thought. Couldn’t have that... Artemy was engaged in conversation with Lara, so Grief leaned over to the boy and handed him two carrot pieces.

“You’re bribing me?”

“Bribes? Ain’t no bribes here, kiddo, ’tis just a token of my appreciation.” he whispered with a wink. Sticky nodded seriously, popping the pieces into his mouth before any of the other adults had caught on. By that time,  Murky’s sleeves had been rolled up, and she skipped over to Grief holding out her hands. They were a bit grimey-- the little girl always seemed to be covered in dirt no matter how many baths Cub claimed to give her.

Grief dropped the rest of the carrot pieces into her hands and she happily munched on them as she skipped back to the table and clambered on a chair.

“How about pitching in and doing some of the work?” Lara asked from the other side of the room.

“I’m already the entertainment!” That earned him a snort from Artemy, at least. Lara walked over to hand him a bread knife and gently (but firmly) pushed him towards the table, where a loaf of fresh bread sat.

“Entertain us by cutting us some bread, dummy.”

“Aye-aye, captain Ravel.” he saluted her with mocking sobriety.

The gentle flow of conversation and the smell of cooking filled the room, and soon they all had their meal in front of them. The awful September of the last year and the winter that had followed felt like an eternity ago, and they were all already getting used to the idea of big meals like these. They were probably brand new experiences for the kids, Grief thought, thinking back to his own childhood as an urchin. Either way, it felt good to be here now. He let his mind wander as the voices of his friends filled the background - well, of Lara and Artemy, and the kids. Rubin, sitting right across from him, was his typical quiet self, hunched over as if to compress his lanky body and become smaller. To try to take up less space, or fit in, or something. Dumbass, he thought with begrudging affection. To counter it, he lounged back in his seat and nudged his boot against Stakh’s under the table. It earned him a capital L Look from the man. 

“What?” He asked, the picture of innocence. Rubin snorted. 

“Do you want something?”

“Just pullin’ your head back outta the clouds. You’re welcome.” Grief nudged him again and got a scowl (typical) and a kick under the table as Rubin knocked his foot away with his own. Fair enough. In the time since the plague they had reached something of a truce, at least in practice. Not that there had been any serious conversation about their shared past and their unresolved issues, but what did it matter? They were getting along again for the most part, better not throw a wrench in it by bringing up past grievances.

“Our Stakh’s too tall for that,” Lara chirped in.

“You ain’t wrong, Gravel. Us normal-sized folk gotta band together against these titans,” Grief shot back.

“We’re not that tall!” 

“Mm, that’s where you’re wrong, Cub,” Grief said. 

“ You’re not that tall,” Rubin pointed out at the same time, with a hint of dry humor. 

“I-- Hey! I’m at least as tall as you are!”

“Not anymore.”

“I just hunch over when I stand,” Artemy argued. Lara leaned forward in interest with her elbows on the table.

“Well - this is something we can find out here and now. Back to back, you two!”

Rubin sighed as he pushed his chair back and stepped away to press his back against Artemy’s. 

“Hair doesn’t count,” he noted. Artemy laughed, standing up straight. Lara also got up to be the judge, standing next to them on her toes.

“... Stakh’s got a few extra centimeters on you, Cub,” She concluded. Artemy groaned and Rubin wore a smug smirk as they stepped apart. Murky had trailed Lara and now she stood confidently in front of Rubin.

“If you lift me up on your shoulders, will I be tall enough to touch the ceiling?”

“I… don’t know.”

“Try.” She lifted her arms up. Rubin gave Artemy a helpless look that made the other adults laugh. “Try!!!” She repeated, more insistent. Rubin awkwardly picked her up and lifted her over his head, settling the little girl on his shoulders. As he did, it so happened that the bottom of his shirt trailed up, revealing a strip of pale and firm skin, a hint of dark hair over it. And it just so happened that Grief’s eyes moved on their own towards it, and lingered there for a good couple of seconds before he caught himself and glanced away, feeling his heartbeat strong in his ears as he scanned the room to see if anybody had caught the slip.

His hopes were quickly crushed, as his eyes met Lara’s. The woman's gaze, which had developed a well-deserved reputation for being icy, was far from it then - or at least it didn't feel like it at all, not with his face burning up like this. She had a smirk and a glint in her eyes, and when she lifted her eyebrows at him he forced himself to look away, at least to make sure that she truly was the only one not caught up in Murky's giddiness at being able to touch the ceiling. 

Thankfully, Lara didn’t say anything, and Murky, to her disappointment, was soon back on the ground. With dinner out of the way and the night heading towards its end, an old deck of playing cards was soon produced by the owner of the house. Artemy shuffled the deck and proceeded to distribute the cards while Sticky took it upon himself to bring the empty plates to the kitchen. After many turns of Durat and more than a handful of losses, Artemy tossed his cards on the table, declaring he was done for the night. A sleeping Murky curled up against his chest. After no more than three turns, Sticky too had dozed off despite his best attempts to keep his eyes open and on the adults’ game.

“Well,” Artemy said, sighing, a tired smile on his face. “I think that’s a sign that we should call it a night if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Throwin’ in the towel this easily? I expected more from you, Cub.” Grief taunted, shaking his head like a disappointed mob boss. “Ya haven’t even won once yet!”

“That’s because our Cub always wears his heart on his sleeve,” Lara teased while collecting the scattered cards. 

“Mmhm,” he nodded. “Stakh too, despite the crankiness. You and I are the only ones who know any subtlety, Gravel.” Rubin frowned and Grief stuck his tongue out at him, something the other man pretended to not see as he reached for his glass of water. Artemy snickered.

“I wouldn’t exactly call you ‘subtle’, my friend. Did you forget how obvious you and Stakh were, sneaking around all those years ago?”

Grief felt his blood freeze in his veins, eyes wide in alarm. Across from him, Rubin choked on his water. The couple of seconds that followed felt much longer than it made any sense for them to be, as if time itself was conspiring against him. Artemy, in his defense, immediately realized his mistake, mirroring the look on Grief’s face with an extra dash of confusion while mouthing a silent You didn’t tell him we knew?! , to which Grief grimaced and shook his head mouthing back a Why the fuck would I? There was so much drama Artemy had missed in the last few years, and Grief believed that he’d have the good sense to not poke at old embarrassing (not so) secrets. After all, what Stakh didn’t know couldn’t hurt him… until now, apparently. Very slowly, as if not to provoke a cornered animal, he turned his head towards Rubin, shoulders so tense that it felt like they could snap. 

But Rubin, to his surprise, didn’t look angry. Maybe it was a credit to how much they had repaired their friendship, or they had just caught him in a good mood, but the man remained stone-faced, the only evidence of anything being the pinkness of his face. 

“... Well,” he muttered, after clearing his throat quietly.

“I didn’t tattle!” Grief said, standing up, feeling the need to defend himself before the accusation. “They backed me into a corner, said they knew already, I just said-”

“... I guess we did push our luck in the warehouse sometimes.” Rubin muttered while staring way too keenly at the bottom of his glass cup, cheeks still dusted with pink. The tips of his ears, exposed without any hair to cover them, were a deeper red now. Grief ignored the fluttering of endearment in his chest. 

“You guys were sneaking off in our headquarters?! While we were there? Lara, did you know-?” Artemy asked, turning to Lara. Grief would’ve laughed at his friend’s impeccable observation skills if he wasn’t busy wishing he could shove his head in a hole in the ground and never return. He had to suffer through this once before, and now here he was more than a decade later, and it was somehow even more embarrassing than the first time. It really wasn’t fair.

 “Mmhm,” Lara nodded towards Artemy, a smirk on her face. Grief gently kicked her under the table and she kicked back without batting an eye. Rubin stayed silent for a few more seconds, now staring down at his hands as he very obviously tried to return his face to a normal color. Grief followed the lead and also stared at the back of his own hands, not knowing what to add. He was just relieved it hadn’t turned into an argument and accusations - that was all that he could ask for, as it was what he had been expecting, if he was being honest. They all sat there for a tense moment, with only the children’s quiet snores to fill the room. Lara and Artemy exchanged glances.

“Alright,” Artemy broke the silence somewhat awkwardly, gently pushing his seat back and standing up. “As much as I’d love to keep teasing you two old sweethearts-” Grief groaned at the attempt of a joke and mumbled an almost silent ‘you’re pushin’ it’, and Rubin again seemed far too interested on the bottom of his empty glass. “-I’ve got to get these two to bed.”

He looked between the sleeping Murky in his arms and Sticky, still dozed off while  uncomfortably propped up on his arm. He then turned to Rubin. “Stakh, you wanna help me out?”

Rubin looked grateful for the distraction, nodding as he got on his feet. Artemy handed Murky to him and he blinked, gingerly shifting her so she could lean against his shoulder comfortably. When he picked Sticky up, the boy’s eyes fluttered open and he started to protest, but he was clearly exhausted, and he soon gave in and fell back asleep with his head pressed against his shoulder. Artemy turned to Grief and Lara with a grin. 

“Until next time,” he said. Rubin nodded his goodbyes, and the two (four, counting the kids) of them were gone. Grief cleared his throat as he rose from his seat. 

“Well, Gravel, I better be goin’ too--”

“No way,” she said, catching his wrist and dragging him firmly towards the sink. “You didn’t help cook, so now you’re on cleanup duty with me.”

He sighed dramatically, but rolled up his sleeves and dutifully started on his task. More than half an hour later, there were still a few more dishes to go, but Lara must have been done with her own part of the cleaning, since she leaned on the counter beside him, arms crossed. He lifted an eyebrow and was about to say something to fill the silence, but she beat him to it.  

"So," she started, “Does Stakh know you want him?”

The surprise made him fumble and almost drop a slippery plate.

“What?” Bad move, he realized one second too late. It gave her the opening she wanted. 

"I saw you checking him out."  There it was. He had to find a way out, quick.

"That means nothing. The guy is bigger than a bull, there ain’t much space to look away." She rolled her eyes, giving his shoulder a bump.

"Come on, Grief, I'm not a kid. You were barely trying to hide it."

Grief huffed, putting away a clean plate and throwing his hands in the air. He could only hope that his face wasn't as red as he suspected it was. "Well, I'm human, ain't I? If I'm being offered a peek, I ain't gonna look away. And if you even noticed, it means you looked too, so ya can't say shit. "

"Wrong. I looked only because I saw you were looking." She had the gall to sound amused . "But no need to get defensive, we don’t have to talk about it.”

"Nuthin’ to talk about. A lapse of judgement."

"You think he's attractive. It’s alright to admit it, you know." She teased, and he shrugged in response.

"Yeah, well, I happen to have a workin' pair of eyes, so what? 's nothing to it, Gravel, let it go."

"So I gather he doesn’t know."

"Know what?" His forehead wrinkled as he proceeded to rinse another cup and put it away. 

"That you're still into him."

 He turned his back to her, letting the dishes clank loudly against the sink as he did.

“Grief, please-” She moved, and so did he, giving his back again.

"Hmm, ya hear somethin'? Like a silly bird, prattling..."

Lara shook her head, but she smiled as she slapped him playfully on the back of his head before heading out of the kitchen, mumbling something that sounded to him like a fond 'clown'.

He grinned to himself, victorious and a little amused. He had a moment of weakness, and Lara pounced at it, like the smartass she was - it was fair.  It wouldn’t happen again, though. And if he spaced out a bit just then as he finished the dishes thinking back to that small glimpse of Stakh’s stomach, then well, it was nobody’s business but his.

Chapter Text

It had been a few days since their last get-together, and the secret Artemy had let slip was still fresh on his mind as he nudged Rubin with his elbow and slid into the chair across from him. Rubin’s eyes flickered up to him for a moment, barely an acknowledgement before he focused back on the mountain of papers in front of him, reports from the clinic’s operation within the last few months. The summer had been largely calm for the three doctors (plus Sticky, who insisted he should be counted). However, with Daniil distracted by all his unfinished business back at the capital and Artemy splitting his time between the town and the remaining Khatange in Shekhen, Rubin ended up on tutor duty most of the time, teaching Sticky. His teaching method was blunt, practical, although it was obvious to the adults that he lacked confidence and warmth when dealing face-to-face with patients. Sticky didn’t mind though, and was more than eager to help in that department. It was a good contrast to Artemy’s usual lessons, which focused more on herbal remedies and brewing, or Daniil’s, which tended to be long-winded and theoretical. The lucky kid got to have the best of the three worlds. 

At the moment, Rubin was squinting over the messy looping handwriting belonging to Daniil. Artemy snorted. Fair enough, the man’s writing could be classified as a language of its own. He pulled out his lunch and rolled an apple across the table to his friend.

“... What’s this?” Stakh stared at it, as if he suddenly was being faced with a bloody kidney and not a fruit.

“Lunch break. Ever heard of it?” 

“No. Is that from one of Dankovsky’s books?” The man answered without missing a beat, eyes returning to the paper in front of him.

“Yeah. It said humans need food for energy, who would’ve thought?" Rubin rolled his eyes.

"I ate before we started."

"It's been hours, Stakh. I'm not going to offer you my lunch since I know it's against your principles or something, but at least take the apple."

Rubin side-eyed him and sighed, but accepted the apple. The fruit looked too small in his large hand as he spun it around before his eyes, looking for spots.

“Do you know where Dankovsky went?” he asked idly.

“Out on errands. I think he was looking to put in an order with the next train?”

The bald man shrugged in response, bit into the apple, and looked back down at the report he had been working on before being interrupted. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled, as something of an afterthought. Artemy mumbled an equally-distracted ''You're welcome", tearing off a piece of bread to layer with his cheese and smoked meat. 

A moment or two passed in silence with only the occasional crunch of teeth against the apple from across the table and the scratch of pencil on paper. Artemy liked that background noise, it reminded him of childhood, when the two of them would help his father with work. They would sit across from each other just like they were now, Rubin usually much more focused than him while his father showed them something. The peaceful nostalgia was interrupted when his friend looked up from the report and cleared his throat awkwardly. Artemy lifted an eyebrow, waiting. He knew that look: Rubin was thinking, and wanted to speak. When he cleared his throat again, looking away, Artemy decided to ask rather than wait to see if he would change his mind.

“What is it, Stakh? You can’t just leave me hanging.”

“Why do you think I was about to say something? I just had something in my throat.”

Nope, he couldn’t let him back out now. “I know you too well, you were thinking of something. Spit it out!”

“Fine, but it’s nothing important, I was just wondering-” He huffed, scowling. Another pause. Artemy dropped his gaze to his own food again to give him space.

“Do you know what Grief is up to these days?” The question took Artemy by surprise, and he blinked back up. Rubin was staring to the side, twisting the stem of the half-eaten apple in his fingers.

“He's alright, as far as I know. Why? We saw him just the other day.” The memory of his two friends’ very red faces when he had brought up their past relationship sprang back in his mind. “Did anything happen?” 

Rubin scoffed. “No, just curious. You know what he’s like, he'd walk circles around the truth and not tell me anything.”

“Have you actually ever asked, or have you just convinced yourself of that?” Artemy couldn’t help but find it kind of amusing. “You should talk to him, you know. He's your friend too.”

“If that’s all you have to say, I have to finish going through these reports."

He laughed at that, ignoring the glare he received because of it.

“How much has he told you?” He asked after a moment. He got no reply from Rubin, but the man's brown eyes flickered up with subdued interest. “He’s doing well. You should visit his new place, he's turned it into a workshop, started this whole artsy repair thing. Fixes clocks and makes toys for the children sometimes. You could ask him to show it to you when you have a chance.”

"Hm." Rubin nodded in quiet acknowledgement,  slowly dropping his gaze back to his work, his face unmoving and unreadable like a plaster mask despite Artemy's best attempt to get an honest read.

“That's good.” he muttered. "He always had a knack for that sort of thing. Much better than his old choice of career, hopefully he can stick to it." And right then, Artemy thought he glimpsed something: for a split second, he swore his friend’s expression had softened with unmistakable endearment. Just the tiniest bit. 

Huh.

Rubin looked suddenly self-conscious of Artemy’s gaze again, turning to the side as he bit into his apple and letting the ensuing crunch mark the end of the conversation. Artemy finished up his lunch soon after and took his part from the pile of reports. The afternoon was calm, filled with boring work and very occasional idle chatter around the comfortable silence. Slowly, the lines of the town were mending and reconnecting, and it felt right that they were part of it.

By the time the Cathedral had chimed to mark six in the evening, Artemy had finished at the clinic and was on his way to the Flank to visit Lara and pick up Murky. 

It was in the immediate months following the plague that Lara had gotten very enthusiastic about the idea of creating the town's first school. However, with the Kains' ambitious gaze still fixed across the river, no support from the near-ruined Saburovs, and only the bare minimum from the new White Mistress, that goal turned out to be a bigger challenge than anticipated. Most kids and parents in Town-on-Gorkhon were unconvinced about the usefulness of a school, which made it even harder. Still, it wasn't in Gravel’s nature to give up easily, and now she hosted a small volunteer study group in the foyer of her home. It didn't have the rigid structure of a real school - many children showed up seemingly at random, but it was a step forward. Lara didn't have any official training as a teacher, but she thought she remembered the tutors from her childhood well enough, and the main focus was to teach basic reading and writing to the younger kids anyway. There were occasional lectures from Artemy himself, Dankovsky, and even Yulia had offered to help, which gave the whole thing an air of extra credibility.

Murky wasn't the most academically-oriented child, and had been taking her time to learn the alphabet. The girl didn't seem as interested in learning her letters as she was in painting or drawing on her notebook, and by that point, both the walls of Artemy’s house and the Shelter had been decked out in many colourful drawings and paintings. There were even plans for the walls of the Town Hall, but nothing concrete yet.

Today, Artemy knew he was late to pick her up from school but still didn’t rush. It wasn’t too rare for Murky to get focused on something or distracted with a new little friend, and when that happened it could be hard to drag her away and back home. Besides, he knew Lara didn’t mind the extra company, and the little girl didn’t hide how much she liked the big, newly-renovated Shelter. Both adults also knew that Murky was more than capable of walking home without waiting for Artemy, as she had walked everywhere alone for years, but now there seemed to be an unspoken agreement that unless told otherwise Artemy would pick her up and walk home with her (and Sticky, when he showed). Just another way to let the kids know they wouldn’t be left behind, maybe, but it made him feel better too. And either way, they were pleasant walks that he looked forward to. It was nice to be able to see Lara so often as well. 

He apologized for his lateness when he crossed the open front door of the shelter, and Lara teased him about not being sorry at all, to which he easily conceded. Murky, however, didn't even acknowledge him right away, face scrunched up in concentration as she moved a paint brush confidently across the page, hard at work on her newest art piece. From outside, it looked like something completely abstract, but she had a much clearer picture in her mind, no doubt.

"Kheerkhen, it's time to go. Aunt Lara probably had a long day."

"Hm." A tiny groan was the only sign from Murky, and Lara laughed. 

"You can't interrupt an artist at work, Cub. What were you thinking?" She shook her head, playful, and tugged at his arm. "Stay for a while, I'll make us some tea."

Artemy sighed, looking fondly at Murky from the corner of his eyes "Doesn't look like I have much of a choice."

“I suppose not-”

“-If you’re going to talk,” Murky interrupted, eyes narrowed as she finally looked up from her masterpiece. She had a smudge of red paint on her nose. “Can you do it somewhere else? Distracting.”

"What did we say about asking politely?” Artemy asked without any real authority to it. In response, Murky grumbled something that he assumed was a ‘please’. He ruffled her hair and followed Lara into the kitchen, letting his body sink on a cushioned chair as she picked up what she needed from the cabinets. 

"How was your day, Gravel? I hope Murky didn't make much trouble."

"Oh, no - she's a great student. It's the opposite actually, I wish she would speak up more… but she's improving so fast, Cub, you have to see it…” She paused, sliding on the chair next to him once the kettle was already on the stove.  “-but anyway, how was yours?"

“Mm, good. It was just Stakh and I today, mostly,” he paused, thinking back on the conversation. “Hey, has he said anything weird to you about Grief? He-”

“-oh no, please don’t tell me they’re fighting again.” Lara grimaced. 

“No, not at all, which was the weird part! He just asked how Grief was doing. Seemed kinda embarrassed to bring it up, even.”

“Oh?” 

“Maybe something happened between them? It was completely out of the blue, and there was this look he had, I have an eye for it. I almost thought he smiled, Gravel.”

“Oh, did he now?”

“Well, a Stakh-version of a smile. You know what I mean.”

The kettle interrupted them with a shriek and Lara got up to grab it along with a handful of tea bags. Artemy observed her, how she moved as if this was muscle memory, the slightest wrinkle on her brow betraying the gears at work in her brain. He picked a bag of what he assumed to be green tea, and murmured his thanks when she poured hot water over it. 

“Yeah, I dunno. I thought maybe I made it awkward for them, bringing up the past like that.” Lara looked amused at his words. “I- alright, Gravel, you obviously know something, please tell me what's going on inside that mysterious head of yours.”

“Nothing, it’s nothing...” She sipped her tea. 

Artemy lifted an eyebrow.

Lara rolled her eyes. “Really, Cub, even if I knew anything, we all saw how well you keep secrets these days.”

“I didn’t know it was still a secret!”

“I’m sure you could’ve guessed if you stopped to think for one second.”

“Sure.” He wasn’t going to argue with her over something silly like this. “But tell me, I promise I won’t say a word.”

“Well now I’ve made it seem like a much bigger deal than it is.” She paused, bringing the mug to her lips. “Fine. Listen, Cub, I don’t think it means much, but Grief is for sure still into Stakh.”

“How’d you know?” he asked, a bit surprised. 

Lara scoffed, but she had a coy smile on her face. “I caught him staring. You would think he’d be more discreet with this kind of thing, but no, clear as day.”

Artemy flashed back to the conversation with Rubin, the trace of fondness he thought he caught, the hesitancy to ask. 

“Maybe something happened between them,” he thought aloud. “And that’s why Stakh was asking me about him today.”

“Oh, I doubt it, you know how they are, Cub. Walls all around.”

“They had a secret thing for years! It could happen again!”

“We’re not kids, it’s not that simple anymore. And if he’s asking about what Grief is doing, they couldn’t have been talking that much.”

Artemy leaned back in his chair, hands cupped around the mug. “... Alright, fair enough. But,” he lifted an eyebrow. Lara lifted one in return. “Maybe they both want something to happen between them.”

“Mmh.” Lara waited for him to continue, both eyebrows raised, an unimpressed but attentive look on her face.

“It could be. Or…” The gears in Artemy’s brain were starting to turn, and his thoughts held the beginnings of an idea. He paused, and then spoke: “we can give them some help.”

“Oh, God.” Lara looked like she was trying not to laugh. “Cub, that’s a terrible idea.”

“No, no, hear me out!”

“You want us to set up candlelit dinners for them? Find some rose petals? Have them never speak to us again?”

“Come on, Gravel, of course not! I’m not saying to do anything like that, just… nudge ‘em a little. Help them out. There’s clearly still something between them-”

“That’s a pretty big stretch to say right now.”

“It’s not! Grief’s obvious, if what you were saying is true.”

“Of course it’s true.” Lara’s expression turned indignant for a split second, and Artemy rushed to continue. 

“Great! And both of us know how uptight Stakh is, the look on his face was practically a confession of love-”

“Big words,” Lara muttered, although she sounded amused again. “Are you sure your own relationship with Dankovsky isn’t tinting how you see this?”

“Of course not,” Artemy felt his face heating up. He paused, considering this. “Well, maybe a little. But only in the sense that it’s been nice, and I want that  for them. Is that really so bad?”

“Their situation is  more complicated than that, Cub. They’ve been at each other’s throats for years now.”

“They’re not anymore, though. And remember how happy they were back then? We could tell, easily. Do you remember how Grief would stick flowers in Stakh’s hair?”

“... That was pretty sweet,” she agreed.

“Softened him right up.” The memory of Rubin’s long braided hair with small flowers peppered in it brought back a warm feeling in Artemy’s chest. Many of their adventures out into the Steppe ended that way, Grief claiming it was just something to do instead of being bored, but Lara and Artemy had gossiped about it later, swearing they saw the two of them hold hands behind the cover of the tall grass.

“... If we were to do something for them- and I’m not agreeing just yet, what did you have in mind?”

Artemy grinned, triumphant. “Nothing too obvious.  Just... maybe, they could find themselves having to spend more time one-on-one. Watching the sunset together, or something.”

“The sunset, oh my God. Really?” She said with sarcastic disbelief but Artemy could tell by the way she bit her bottom lip that she was mulling it over. Before she could respond though, he felt a small presence by his side and turned to see right as a paper was thrust into his face. 

“Look! Today I used the red with the blue. Aunt Lara said that the colors like to share the page. That’s why they make purple together.”

“Ooh, very wise.” Artemy evaluated, squinting at the painting. It was a mess of the two colors, brushstrokes on top of some wobbly letters that had clearly been abandoned. “Good work as always.”

“Can we go? I want to show Sticky.”

“Mm, I’m just finishing up here. Why don’t you sign your name while you wait?”

“... Don’t want to. Letters are ugly.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Lara jumped into the conversation. “I think they’re beautiful. And many famous artists sign their names on their art… They usually put it at the bottom in the corner, but you can put it wherever you want.” She pulled out a pencil from her pocket and passed it across the table. Murky took it, suspicious, but spread the paper out on the ground and sat down to work on her signature. 

“Just think about it,” Artemy asked. He brought his mug to the sink while behind him Murky showed her painting to Lara, now complete with a slanted signature tucked away in the top right corner. 

“It looks great, Miss Murky,” she told her with genuine pride. Murky set the pencil on the table. “Will you do some reading practice for me tonight?”

“... I’ll think about it.”

“Ready?” Artemy asked, bending down to wipe the paint from her face. Murky made a face and pushed his meddling hands away. “We’ll get out of your hair now, Gravel.”

“Hold this.” Murky pushed the painting towards him and then took off walking to the door.

“Bye, Murky,” Lara called, smiling. Murky turned and waved distractedly before returning to her path. Artemy rolled his eyes, laughing softly. 

“Look, I really think it’d be good for them. They would be happier together, after-”

“-Aba, lets go!” Murky called from the doorway. “We have to show Sticky my painting, quick, quick, quick.”

“Duty calls, Cub.” Lara smiled. Artemy laughed, waving goodbye, following his daughter out of the door, and leaving Lara to consider his proposal.

Chapter Text

The next time Artemy picked Murky up, Lara told him that she was tentatively on board for his plan. But, in the few days since, it was already proving difficult to force their old friends into spending time together.

For their first attempt, they had decided to try something simple. A lock would seemingly malfunction when the two of them found themselves in the same room and the only thing for them to do would be to wait together while the others took their time “finding” the missing key. Simple. Minimally invasive. They even had plausible deniability - the buildings in this town were so odd that this wouldn’t be even close to the weirdest thing to have happened inside them (courtesy of the Kains and their lot).

While they had of, of course, considered Grief’s old expertise, they hadn’t thought that he could still be carrying around his old tools. The trap didn’t even hold for three full minutes, and Grief laughed at their shocked faces when he stepped out of the room triumphantly. He waggled the crooked piece of wire in the air, proud, while Rubin just seemed annoyed and muttered something about ‘obstructive architecture’.

That plan was a bust. So next, they decided to try something a little more elaborate. It was Artemy who came up with the idea of a picnic. He and Lara would be responsible for most of the snacks, while Rubin and Grief would just have to bring their humble selves and minor additions. He had brought up the idea during the week while he and Stakh were at work, and it was settled that on Sunday morning, they would all meet up at Artemy’s place to walk out to the Steppe together. So far, regular stuff - they hadn’t really had any picnics since he had come back to the town, but it used to be a habit for them.

The catch here was that neither Artemy nor Lara would really go, leaving Grief and Stakh alone together. Artemy just needed to think up a good excuse for why they wouldn’t be there, and the plan would be ready to go. Unfortunately, the clinic had been surprisingly busy for early summer (many scraped knees), and as he often did, he forgot and left the final preparations to the last minute.

When Sunday came and Rubin arrived at his house (early, as he usually was on workdays as well), Artemy went with the first thing he could think of. As soon as he heard Rubin’s knock on the door, he slammed it open, his medical bag hanging from his shoulder and a (fake) concerned expression on his face. His friend stepped back, shoulders tensed and eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

"Stakh? Are you here for-" his eyes dropped to the blanket hanging on Rubin's arm, and then back at him, eyes wide, a hand going to his head. He was really pretty good at this acting thing, he thought. Immortel was just mean. "Oh shit, the picnic-"

"Yeah." Rubin nodded, waiting for an explanation. Artemy let a second pass between them to see if he would say anything else, but the deepening crease in Rubin’s face only communicated impatience, so he continued.

"I have to cancel. A woman just stopped by, her kid fell off a Stairway to Heaven and broke both legs, me and Sticky are leaving to patch him up-"

"Oh. Right.” Rubin nodded, sounding like something between relief and disappointment. “I'll go with you. Where are they?"

Artemy realized that, maybe, this wasn’t the greatest lie he could have come up with. " No! We, uh -" he stalled, "Daniil’s already on his way there, and we don't want to overwhelm the kid or his mom. All I know is that it was one of Sticky's little friends."

Out of the corner of his eye, Artemy saw Sticky’s blond head poke out from behind the kitchen doorway, alert at the mention of his name. They exchanged glances for a moment, Artemy’s distressed one for Sticky’s confused, suspicious glance. All he could hope for is that he’d stay quiet and play along.

"Are you sure? I could just-" Rubin started, skeptical.

"Absolutely. Don’t worry about it, we got it covered. Tell the others for me, okay? Oh, actually-" He paused again, attempting to look like he just realized something. Rubin kept staring at him with visible growing irritation.

"What?"

"Lara was waiting for Daniil to be at the Shelter while she was out, and Murky is with her. Now she’s going to be left waiting - ah, I’ll just find a messenger on the way to the Stairway. You’ll have to tell Grief what happened for me, alright? And you two can have that picnic without us."

"We can just reschedule it."

"No, we have everything already, and the food... it would be such a shame to waste it, I made too much. Yeah, you two go without us. Besides, someone needs to tell him what happened when he shows up."

"You could leave a note, I'm sure he knows how to read."

Artemy shook his head. Why did Stakh always have to be so goddamn difficult?

"Look, I don’t have time for this and I need to get going. All I’m asking is that you try to relax and make yourself at home. When Grief arrives, you two can have that picnic."

Stakh narrowed his eyes at him as if he was trying to read something really small written on the other’s forehead, wondering why his friend was so insistent about this. But Artemy held strong, so he just shrugged.

"We could just do it some other day-"

"I already told you, I don’t want to waste all this good food. Besides, I really want you to have a nice, relaxing day, alright? The two of you. You especially need it, my friend." He put a hand on Rubin's shoulder, trying to sound as natural as he could make it. He also suppressed the urge to grab and shake him for being so stubborn - come on, Stakh, just go on the damn picnic. The taller man stood there looking at him, still obviously unconvinced, but as Artemy just stepped aside and away, he didn’t have much of a choice.

He exchanged a wave with Sticky, who seemed to be almost as confused as he was as he trailed after Artemy, his own smaller medical bag in hand. The kid opened his mouth, probably to ask what was going on, but Artemy cut in before he could, talking loudly.

"Come on, Sticky, you know the way, right?"

"Uh,” Sticky looked back, to Rubin watching them from the door, and then back at his dad. “Sure. Yeah. Of course!”

"Great! Let's go." Artemy grabbed the boy’s arm, pleading for him to play along with his eyes. Sticky didn’t look happy to be left out of the loop, but shrugged, following in silence. Artemy turned to address Rubin again, who was still standing at the door, but now on the inside at least.

"I know this is rushed, but try to enjoy yourself anyway, okay? Please? There's a pie and sweet bread in the kitchen. Grief is supposed to bring some fresh fruit, it’ll be fun."

Stakh sighed, looking like he was completely sure no fun was to be had today, then nodded. Whatever Artemy’s issue was today, arguing with him about anything was clearly pointless, and he had no energy to waste on it.

"I think you two could really benefit for a one-on-one conversation." The other man shouted, slowly walking backwards and away from the house. "I mean, if Lara really can't make it-"

"Don't you have an emergency job to do right now?" Rubin shouted back. The question, although dry, was genuine, and it took all of Artemy's skill not to chuckle.

"Yeah, yeah, I do. Thank you so much, Stakh, I’ll see you later,” he called as he finally turned to leave. Next to him, Sticky was glaring, demanding  an explanation, but apparently he was at least willing to do it silently while they gained distance from the house.

Artemy decided to bring Sticky with him to the Shelter, so that neither Grief nor Rubin would catch them wandering around town instead of at a medical emergency he had made up. But Sticky, of course, wasn’t willing to follow quietly.

“Aba, what was that? Where are we going?” the boy asked when the sprinting turned into walking, forehead wrinkled in confusion.

“We’re going to Aunt Lara’s. I’ll explain when we get there.”

“But, why did you lie-”

“I swear I’ll explain everything, just give me a minute, okay?” Artemy cut in, deciding that he needed the minutes until they got to the Shelter to make up a convincing story. Sticky rolled his eyes, but he complied.

Left without an alternative, Rubin begrudgingly did as he was told. He checked to see if Artemy wasn’t making up the pie and the bread at least, which he wasn’t. Two pies sat on the countertop: one for the picnic, the other probably for the children, who tended to want to do their own thing during the day, rather than hang out with the adults. He took a seat at the dinner table, wondering if his colleagues would mind if he started on the clinic forms for the upcoming week. Technically, he wasn’t supposed to work on Sundays - a condition that the others had forced onto him for the last few months, but since he was here, stuck waiting, maybe-

A sudden, loud knock at the door and a shout of “Cub!” indicated that he might not be stuck for long. He opened the door to Grief, standing there with a large basket hanging from his arm and munching on an apple. His eyebrows raised when he saw who was beyond the door.

“Stakh? What, is Cub in the bathroom or somethin’?” Grief tilted to the side, unsuccessfully trying to peek behind him.

“He had an emergency, asked me to let you know.”

“Wait, what? What happened?” He frowned, turned alert.

“A work emergency. A child broke a leg, I think.”

“Oh, right.” Grief deflated, the casual tone returning to his voice. “And why are you not there too, dear doctor?”

“I don’t know.” He said, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “He really wanted me to stay for some reason, wait, then go on a picnic with you. Left all this food, acted like he wanted us to get rid of it.”

Grief snorted in disbelief. “No. You serious?”

Rubin stepped aside, leading the other man inside the house and towards the table where he had left the food. Grief leaned in over the pie and sniffed, as if he was checking for some sort of trap.

“That’s food, alright.”

Rubin rolled his eyes. “I can see, yes, you don’t have to shove your nose in it.”

“I’m not shovin’ my nose in it!” Grief retorted.  “Don’t pretend this ain’t suspicious! Coulda easily been Cub’s idea of a joke or something, but at least it smells legit.”

Rubin had to concede. Artemy had been rather fond of practical jokes lately, though Grief himself was often involved.

“I guess. But if it isn’t that, what are we supposed to do with this stuff? Doesn’t look like he wants it and if it’s just the two of us...” He grimaced.

“Yeah, yeah, not like I wanna be stuck out there with a grump like you anyways. Whadda’ bout Gravel? She cancel on us too?”

“More or less.”

Grief walked around the table, considering the food sitting on it.

“Huh, well, if he just made too much food, we can pass it along... The brats at the warehouses would be happy as larks to gorge their littles selves on this. Just gimme a hand here, then we can split.”

And so they left the Burakh house headed for the warehouses, baskets of the food meant for them in their arms, and an awkward silence between them.

Artemy hadn’t entirely lied- it was true that Daniil had obligations at the Shelter today, and that Murky was there as well. Artemy realized that going there right away wasn’t perhaps a great idea when, before he could say anything, Sticky ran ahead into the house, waving his arms.

“You guys will never guess what Aba just did!”

Murky glanced up from the letters she was busy writing when they entered. She started to get up to see what was going on with the adults and Sticky, but frowned and sat back on her heels when Daniil started to speak instead from his spot at the table.

“What did your father do, Sticky?” he levelled Artemy with a questioning look, one eyebrow raised. “Nothing too foolish, I hope.”

“I hope so too,” Lara echoed, arms crossed, lifting one of her own eyebrows to match. Artemy frowned, and took a breath. He opened his mouth, but Sticky was faster.

“He made up this whole emergency to get out of a picnic with Rubin, and now he’s acting suspicious about it,” he said, seemingly delighted at having the adults’ attention. Artemy frowned, trying to think of another lie to get out of this, but it was too late, and now the rest of his family had questions.

 “Are you two fighting?” Daniil asked, frowning. Next to him, Lara gave him a look that clearly communicated ‘I told you so’.

“I- No, everything's fine. … I just thought he and Grief needed some alone time. …Together.”

“Grief? But why?” Sticky prodded. Artemy glanced at Lara, who just sighed.

“Pull up a chair, Sticky,” she said. “It seems that your father has some explaining to do...”

By the time that Artemy and Sticky had gotten settled next to Daniil and Lara, Murky had followed them into the kitchen. She sat on the ground near Artemy’s chair, having abandoned her letters to draw a familiar bull. Left without choice, Artemy attempted to explain how their two friends used to sneak around together as teens, and how good it seemed to be for them. How, somewhere along the line, things had fractured, though he skimmed over the details there. No use dwelling on that part of their past, and he didn’t really know that much about this part of the story anyway. What it all boiled down to is that, with friendships mended, he knew for a fact that the two of them were once again interested in each other. He concluded by saying that obviously, neither of them would be keen to make the first move, and that giving them a nudge was the best way to help them both.

When he was done, he sat back in his chair, letting them digest the explanation. A quick glance to Murky showed, to his delight, a tall figure with a frown and a smiling shorter figure with orange hair scrawled next to the depiction of Noukher on her paper. He smiled, leaning down to get closer to her, also happy to temporarily leave the conversation.

“Looks great, Sunshine. A wonderful booha! And are those your uncles?”

“Mm,” she mumbled, using a dark blue pencil crayon on the depiction of Stakh.

“I’m sure they’d be honoured to know you’re drawing them,” he said fondly. Murky, either engrossed in her drawing, or still miffed from Artemy’s failure to greet her when he had first entered, did not reply. Daniil cleared his throat, a finger to his chin as he processed the whole thing in his mind.

“I simply have a hard time imagining the two of them together, in any capacity,” he said. “It’s surprising to me that they’re even friends, if I’m being completely honest. The two of them have completely different philosophies.”

“Opposites attract. You should know that, out of all people,” Artemy teased. Daniil rolled his eyes, but his face tinted pink at the comparison.

“We’re- It’s completely different. Regardless, are you absolutely sure this is a good idea?”

“Yes!”

“Lara-?”

Lara sighed. “Cub does seem to think it’s a good idea, yes.”

“And you?”

“Mm,” she paused, searching for the words. While she tapped the table with her fingers in thought, Artemy looked over to Sticky, sitting between him and Daniil. He lifted his eyebrows at him, trying to gauge his reaction. The boy looked back at him, raising one in return. It was difficult to see what his son thought of all of this, he was still young enough that he averted his eyes if Artemy dared to kiss Daniil goodbye at the end of a workday, but old enough to try to pretend that he knew all about romance, just like the adults. He could understand it more than Murky, at least. She would make faces at any displays of affection, and if it ran on too long (which for her, was anything more than a few seconds), she would worm her way between them to break it up. Sticky didn’t need to be completely on board with this plan either, as long as he could keep the secret.

“I think it could work,” Lara said at last. She leaned her elbows on the table, hands cupping her chin. “But only if we’re smart about it. That’s the only reason I’m involved, really. Cub’s too eager to rush into things without thinking.”

“Come on, Gravel, you can’t help yourself when it comes to these things.” Artemy grinned. “Our clever mastermind… Did I ever tell you two about the time she planned the great bakery heist of 19-”

“Yes.”

“At least three times, Aba,” Sticky echoed.

“Well… case in point.”

“And you told us about the time you found a secret entrance to one of the older factory buildings too… and when you found a whole stash of dried fruits in the dead of winter. How did you get into that building?” Sticky directed the question at Lara, obviously more at home with this topic of conversation. “I’ve tried tons of times, I can’t seem to find a way.”

“Cub, look what you’ve done! Making your children think I’m some criminal mastermind.”

“No, that was Grief, if I remember right.” The joke hung in the air and Artemy scrambled to find something else to say. “Look, I’m just telling it how it is! You were the best planner out of the four of us.”

“Why don’t you tell them how I taught you all how to dance?”

“It’s a much less interesting story than you teaching us how to shoot.”

“Cub!”

“Have-- sorry to interrupt-” Daniil didn’t sound sorry, maybe even vaguely annoyed. “-have you been using this kind of nostalgia to your advantage?”

“... No, we haven’t…” Lara leaned forward, eyes suddenly alight with interest, despite her attempt to disguise it. “What are you suggesting?”

“Careful, Kheerkhen,” Artemy laughed. “Or else you’ll get wrapped up in this with us.”

“I won’t. It’s simply… an interesting quandary. You said you’ve… locked them in together, and today, tried to push them into a picnic?”

“Mm,” she said with a frown. “Not very elegant.”

“The picnic might work!”

“What’s keeping them there, Cub? I told you before, they won't stay there.”

“The food, and, uh-”

Daniil interrupted. “I agree with Lara, though I’m not as familiar with their interactions. Regardless, it’s all about motivation… They have to have a reason to want to spend quality time together, even if it’s awkward.”

“Hm. And that’s what we’re missing.” Artemy frowned.

“So, going back to the idea of nostalgia… if there was, for example, a place, or something that triggered reminiscing...”

“Oh. That’s not a bad idea, and we have options...” Lara took over. “The spot near the station, maybe.”

Daniil nodded, although he didn’t know what she was talking about.

“We had a meeting spot near the station, the four of us,” Artemy explained. “We still organize bonfires there every so often. I don’t think it would work, Gravel, we’ve all been there pretty recently.”

“You’re right. But what about that spot near it, with the rocks?”

“The Gumstone?”

“Yeah! Remember when Grief twisted his ankle there, and we had to carry him all the way to your father...” Lara hummed in thought.

Artemy nodded, and turned to Daniil to explain again with a grin. “We used to leave notes to each other at the Gumstone, hide things, play there sometimes. Lots of memories.”

“Hm.” Daniil made a valuable effort at showing interest.

“I wonder if we could get them out there, if they’d stop for a bit… ” Lara murmured. “But I don’t know how.”

Sticky, who had been silently listening this whole time, shot up.

“I have an idea! To get Grief there, I mean... I don’t know about Rubin.” The adults turned to look at him, with varying degrees of trust. “It’ll work, believe me!”

Artemy nodded. “That just leaves the problem of getting Stakh out there. It’ll be tricky, I can barely pull him away from his work for a lunch break.”

“I might have an idea, if Sticky is willing to cooperate,” Daniil said.

“I’ll do it,” Sticky decided without waiting to hear the proposal. Daniil nodded in reply, and the next hour was filled with the creation of their best plan yet.

Rubin sprinted across the steppe, feeling the herbs and grass snap under his boots.   It wasn't unheard of for Artemy's kids to disappear for hours (Murky, especially, didn't ever understand what the big deal was when she went off on her own), but his friend’s reaction had alarmed him this time. Sticky was a tough kid, smart and possibly even better with a lockpick than Grief, but he was still a kid. Even a year after the plague, with people like Anna Angel and Var still walking around, Town-On-Gorkhon wasn't the safest town for a kid to wander on his own. Despite what the children themselves might claim.

It had been mid-afternoon when Artemy told him that he hadn't seen Sticky all day, and that he was starting to worry. He said Dankovsky had already been tasked with asking around town, and that he'd take care to search near Shekhen, but that the steppe was just too wide, and he needed Rubin to look around the Western side just in case. 

Spending several hours running around ancient stones and the veins of the Gorkhon river wasn’t in Rubin's plans for the day and he made sure Artemy knew it,  but he was even less pleased with the possibility of something bad happening to their apprentice. So there he was now, running across the field like a madman. He had forgotten to bring any water, and the afternoon sun shone mercilessly over his head, drenching his clothes in sweat. He had crossed paths with a pair of kids near the station, and while they answered his questions nicely enough (no, they hadn't seen a blond preteen boy walking around), he could tell they found his state rather funny.

So, doing his best to swallow his indignation, and stomping away, Rubin continued his search.

Soon he could see big shapes appearing imponent against the sun: the eerie rock formation that had been one of their meeting spots when they were younger. It always felt a little odd, returning to it now, but Sticky could very well be over there - it had always been full of those herbs that the Burakhs liked so much. Begrudgingly, he decided that even if Sticky wasn't there he'd take a break under the shadow of the rocks, as his lungs felt at the brink of collapse, his vision was starting to get blurry, and his throat ached with every attempted breath. Through chopped breathing, he swore at himself for forgetting to bring water.

Getting closer, he could make out another dark shape against the sun - a person, seemingly leaning against one of the rocks, looking out into the steppe. There he is , he thought. With monumental effort, he sped up, waving his arms as he approached. The person then turned to see him, and despite the sun in his eyes, he could tell that this most definitely wasn't Sticky. It stopped him in his tracks, chest heaving with the effort.

"Stakh?" Grief squinted right back at him, stepping in his direction, a hand over his eyes. "Whatchu doin' here?"

Rubin opened his mouth to answer, but with his throat completely dry, he could only gasp. Grief frowned, looking around suspiciously. Once he had concluded that Rubin wasn’t  running from anything he should be concerned about, he gave him his traditional smirk and a pat on his shoulder. "Were you the one who wanted to see me? Aw, you didn’t need-”

In that moment Rubin noticed that Grief had a bag hanging from his shoulder, and in there, he could see the top of a water bottle sticking out. Every other half-formed thought in his head vanished as he pointed to it. 

"Huh? What- oh, sure" Grief laughed as he realized what he wanted, pulling out the bottle and handing it to his friend, who immediately gulped it down, not caring how it spilled down his chin and on the front of his shirt. Grief watched his Adam’s apple bob with amusement (and just a little appreciation, perhaps), laughter in his voice. "Holy hell, what happened to you, big guy?"

With the bottle emptied, he no longer felt like he was about to die. But as he wiped his chin with his shirt sleeve, he was suddenly self conscious about the whole exchange. 

"I'm not here for you, I'm just looking for Sticky," he finally muttered.

"Cub’s cub? Why? He in trouble or somethin’?"

Rubin took another deep breath. "No - well, probably not, I guess. Cub is just looking for him."

“And now you are, too. I see. “ Grief huffed and shook his head. “Kid’s probably just exploring, it’s as if Cub don’t even remember how we were-”

“We were lucky, Grief.” He handed Grief the empty bottle. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“Me? I’m here on business.” He said, raising his eyebrows, but his smirk faded when faced with his friend’s stern glare, and he rolled his eyes. “- ...a kid, Stakh. Dunno if you heard about it, but I fix toys now. And clocks, and other knick-knacks.” He gesticulated as he spoke, as if tightening an imaginary screw.   “I was told a client wanted to meet here about an hour ago, but looks like I got stood up. Maybe they just wanted to see me walk all the way here under the heat like a dunce after all, bet these brats would find that real funny...”

“You’re projecting.”

Grief laughed, and nodded. “Heh, maybe; who’s to say? But look at us, runnin’ around on their every whim... Kids these days have it so easy, no adult would believe a damn word I said when we were that age.”

“Master Isidor would.” It escaped Rubin’s mouth before he could think, brain still clouded by heat and exhaustion, and he regretted it the moment it was out. Grief’s expression changed again, to something more subtle, hard to read. Wariness? Or concern, maybe. Rubin hoped it wasn’t concern, he didn’t want any of that. The silence between them felt heavy, awkward, and he somehow felt relieved when Grief let his hand fall on his shoulder. 

“Anyway-” Grief said, “you look like you just got run over by a stampede. Sit with me a minute and take a load off, will ya?”

 Rubin felt his body relax slightly, demanding for him to accept, but shook his head. “No, Sticky is-” 

Grief groaned.

“He’s probably fine, you big worrywart. Kid isn’t gonna be found until he wants to, an’ you know it. Seriously, it’s like y’all just forgot how it is being a kid…”

Rubin bit back a retort, that Grief remembered so well because he never really stopped being one, but he was too tired to start an argument. He just shrugged and allowed Grief to guide him under the shadow of one of the rocks, with that hand still on his shoulder. When he took it away to flop down on his back among the tall grass, Rubin sat down next to him. Grief placed his hands behind his head and took a deep, exaggerated breath, taking in the smells of the Steppe (so different now compared to the previous years, weaker maybe, but still distinct). Rubin did the same, less dramatic, and looked up towards the sky. It was now a mix of brilliant orange and purples, but it would probably be fully dark in an hour or so, at most. The man next to him didn’t seem concerned at all, and he followed his line of sight to find a moon that was visibly round and full even among the light of the sunset. At least it was probably going to be a lighter night, if he had to walk. Together, they sat in silence for a few minutes, and when Rubin was just about to get on his feet, he heard the voice from behind his back.  

“Funny how nothing changes here, yeah?”

“What?” He turned to look, but Grief sat up next to him. He still lounged back, resting on his palms behind himself, and he scanned the horizon before looking back at Rubin as if the answer was obvious.

“The Steppe, dumbo. Funny how it looks the same as ever, even though we got all old and crusty.”

“You’re barely 30.”

“And you’re even less than that, but look at ya. World’s youngest old man.”

Rubin scoffed.

Grief leaned in, smirking.  “Or world’s oldest baby. Either works.”

Rubin decided that didn’t deserve a response, or maybe couldn’t think of one, so he gave none. He knew he should get up and try to make it back before nightfall, but his body felt heavy, his joints ached, and the light breeze of the Steppe on his face made his eyelids feel heavy. He didn’t want to leave just yet. Grief sitting so close also felt surprisingly reassuring, though he didn’t want to acknowledge it. He decided he could stay just a little longer.

“How is business?” he grunted. Grief raised his eyebrows, taking a second to respond, visibly surprised by the question.

“The workshop?”

“Yeah, with the toys. Or do you have any other business now?”

Grief snorted. “Nah. It just doesn’t feel much like a business, the way I know it, you know? Not a lotta coin involved.” Rubin waited for him to continue, catching what he thought was pride in Grief’s tone. “But it’s all going swell, the kids bring me all kindsa trash, and I get to play with scrap metal all day. Lil’ bit boring, but decent.” He nudged Rubin’s side with his elbow. “Like you.”

Rubin elbowed him back, scowling, though there was no real heat behind it. Grief laughed.

“Really though, you should stop by one of these days, if you’re that curious.  I’ll fix ya a new clock on the house, even.”

“Maybe I will.” Rubin said, sincere enough. 

“Good.”

They fell into silence again. Grief started humming a tune to himself, something Rubin didn’t recognize, but still felt familiar somehow. As he looked around, at the unending Steppe and the large immovable rocks of the Gumstone under the dim light of dusk, Rubin felt like he had lived this moment so many times before, as a kid, and then as a teen, and even a bit as an adult, too.

“You’re right.” he mumbled, interrupting the other’s humming.

“Finally - yeah, I know.” Grief’s flippant response made him roll his eyes. A short pause. “About what?”

“This place never changes.”

Grief groaned, as if that was the most boring answer he could have possibly given.  “Well, yeah. ‘tis the Steppe. Always been, always will be. It’ll bury us, and long after we’re gone it’ll -.”

“You think that’s why that kid wanted to meet you out here?” Rubin interrupted his soliloquy, and the ghost of a smile played at his lips when his friend let out an indignant huff.

“Aw, c’mon, I was on a roll there, asshole.” He waited for Rubin to retort, but seemed to resign when he got nothing. “...yeah, maybe. Dunno, apparently some kids like to come around here for secret games or making deals or whatever. This place must call to them, or somethin’.” Pause. “Like it did to us, I guess.”

“Oh, did it call to you?” He raised his eyebrows, and Grief shrugged.

“Nah, I’m just shooting the breeze. Don’t remember, but I think I only started coming here because y’all did.”

Rubin nodded. “I can’t remember either, but the Steppe doesn’t talk to me. Not like it does to Cub, at least. It was probably his idea first.” He expected the words to sound bitter, but they weren’t. Maybe being back out here was making him soft, or something. 

 The sound of insects somewhere nearby made it all feel a little fuzzy, even more like a memory. Grief bumped against his shoulder to get his attention, and Rubin lifted an eyebrow at him.

“‘tis a good hiding place.”
“Yeah.”

“To hide notes and stuff, too. Remember?”

“Yeah.” Rubin nodded again. There was silence between them for the following couple of minutes, each absorbed in his own thoughts. Rubin tried to remember what was the last note he ever found in that place, but it proved impossible. It was probably one of Grief’s, they didn’t give up the place right away when Artemy left, even though they probably should have. There was little chance he had kept the dumb notes scrawled with meeting times or little crude drawings, but maybe Grief had one or two tucked away somewhere. The man always had a penchant for holding onto trash.

Grief broke the light trance by sighing and getting back onto his feet.

“My ankle biter ain't showing up. And I doubt yours will, either.” he said, throwing his bag over his shoulder. The sun had all but set entirely, the residual light fading the sky into a dusky blue. Rubin looked up at him, the remaining sunlight on his back outlining the ludicrous hairstyle he insisted on wearing. It wasn't a bad angle on him, somehow. It felt strange to be craning his neck to look up at his friend, but he shrugged.

“And where are you going now? Home?"

“Nah. Cathedral. I go there on the weekends, it’s a good place to think.”

“In the Bridge Square?”

“No. The other, cooler secret cathedral you don’t know about. C’mon.” he sneered.

Rubin made a noise between a snort and a grunt. 

“Have you ever tried talking like a normal person?”

His friend turned to smirk at him, shrugging. “Eh. Why start now?”

Rubin just rolled his eyes.

“Well, I have to report back to Cub at least, make sure Sticky is home safe.”

Grief now had his back to him, stretching his arms over his head.

“Such a good boy, our Stakh.” he cooed.  “That kid knows how to take care of himself, he’s probably home, savoring dinner as we speak. Ya came here for nothing, maybe Cub is prankin’ you.”

Rubin got on his feet too, eyes narrowed and face scrunched up as he considered the thought.

“He wouldn’t. Would he?”

“Dunno. But if he did, hats off to him, gettin’ ya to run all around the Steppe like a chicken with its head cut off.”  Grief snickered. For a second, Rubin felt like he was having a flashback of being 14 years old, a mix of fondness, annoyance, and something else he couldn’t name. He was so lost in thought that he almost jumped when Grief slapped his back, something the other man obviously seemed to find very funny.

“Well, good seein’ you here, Stakh. You’re welcome for the water, by the way.”

“I already said thanks.” Had he? He wasn’t sure. It didn’t really matter.

“‘course you did.” Grief gave him another completely unnecessary slap on his back. “Don’t disappear, alright?”

From this position, with Rubin still facing the sunset, he couldn’t really see the other man’s face, but he could feel his eyes on him, waiting for an answer.  For the first time in this encounter, he felt somewhat awkward, like the spell had been broken. “Sure, see you around”

“If it turns out Cub is prankin’ you for real, tell him I’m proud of him.”

“That’s not funny.” He immediately snapped back, turning to face him.

Grief looked at him over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. “Oh, please. Have a sense of humor.”

"I wasted a whole day running all the way here, I don’t want to believe it was all for a laugh.”

Grief scoffed. “And what would be funnier, then? If the kid was actually in danger, so ya could feel like it was worth it? C’mon. We had a nice moment, here, just enjoy it.”

“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it.” It had, in fact, been a pretty nice moment, but that wasn’t what was important here. “Of course I want him to be okay, but if this turned out to be just Cub sending me off on a wild goose chase I have the right to be angry.”

“Sure, yeah, Stakh. Enjoy your right, then.”

And with a roll of his eyes, Grief turned on his heel and started walking in the direction that, a year before, would have been marked by the shadow of the Polyhedron.

Rubin stalled for a few more minutes, still a little lost in the memories of the place, then took off the opposite way. It was already dim and cool, and it felt a lot less taxing to walk like this, he realized. Still, Artemy better had found Sticky and the kid better have a good reason to go missing, to make him go through all this trouble.

The walk wasn’t unpleasant, but by the time he made his way back to the Burakh household he was truly exhausted, feet starting to ache in his boots. His mood didn’t make a big improvement when, even before knocking on the door, he saw both Burakh children safely inside, helping out their father with dinner, even if it was relieving. In the end, Artemy apologized profusely and told him that Sticky had taken off to Shekhen on his own, and he had overreacted. Rubin decided it was not worth pushing, but also pointed out with great annoyance that Cub could have sent someone to tell him when he found out, at least. 

“I didn’t expect you to be out so long,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. Rubin could see Sticky behind him, watching the two of them talk attentively. “What were you even doing out there all day?”

“Looking for your son. This Steppe is endless.” The meeting with Grief at the Gumstone felt too private of a thing to mention, somehow. “What else would I be doing?”

“I don’t know. Forget it.” Rubin narrowed his eyes at Artemy’s gentle smile. It still made him feel like there was some kind of joke at his expense, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Artemy blinked at him, undisturbed.

 “Thanks for looking, though. Do you wanna stay for dinner?”

“No.”

“Suit yourself.” He tapped Rubin’s shoulder. “Go get some good rest, Stakh, you deserve it.”

Hands tucked into his pockets, Rubin left the Burakh house, mind still playing the day's events back in his head as he walked the short distance to his own home. Maybe he was just tired, but Artemy had been acting weird. And it wasn't even just today, but during this whole week, maybe. He rehashed his friend's words from the previous days in his mind, trying to find something that could explain it, but it was getting late and he convinced himself that whatever Cub was up to, it wasn't his business. He was home before the Cathedral chimed to make eight in the evening.

Chapter Text

Rubin sat at the clinic office, double checking the list of supplies that were to be ordered with the next train. Dankovsky had written it in the week before, and all that was left to do was run a final check before it was sent off. It was a pleasant morning, and he could tend peacefully to his work, left in quiet solitude. 

At least he thought so, up until the moment Murky’s small hand tapped his shoulder. He startled and his knee jerked up, connecting harshly against the underside of the table. He grunted at the pain, but held back the curses that threatened to leave his mouth for the little girl’s sake. Murky remained undisturbed, only glancing at him for a second and then looking back at the floor. She had a rolled up piece of paper tight in her hand, rocking back and forth on her heels. 

“... Hello, kid,” Rubin said. He winced, massaging the pain until it subsided. Murky didn’t make any move to show she had noticed it at all.. “-uh,  Cub’s at the Steppe village, he’s out all day-”

“I know,” she mumbled sheepishly. Rubin waited for her to say something else, but she remained silent.

“Are you looking for Dankovsky, then? I don’t know-”

“No. I needed to talk to you.” She looked up now, looking at his desk instead of the ground, but not at that man himself. She pointed at the list in front of him. “... What’s that?”

“A list of the supplies we need from the next train,” he answered mechanically, and she leaned forward to take a look at the list, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Rubin watched her, more confused than anything else.

“I can’t read it... Is there anything for me?”

“No.” Her expression darkened and Rubin blinked, second-guessing himself. Shit, you had to humor kids about these things, right?  “I mean- it’s only  medical supplies. Bandages, antibiotics, equipment. Nothing fun.”

“I guess…” She shrugged her little shoulders.

There was an uncomfortable moment where neither of them talked. Rubin fidgeted with the bottom of his shirt and Murky went back to rocking back and forth and looking down, her bangs swinging slightly with the movement. Finally, Rubin decided to cut through the silence.

“Was that what you needed from me?”

“No.” She shook her head. “It’s important. But we need to find Uncle Grisha first, so I can tell you both.”

"Grief?" Rubin frowned. “Can’t you tell us separately? I’m sure he’ll be around tomorrow, or...”

“No.” A glare far too intense to belong to such a small child shut down whatever argument he was forming. “It’s very important… I wouldn’t make a big fuss if it wasn’t. Nuh-uh.”

Rubin didn't want to upset the child, but he really would not rather interrupt his work to track down Grief somewhere in town for mysterious reasons. “Can it wait…?”

“No!” Murky crossed her arms, resolute. “It’s super important and super secret .”

They stared at each other for a minute. She didn’t look like she was going to give an inch in this disagreement, so Rubin sighed and stood up. Murky nodded triumphantly and walked in front of him towards the door, but once they were out in the mid-morning sun, she lifted her arms up at him expectantly. 

“... Hm?”

“I need to be tall if I’m going to spot him. Obviously.”

“You’re starting to sound like your brother,” Rubin mumbled as he relented and lifted her onto his shoulders. After making sure she was comfortably (and safely) settled, rolled paper still tight in hand, he glanced up at her. 

“Do you know where he is, at least?”

“No…” He couldn’t see her face, but she sounded disappointed. “I thought you would…”

“Why would I know?” Rubin paused, trying not to scoff. Now he was left to wander around again. He thought about his options. "... I know where his workshop is, I guess. We could try there."

“Okay,” Murky agreed enthusiastically, letting her tiny hands hit the top of his head. And off they went, headed to the upper Hindquarters.

The weather was nice, and the walk was surprisingly pleasant. From her perch on Rubin's shoulders, Murky hummed a tune to herself as he set a brisk pace while carefully watching the ground in front of his feet to avoid any dangerous bumps. 

“Is it lonely, up here all the time?” She asked as they passed by a playground filled with kids.

“... up where?” 

“Being so tall.” She paused, contemplative. “Being small is lonely too sometimes… at least it was, before. Now it’s not so bad.”

He had no idea how to respond. “Um… that’s good.”

“Yeah…” Her voice trailed off, and he felt her weight shift suddenly as she leaned forward and he immediately stopped in his tracks, feeling his stomach drop. Murky, however, barely noticed his stress as she moved forward even further, despite his grip on her small legs.

"Careful-"

 “Keep going! I saw him!” Murky didn't seem scared at all, lightly hitting the top of his head again.

“Oh. Well… why don’t I put you down,” he tried. “And you can run and talk to him. I’ll catch up.”

“Fine, but quickly, he’s getting away!”

Rubin wondered if she meant Grief was actively running from them (and if so, why), but in any case, he picked the girl up and put her on the ground. As soon as her bare feet hit the earth, she took off running in a different direction than expected, and he followed closely. He didn’t rush when he saw that Murky had quickly managed to track Grief down, and was smiling as the two of them talked animatedly. Grief was better at communicating with kids, so at least he had that covered now. 

“Heya, Stakh,” Grief nodded as Rubin finally approached. “A bald penny always turns up, huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Just a sayin', you wouldn't get it.” he said, smirking at Murky as if sharing an inside joke. Rubin just huffed, crossing his arms.

“No fun as usual, I see.” Grief said to the little girl, leaning down to speak like Rubin wasn’t there. He brought his hand up to his mouth to speak in a fake whisper, obviously with full intention of being heard. “Kid, ya sure you want us to hang out with this grump?”

She nodded, serious, resolute. “Just for a little bit… Do you know any secret places?”

“Oh, a secret place, hm, lemme see...” Grief put his hand to his chin, tapping with his finger, making a big show of thinking. Rubin sighed.

“My apartment’s closest right now,” he said, before Grief got any big ideas.

“Yeah, yeah - maybe, but is it secret?"

“... yes?” He really wasn’t sure what qualified. 

"I think that's good enough." Grief told Murky, patting her head. "I can't imagine that this guy ever has anyone over, so it's kinda like a secret place."

Rubin glared at him and earned a grin in response, while Murky mulled over the decision.

“Mm.” She nodded at last, eyebrows pressed together, determined. “Let’s go…” 

“Let’s go!” Grief echoed. He pointed up the street, and bowed. "Will you do us the wondrous honour of leading this merry band, kiddo?”

“But I don’t know where to go.”

“The big guy here will give ya directions, I’m sure.” Grief winked. Rubin rolled his eyes but nodded in agreement. Murky seemed satisfied with the plan, so Rubin pointed in the direction that they had come from, and the three of them began their walk. Murky walked in front and the two adults trailed after her, a little further back. They followed at a distance close enough so as not to lose her, but far enough that she didn’t hear when Grief took hold of Rubin’s elbow and tugged him closer so they could talk quietly while they passed through the town.

“You know what this is about?” Grief asked, casting a glance at the girl. 

“No.” Rubin noticed that Grief didn’t let go of his elbow, but just leaned down and didn’t comment on it. “Only that it’s very important and ‘super secret’. Her words.”

“Huh.”

“We need to tell Artemy if it’s anything serious-”

“Of course we’re tellin' him if it’s anything serious, is that big head just full of air? I’m asking cus she came to us instead.”

Rubin stepped away from him, shaking his elbow loose as he did so, to no visible reaction.

“She said it had to be you and me, no one else?”

“Yeah-”

“What are you talking about?” Murky interrupted. Rubin hadn’t noticed they had come to an intersection, and she had apparently stopped to wait for them. Grief’s demeanor changed instantly, and he gave her a big grin like he had never had a problem in his life.

“Oh, nothin’, just catching up.” he said in a sing-songy voice. He turned and walked backwards, taking the road he knew was in the general direction of Rubin’s apartment. “Lemme know if I’m gonna hit anything. I'm trustin' you, little bear!”

Murky’s expression brightened, and she skipped forward, excited to direct Grief down the street while Rubin trailed after them, begrudgingly impressed with how easily his friend managed the little girl.

Grief only crashed into three different townsfolk by the time they arrived at Rubin's apartment, which he seemed to consider a stunning success. He had almost fallen into a pothole in the street, but had caught himself at the last minute, to both his and Murky’s delight. Rubin had been walking a little further back, not wanting to associate himself with the little scene, and he was somewhat relieved to see that his ex-thief friend decided to wait for him at the gate instead of improvising a way to get inside.

Grief snorted as soon as he entered the apartment.  “Well, this place looks absolutely miserable. I see you didn't get any better at decoratin' while I was away, huh?”

“Why should you care?”

“Free advice, Stakh. Free advice. Don't look my gift horse in the mouth." Grief smirked, but his face changed as his eyes fell on a large, dark stain on the floorboards. Rubin followed his gaze, eyes darkening at the memory. Twyrine. It seemed like Grief remembered that one, too.

“Well, you agree with me, lil one, dontchya?” Grief turned towards Murky, grinning again, effusively unruffled. The girl shrugged, indifferent,  and headed towards the desk. With the help of a chair, she clambered up on top of it.

“Maybe he can’t find anything to decorate with,” she offered, letting her feet dangle. “I didn’t have much in my boxcar for a long time, not until people gave me things.”

“Hmm, could be that, yeah. He’s lonely.” Grief nodded, pretending to seriously contemplate the issue. “He probably just doesn’t have any taste, though.”

“I’m standing here,” Rubin commented dryly. 

“You sure are. Either way,” Grief said, flippantly grabbing a chair that stood against the wall and sliding into it. Rubin shifted on his feet, but shook his head when the other motioned to the other chair near the table.

“Your loss,” Grief said, shifting to put his feet up on it. “Now, kid, whatchya got for us?”

“...” With both adults now looking at her expectantly, Murky seemed to crumble under the pressure. She stared down at her lap, swinging her feet back and forth in the air. Rubin exchanged a look with Grief. Just as it looked like Grief was about to say something, she finally spoke:

“They’re doing a plan on you.”

“Huh?”

“What?” They both spoke at the same time. Murky lifted up her paper, unrolling it carefully.

“They were talking about it… Aba, and Sticky, and Aunt Lara, and even Bachelor… I wanted to remember but I don’t like writing at all.”

“Words take too long, very smart.” Grief leaned in to better see the drawing. Rubin craned his neck to see as well, not sure what to make of any of this so far. 

“... Is that us holding hands?” he asked.

“-hah, she got your likeness just right.” Grief pointed to the tall frowning stick-figure. Murky nodded and kept talking.

“Mm. Because they said you and Uncle Grisha used to kiss and stuff.”

Whatever Rubin had been expecting, it wasn’t that . He froze, looking at Grief, who visibly cringed. Murky glanced nervously between the both of them, and it was Grief who recovered from the shock first.

“Wait- see if I'm gettin’ this right,” he said. Sensing the conversation would be a long one, Rubin nudged Grief’s legs off of the spare chair and took their place. Grief even sat up properly (for once), bringing his hands to his temples.

“You tellin’ me that Cub opened his big mouth again.”

“... His mouth isn’t that big,” she argued, scowling.

“What did he say, exactly?” Rubin asked.

“Well…” she looked back down at the paper. “He said you have some kind of history? And you were together… romistickally.”

“... Romistickally?” He echoed.

“Romantically, Stakh, keep up.” Grief snorted, then added hastily, addressing Murky: “And not true, by the way.”

“... There’s more,” the little girl mumbled.

“Yeah?”

“They’re doing a plan. They said they want to give you…. alone time.”

“Well, that ain't so bad, I guess-”

“No.” She pointed to her drawing, grimacing. “Alone time together. It doesn’t make any sense!”

Rubin rubbed his temples. “So… they’re setting us up.”

“To kiss,” Murky clarified, making a face, and putting her hand over it. “ Gross .”

They had to take a minute to process the information. Grief jumped from his chair and started pacing around the room, while Rubin stayed at the desk with Murky, head on his hands. He thought back to Artemy's suspicious behavior, how things always seemed to include both him and Grief… It all fit too well to not be related to whatever this plan was, but it was absurd. What the hell were they thinking? Cub, perhaps, he could see acting on a dumb idea like this, but Lara? Dankovsky ? And they even got the kids involved? His cheeks burned with the knowledge that they had been talking behind his back, saying who knows what to make this plan not seem like the nonsense that it was.

“Cub was acting strange. It checks out.” he finally muttered, taking a deep breath and making a monumental effort to keep his voice level, though he couldn’t hide the anger behind his voice. “Thank you for telling us, Murky, I’ll have a talk with him-”

“No!” she cried, snapping to attention. “You can’t!”

“I-” he was baffled at the reaction, glancing quickly at Grief who had now stepped closer to see what caused it. “Okay. Why not?”

“It’s secret, you’re not supposed to know!”

“It was a secret, but we found out-”

“You can’t tell Aba you know! You can’t! None of the others, either!” 

“But-”

“Hey, hey-” Grief sneaked his way in between the two of them, voice calm. “Simmer down, little bear, we know how to keep a secret.” He effortlessly ignored the glare he knew Rubin was giving him. “Can I ask why, though?”

“...” Murky deflated as soon as Grief spoke, but she still looked suspiciously at Rubin. “... he’ll know it’s me! I don’t want him to know I tattled. What if he and Sticky are mad at me… And Aunt Lara…”

“Aw, there’s no way in heck they’d be mad at you,” he said. She shook her head, opening her mouth to protest, but Grief cut in before she could say anything. “But if it's so important to you, our lips are sealed, right, Stakh?”

Rubin grimaced and took another deep breath, feeling the blood flow to his head, but he couldn’t push back on this. At least, not as far as Murky was concerned. The little girl clearly thought she had put herself in high risk coming to them, and he couldn't get her more involved than she already was. 

She sat there staring at him, eyebrows pushed together in preparation for a fight. He shrugged angrily.

“Fine. Sealed, whatever.”

“...” She narrowed her eyes, trying to gauge how much he was telling the truth, then turned to Grief. “Will you make sure?”

“What, that he doesn’t snitch?” That seemed to cheer Grief up a little at least, and for a second he looked like he was trying not to laugh.

“I’m not going to-”

“Leave it to me, kiddo, I know this one well.” Grief assured her, putting a hand on Rubin's shoulder. Rubin stared at him with a mix of scorn and disbelief before he shook him off.

Murky nodded, relaxing slightly. She swung her legs in the air for a minute, then jumped down off the table, landing with a gentle thud. 

“Okay,” she said, staring at her feet for a few seconds before making her way towards the door.

“Ey, Murkybear,” Grief called after her. She turned around, leaning against the open door, alert to any odd movement. “Thanks again. For lettin’ us know, you did the right thing.” Rubin nodded in agreement, though his thoughts were elsewhere.

“Mm,” Murky replied. She paused, and then added: “Will you make them stop it? It’s all they talk about and I hate it.”

“Believe me, we don’t like it either.”

“We’ll find a way,” Rubin mumbled.

“Okay. But no telling.”

“Wouldn’t dream a' it,” Grief said. She nodded again, and then slipped out the door, and both of them sat quietly until the sound of little feet going down the stairway could be heard, and then not anymore. Grief walked over to close the door and the sound of it closing resonated through the otherwise silent apartment.

They just stared at each other without words for maybe a full minute.

"What the fuck did just happen?" Grief finally hissed, without any hint of the playful tone he was using with Murky before. "Did Cub's toddler just talk to us she heard how we were foolin' around back in the day? Why in hell would ya tell-"

Rubin simply placed his head on the table, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole as the reality of the situation settled on his shoulders.

“-And now they’re setting us up? Are you fuckin’ kidding me?!” He started to pace the room once again, gesturing wildly as he spoke. “Oh, some real puppetmasters-”

“... That’s why they cancelled on that picnic,” Rubin muttered without lifting his head. “Artemy was so insistent about us going by ourselves.”

“Shit.” Grief’s footsteps halted. “Anything else, do ya think?”

“Yesterday at the Gumstone, maybe.”

Grief shook his head, huffing. “Nah. Unless they got the whole town in on this, it ain’t the first time a kid skips on me there.” He narrowed his eyes, thinking, then raised his hands in frustration. “Although apparently Cub’s little ones are involved now, so what the fuck do I know-” 

“A very convenient coincidence, then.”

Grief kicked at the chair in front of him, and Rubin looked away, feeling his cheeks grow a bit warm. It had just been a chance meeting with his friend in the Steppe, there was no need to twist it into some kind of sunset-watching date, though the sheer possibility of a set-up still soured the memory.

“So,” Grief finally walked back over, sliding to sit on top of the table where Murky had been sitting before (though he took care to pick up the drawing that she had left so as not to crush it). “What are we gonna do about it?”

Rubin frowned. “Talk to them. Tell them to knock it off-”

“You’re killin’ me , Stakh. We just went over this, we can’t break the lil’ one’s trust like that.”

“We won’t say that she was the one that told us, just that we figured it out.”

“Yeah, that would solve everything! How stupid do you think everyone else is, blockhead?” He glowered.  “She’d think we backstabbed her! It seemed like a big deal for her to come to us with it, aren’t we supposed to be encouraging that kinda stuff?”

Rubin just scowled, and took another deep breath. 

“Fine, how the hell are we supposed to fix this without confronting them?”

“...” Grief leaned over, resting his elbow on his thigh and his chin in his hand, grimacing. “I have an inkling of an idea, but you’re not gonna like it.”

Rubin watched him, his eyes narrowing as he tried to anticipate what the suggestion was. But Grief had always been hard to predict, and it was useless to try now. When he didn’t argue, Grief continued: 

“Alright, listen: what if we do a fake-out. Give them what they want, let them think that they succeeded, and then turn it into the messiest break up in this town since that tower got blown to bits.”

Rubin stared, waiting for him to say more, then blinked, eyebrows furrowing. “Why.”

“To show them what happens when they stick their noses where it ain’t their business. They think they know everything about us, that we should be together, without knowin’ any of the-” he waved his hand in the air. “-the details , so we show them what happens when they get involved in stuff like this. It blows up in their faces, and they regret it for life. Teach ‘em a lesson.”

“That’s… completely ridiculous.” 

“Fine, then what’s your idea, genius? I’m all ears.” He nudged Rubin’s arm with the tip of his boot. 

“We don’t need a plan,” Rubin grumbled. “We just ignore it until they stop.”

“So we do nothin’, and what, they just give up?”

“They have to.” He wished they had thought to ask Murky when this had all started, but it couldn’t have been going on for too long. “Let them make their stupid plans,. they’ll stop when they realize it’s not effective.”

“Eh, dunno about that... I mean, Cub is stubborn, it could take forever and a day.”

“They’ll see it’s not working, and they’ll decide it’s too much effort to continue. Maybe they’ll use their brains, for once in their lives.”

“Right, how could I forget,” Grief sneered. “You’re just as much of a stubborn bastard as Cub.”

Rubin felt more anger bubble up in his throat but Grief continued before he could open his mouth.

“Fine, we try it your way.” He huffed, hopping off the table and turning around, his arms crossed. “Come find me when ya get tired of being played around and then we can try actually doin’ something about this.”

“Ignoring it will work,” he pushed back.

“Yeah, and Saburov is gonna invite me over for tea, I just gotta keep ignorin’ him till he does it. Flawless plan.”

“Are you done?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Grief mutered, waving his hand and heading towards the door.

“... Don’t let anyone see you leaving my place,” Rubin called after him, after a moment’s thought. The last thing he wanted was the others drawing the wrong conclusions from this, and hopefully nobody had paid much mind to them walking together earlier. Grief waved his hand again to show that he had heard, and shut the door behind him. 

Rubin sighed. He leaned down to put his head on the table again, but stopped when he realized Murky’s drawing still lay there. The depiction of the two of them stood out in bright colours, especially against the muted palette of his belongings. 

It would be a shame to get rid of it, but displaying it was also not an option… He stood up, placing it carefully in a drawer. There. 

They just had to get through the next week or so without encouraging any of them, and they would have to see how foolish and disrespectful this all was, or at least get bored of the game.

Rubin sighed. He absentmindedly rubbed his forehead where a headache was firmly establishing itself. Just get through the next week, he told himself. That’s all. 

Getting through the next week, evidently, was more of a challenge than Rubin had anticipated. All had been fine, for the most part. A few times, here and there, he and Grief had found themselves suspiciously at the same place at the same time, but they would just grumble and leave without so much as a ‘hello’. Rubin kept his focus on the one thing that mattered the most: his work. He spent his time now either at the clinic or at home surrounded by books, which was fine. Any invitations from Artemy and Lara couldn’t be trusted, though one morning Artemy did tell him that they had missed both him and Grief at the bonfire he had apparently planned. Rubin had just rolled his eyes and muttered an excuse, but his skin prickled with how Artemy had looked at him, trying to see if he had been lying or not. 

But he insisted he had been busy, and things had continued as normal. That changed the next time Sticky was set to be working alone with Rubin, however, in a way he found himself completely unprepared for.  The boy set his bag on the table with a loud clunk that made Rubin glance up at him and nod his greetings.

“You’re early today,” he commented, glancing at the clock in the corner.

“Yup,” the kid replied. He placed his palms on the table and craned his neck to see what Rubin was doing. Rubin, too, glanced down at his notes: a lesson plan for the day. Usually, Sticky would simply assist with any patients that came by, but Rubin liked to be prepared in case the day was a slow one.

“Is that what we’re doing?” He asked. Rubin nodded as he picked up his coffee, bringing the mug to his lips. Sleep continued to be elusive, as it always had been for him, but at least coffee had been more plentiful since the trains had started running again.

“Yeah. Unless you have any other topics you are interested in,” he muttered from behind the mug. Sticky looked closer, humming in thought.

“No, but I do have another question,” he said. 

Rubin nodded, ready to answer one of Sticky’s typical questions: general placement of muscles or bones, or purpose of organs, or even immune system reactions. Sticky opened his mouth, then paused as his father passed through the room. He waited until Artemy had left and until Rubin had taken another sip of coffee before speaking, confident in his words:

“You like Uncle Grisha, don’t you?”

All day . 

This kind of questions lasted all fucking day . Sticky worked as hard as he normally did, true, but every spare moment was peppered with questions about Grief, or suggestions that they should spend more time together. The kid wasn’t subtle, either, how could he be?  And the look on his face told Rubin that he wasn’t about to let up soon.

Rubin could put up with a lot, but not this . His one safe haven from the absurdity around him had been infiltrated, and now he couldn’t ignore it, not even at work. 

So when Grief swung by the clinic later in the day, looking for Murky (a small bag of sweets in hand), Rubin pulled him aside. He glowered at his friend’s smug, knowing expression. 

“Fine,” he hissed. “We’ll do it your way. I cannot have my work days be a repeat of this one.”

Grief lifted his eyebrows. “Oh? What’d they do to you, now?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He crossed his arms. Grief’s face denounced that he wanted to know more, but clearly Rubin wasn’t in a good mood, so he just nodded. 

“Fine, fine. We start tomorrow, I’ll swing by here. The sooner it’s all done, the better.”

Rubin nodded curtly,. “And how do we show that we’re…” He sighed, grimacing.

“What, madly in love ?” Grief snickered. “Don’tchya worry, big guy, I know exactly what to do from here.”

Chapter Text

It was about lunch time when Grief made his entrance at his friends’ new clinic in the Crude Sprawl. Well, new-ish: a few months old, same as many other things in town, due to all the destruction the previous year had brought. His timing was no coincidence: he had planned for this, and like a person on a mission, he walked confidently (almost sauntering) through the open door. Though the door remained open at all hours, he knew that now, at noon, was his best chance of catching the three doctors on a break and avoid sharing the stage with a crying child or a stab victim. 

As predicted, Grief reached the break room without distractions. He saw Dankovsky send a surprised glance his way from a chair in the corner and recognized the familiar smell of one of Artemy’s soup dinners wafting up from his bowl. He found Cub himself sitting at the table and chatting with Rubin, who stood up a little ways, behind a chair. Ah, yes, there he was. Stanislav Rubin, the big man, the legend, the exact person he was looking for.

With his excessively tall friend within reach, Grief threw an arm around him with a relaxed, overly casual motion. He chose to overlook how Rubin’s body immediately tensed up like a turtle retreating back  into its shell, and proceeded to get on his toes to deliver a kiss to his cheek. Rubin looked at him with something akin to shock and outrage before realization reached his eyes and his expression went suddenly blank, the only signs of any particular discomfort there being the usual crease on his brow and the dark red shade of his face. 

Grief waved to the two men staring at them, as if this was all very natural.

"Heya, Doc. Cub." Artemy mumbled back a 'hey' while looking at them with wide saucer-like eyes, and Dankovsky seemed to be questioning his place in reality. Both of their gazes were firmly fixed on Rubin as they waited for a reaction. Grief grinned, delighting in the suspense.

"Oh… so, I'm guessin' Stakh hasn’t told you the news yet, huh?" He glanced up at his aforementioned friend's flustered face. Rubin stared firmly at some invisible point in front of him, as if he thought he’d break something by moving.

Dankovsky looked at Artemy for any kind of guidance or explanation, but the other seemed to be at a similar loss of words. A short pause followed Grief’s question, then Artemy slowly shook his head. "...no? What news?"

"Aw, maybe he was waitin’ for me, then? How sweet." Grief bumped Rubin's side with his shoulder, which seemed to at least snap him out of whatever embarrassment realm he had been trapped in.

"... Yes. Yes, sorry. I didn't want to distract from work," he finally forced out. "And I figured it wasn’t relevant to bring up-"

Grief interrupted, enthusiastic. "-but course it was, Cub is pretty much our brother!" For the first time since the start of this conversation, Rubin’s glassy gaze raised to make contact with the other doctors’, while Grief's own drifted slowly between Artemy and Daniil. 

"And these are your most darlin’ colleagues, they should know."

"Should know what?" Artemy never had the best poker face, and his voice betrayed his hopeful excitement. 

Rubin opened his mouth to answer but hesitated one second too long and Grief cut in again, pulling him closer. "We're a thing now! Ain't that amazin’?" He slapped Rubin’s shoulder for effect.

Artemy's eyebrows drew together as he processed the new information, then his face lit up with a big smile. 

"Seriously? How did that happen?"

"You wanna tell him, babe?"

"No. Go ahead." Rubin winced at the petname for a split second and nudged the other man with his elbow, but dropped his gaze back to the ground . Grief took that as a vow of confidence, more or less -  as smart and practical as his friend was, spinning stories has always been more in his own wheelhouse.

"Well, you see, Cub…” he paused, for dramatic effect. “Old wounds heal. Seasons change, yadda yadda, all that crap. And lately there were all these weird things happenin', I think it was kinda like, twists of fate, ya know?" 

He exchanged an enamored glance with Rubin. Well, exchanged wasn’t quite the right word, Rubin still seemed to be set on playing a statue and barely gave him a side glance, but that was fine, at least for the moment. "For us to talk, and beyond. Catch my drift?"

The victorious look on Artemy's face told the both of them that they had him exactly where they wanted. It was almost too easy, with Cub.

Dankovsky, however, observed it all with an unconvinced frown, as if faced with a difficult puzzle. Grief saw a chance to strike, and grinned at him.

"Aw, Doc, why the long face? Got a problem with it?"

Dankovsky balked from being suddenly put in the spotlight, looking up at Rubin as if  asking for help.

"Me? No, of course not, this is just very sudden, I couldn't expect-" 

Grief interrupted him, turning to Artemy solemnly. "I think your man hates homos, Cub. I'm so sorry."

Dankovsky's face immediately changed from caution to indignant rage, but Artemy burst into laughter, which constituted a full victory, as far as Grief was concerned. Rubin stood there red as a beet, with a hand over his face and pinching the bridge of his nose. Looking up at him, Grief worried for a second that he had just set off a timebomb, but instead of exploding, Rubin just took a deep breath and squeezed his arm.

“I need to talk to you for a second. Privately ,” he grumbled. Grief nodded, smirk disappearing from his lips.

“You guys can take all the time you want. Me and Danya got it all covered today.” Artemy interjected with a smile, putting a hand on Dankovsky’s shoulder. The shorter man’s posture vaguely resembled that of an angry cat.

“No. I’ll be back in a minute. I just need to have a word with my dear friend here.”

“Boyfriend.” Grief corrected, not missing the opportunity.

“Yes, my boyfriend ,” Rubin almost growled. He glared down at the other as if he was speaking to a badly-behaved dog. 

“Stakh, it’s alright-” Artemy cut in, slightly concerned. 

“No, Cub, ‘s all cool.” Grief smiled as he cut in, friendly. “We do need to talk, yeah, that’s why I came here. I’ll hand him back to ya in a second.”

That seemed to calm Rubin down slightly, the crease on his brow relaxing just a little bit. As he tugged Grief out of the door, the shorter man still waved goodbye to the remaining doctors, unaffected by Dankovsky’s death glare.

“What the fuck was that?” Rubin hissed as they made it outside, in a puny effort to keep his voice low. Grief grimaced, crossing his arms and refusing to look intimidated even as the other man towered over him. 

“That’s how we set the plan in action, duh. Did ya hit your head again?”

Rubin pointed at his own cheek. “We didn’t talk about anything like that! Nothing about you coming in and kissing me, making this little show.”

Grief stared at him, eyebrows raised, mouth slightly agape in disbelief. “Wait, you got your panties in a knot all cus I kissed you on the cheek? What did ya think pretendin’ to be a couple even meant?”

Rubin’s ears now were completely red, and he reached down to firmly grasp Grief’s arm again, making the other stiffen up instinctively, but not back down.

“It’s not only that, this whole scene. We didn’t talk about any of this.”

“ But we did. We didn’t run a play-by-play yeah, but I didn’t think we needed to!”

“The joke on Dankovsky was completely out of line.”

“Cub thought it was hilarious!”

“This is not one of your usual pranks, you can’t just walk in and pull that shit, much less without telling me first.”

Grief snorted sarcastically, shaking him off and raising his arms.

"Do what? Joke around? Kiss you on the cheek? Oh my, Stakh, how fuckin' scandalous! You wanna give it up already?"

"... No." He let the word out as if it killed him a little to say it. “Just give a warning before you do something like that, and please don't come while I'm at work anymore."

"I made sure you were on lunch break."

"Yeah, thank fucking god for that."

Grief glowered, shrugging angrily. "Look. If bein' with me is that unbearable, maybe we should just call it quits.”

“That’s not- is that what you got out of this?” Rubin brought a hand to his forehead. Grief stared at him with scorn. “Look, we just have to establish some things. I should be done here at seven, you know where my apartment is-”

“Yeah-” Grief interrupted, but Rubin kept trudging forward. 

“Meet me there. At the door, I mean. Do not attempt to go in before I arrive. We’ll talk it out.” Grief waited for a second to see if he was really done, then shrugged and rolled his eyes.

“Sure, whatever. Sorry that this was apparently so fuckin’ humiliating for ya.” It didn’t take a mindreader to catch that he was being sarcastic.

“We’ll talk about it later.” Rubin refused to take the bait, for once. “And now I need to get back to work and I don’t want to think about this.  Alright?”

“I already said yeah.”

“Good.” Rubin huffed, but Grief didn’t stick around any longer than he had to and turned around before the entirety of the word had left his throat.

Rubin sighed as he watched Grief storm off. Now, he just had to prepare himself to face his two colleagues again. As he walked back into the clinic, he hoped more than anything that they wouldn’t attempt to talk to him about  this, at least for the rest of the day.

Mercifully, they didn’t mention the occurrence. In fact, Dankovsky visibly avoided addressing him at all during the remainder of their work, which for the moment wasn’t so bad. Artemy attempted to make conversation once or twice in-between tasks, but was easily rebuffed. And when seven o’clock arrived, for perhaps the first time in their clinic’s short life, Rubin picked up his things and left as soon as his shift was over.

It was lightly raining when Rubin reached his apartment. The rest of the day and the short walk home had calmed him down somewhat, though he still dreaded the conversation he was about to have. It would be so much easier to just call the whole thing off and not deal with any of this, but with such an opening act, the whole ordeal today would be impossible to explain if they stopped now.

When he reached his home, he saw Grief sitting on the stairs that led to the building, a hand cupped around a lit cigarette, and one of his bulky coats over his head to protect from the rain. He thought for a moment that Grief hadn’t seen him coming, but realized his mistake as he got close enough to see that his eyes followed him, shining with the light of the cigarette from under the shadow of the coat. Naturally, he thought. Living without being keenly aware of whatever lurks nearby was a luxury neither could ever really afford, and the events of last year's plague made sure it would always be beyond their grasp.

When he reached the porch Grief was already on his feet, and they exchanged a nod. No need for further greetings. From this close, he could see his friend’s face better. His lips were a dark, pinkish violet, and he could see the traces of the lipstick around the cigarette as well. It was unusual - but not terribly so, Grief had been trying out new things with his appearance in this last year after the Plague (after being released from the role of tough criminal kingpin, Rubin supposed). He never commented on it, but he often noticed - the painted nails, the clothes. It didn’t look bad - suited him, in a way.

“What are you looking at, dickhead? Somethin’ on my face?” The expression he wore and his tone indicated he was daring Rubin to say something. But Rubin didn’t know what to say, or how it would be taken, so he said nothing. They stared at each other in tense silence for a few seconds.

“Can I have a cigarette?”  Rubin asked.  Not the best way to disperse the tension, but he really could use a smoke right now.

Grief shook his head. “No, this is my last. Dontcha have any upstairs?”

“No.” And now Grief looked at him as if expecting a story, a justification, which Rubin ignored. Instead, he climbed the stairs of the porch and opened the door, holding it open for his friend, who tossed his cigarette butt on the ground and stepped on it. It left a sticky, ashy mess behind, and Grief headed inside without sparing him a glance. Rubin grimaced at the gratuitous littering. Of course, the asshole had to act like this. He wouldn’t rise to the bait, but he made a mental note to clean it later, before the neighbors noticed.

 “You could have waited in the hall,” he said instead, following Grief, who shrugged.

“You said not to go in.”

“I meant not to try to go inside my apartment.”

“Well, I was just waitin’ for you, like ya asked.” He waited behind him now, hands in his pockets.

Rubin had the impression that the other wanted to play out his request as unreasonable or cruel, like he had made him stand in the rain, or something, so instead of replying, he only rolled his eyes in irritation and stepped ahead to unlock the door. Grief had never been stupid, despite how much he enjoyed the guise, he knew what he had meant. This was just another one of his petty games.

Once they were both inside the apartment, Rubin closed the door behind them, but Grief  kept his back turned towards him. The attitude was starting to grate on his nerves - this plan wasn’t even his idea, and he didn’t need Grief trying to make the situation even more awkward.

“What’s your problem?” he finally asked. “Is it all because I said I didn’t like your performance at the clinic? What did you even expect?”

Grief turned to look at him, scowling.

“Chill out, Stakh. I’m just thinkin’. Or are you gonna yell at me for that, too?”

 Rubin frowned back. The room felt suffocating, and he had to fight back that familiar anger that he’d been trying to keep down the whole day, and many days before. There was a moment where both of them just looked at each other, eyes narrowed. A stand-off. 

“You’re thinking? No wonder I found it so weird.” Rubin broke first, desperate to break the thick tension, so desperate that he would try to make the first joke that came to mind. It felt weird, clumsy, awkward on his tongue. 

Grief laughed at that. A short, dispirited laugh,  just a recognition of a joke being made.

“Aw, Stakh, that's the best you got?”

“I prefer to use my brain for other things.”

“Oh, I know,” Grief muttered. His tone felt patronizing, but Rubin ignored it.

More silence. Rubin found his eyes seeking out the twyrine stain on the floor once again, the old elephant in the room, a reminder of how things last went between them. The dim light of his apartment hid it well, though. Fine, it’s not like a reminder of that night would do them any good right now, anyway. Grief shuffled on his feet, leaning against the wall, crossing his arms. Then, because he must have been just as uncomfortable with the silence as Rubin, he asked, flippant: 

“Aren’t ya going to offer me a cup of tea, or something? What a shoddy host.”
Rubin stared down at him, incredulous. “You want to draw this out even longer?”

“Aw.” Grief said, eyebrows raising in false compassion. “I forgot how unbearable my presence was for you. Poor, sensitive lil’ Stakh... We’ll make this quick then, no need to blow another gasket.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Why are you being so damn difficult now?” Rubin pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “This was your stupid idea in the first place.”

“Yeah, and ya haven’t been doing shit to help with it. I give you one tiny lil’ kiss on the cheek and ya have an entire meltdown outside that-”

“It wasn’t a meltdown.” 

Grief rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to respond. But now, Rubin was faster. 

“I just didn’t think you were going to be so…” he groaned, feeling his cheeks grow  warm at the memory. Did he even need to explain this? “...exuberant about it. I was at work . That wasn’t the time-”

“You’re actin’ like I threw ya against the wall and stuck my tongue down your throat at a town meeting or something.”
“It was unprofessional.”

“Oh, believe me, you have no idea what unprofessional looks like.”Grief snorted and scratched his nose before crossing his arms again. “‘Twas the tamest thing I could have possibly done. There needs to be something that makes us look like a couple, and ya obviously weren’t gonna mention it to either of them.”

He was not wrong, but Rubin still resented being told it, letting out an annoyed huff. Another moment of tense silence passed between the two of them. Rubin felt an uncomfortable ache on his temples and shuddered, trying to ignore it.

“Still,” he said, finally. “A warning would have been nice.”

Grief groaned, lifting his hands.

“Yeah, yeah, ya made that point clear the last four or five times you said it. Got anything new?”

“I needed to make sure you understood.”

“I did, ain’t that why we’re here now? Change the record already, I’m sick of this tune.”

Rubin clenched his fists, struggling to keep his voice down.

“Snap out of it, will you? I’m fucking trying to cooperate right now, so if you’re going to be like that-”

“Fine.” Grief cut in and pulled a chair, completely throwing him off, turning some of Rubin’s anger into confusion.

“Fine what?”

He huffed. “Fine, Stakh. You wanna dance? Let’s dance. What do you propose?”

Rubin blinked, opening his mouth only to realize that, if he had any thought about how to conduct this conversation before, it was gone. He felt suddenly more aware of his body. Exhausted, and with his temples still aching, he shuffled on his feet.

“I’m going to make some coffee. Do you want any?”

“Coffee?” Grief frowned, and glanced at the window. Through the dents of a make-shift barricade, one could see the night sky. “At this hour?”

“Yes.” Rubin replied emphatically, making clear he wasn’t discussing this. “You want it or not? I can check if I have tea too, but don’t get used to it.”

Grief squinted at him, head tilted, as if he was waiting for Rubin to tell him he was pulling a prank. When it didn’t happen, he burst into laughter.

“You’re one odd bastard, Stakh.” He snickered, then added, hanging his wet coat on one of the chairs: “I say this from one to another, of course.”

“Fuck  you.”

He gave him a dismissive hand wave. “Nah, thanks, just the tea will do for now.” 

Rubin groaned, feeling his cheeks warm up again. This was usual Grief humor, at least, so maybe this night could lead to some kind of negotiation after all.

He turned away and was about to walk into the next room when he saw that Grief had gotten up and stood next to him, eyes on the threshold he was about to cross. He sent him a questioning glance, to which Grief only raised his eyebrows, questioning right back. So Rubin spoke.

“What are you doing ?”

“Followin’ you. I don’t wanna wait here alone, and I haven’t seen the rest of your house.”

“...you don’t need to. Sit down, I’ll bring you the tea.”

Grief huffed. “Look, if you don’t let me in, ya know I’m gonna be even more curious.”

 Rubin rolled his eyes. Fine, what difference did it make? He was willing to concede to this, if it made things go a little smoother. 

They crossed into the kitchen, which was also his bedroom, and occasionally an extra study room and anything else he needed it to be. While he took care to gather a pot, water, and matches, Grief seemed to entertain himself by wandering around and, by his own earlier definition, giving valuable free advice.

“This is where you sleep?” He had his back turned and there were curtains in between them, but the context told him Grief had just found his bed.

“Yeah.” he nodded, focused on the match in between his fingers as he leaned down to light the stove.

“You’re shittin’ me, there’s no way in hell you fit here! You serious?”

“Yeah.”

“No wonder you never sleep, then.”

“Did you even have a bed?”

Grief walked off the side of the curtains and back into his field of vision, proceeding to stumble on a book in the way. It made the corner of Rubin’s lips quirk into a smile, for just a split second. Grief rolled his eyes when he caught a glimpse of it, but seemed undeterred.

“What do you mean?”

“As the underground king of Gorkhon, you must have had such a luxurious bed.”

Grief  let himself flop back on an armchair in the corner, crossing his legs as he leaned back.

“Joke’s on you, asshole, I did. I was rich, remember?”

“You had an expensive bed, but you didn’t even have a real house.”

“I had a nest, it was like a house, but better.”

“Hm,” Rubin grunted as he pulled a stool he kept next to the counter, and sat in front of him, thinking. He could barely hold himself from asking, ‘if it was so much better, would you go back?’, but didn’t want to make things worse again. As it turned out, he didn’t need to.

“It’s better now, anyways.” He stared at Rubin like he could see inside his head and resented him. It didn’t feel good. “I ain’t no giant, I don’t need a big bed. You do.”  

“I’m fine. My bed is fine.”

Grief snorted.

“Of course, Stakh. Of course. And the dead are the finest of us lot.”

There was silence again. Less terse than before, but still awkward. Grief seemed to have found something very interesting to look at on his own palm, while Rubin just sat and stared ahead, trying to figure out how to initiate the topic they came there to discuss. 

He was unsuccessful, but at least the silence was soon broken by the kettle’s shrill whistle as the water boiled. Rubin winced at the noise and quickly took the kettle off of the heat and grabbed two massive, ancient-looking mugs from a cabinet. There was still some already ground coffee from that morning, so he busied himself with measuring it into the filter and pouring the water through it, shoulders stiff with the awareness of Grief’s eyes on his back. Once the coffee was done and he had poured hot water into the other mug, he stopped to check the cabinet again.

"I only have black tea."

A short pause, no answer. He waited.

"Eh." He could somehow hear Grief smirk. "I don't really care for tea that much, I just think it's real cute that you actually went and made it."

Rubin practically growled, bringing a hand to his forehead with a sharp sound and turning to glare at him. "Seriously?"

"Black tea is fine," he said mildly, as if he hadn’t just admitted to wasting Rubin’s time. “Thanks.”

Rubin grumbled something that could only very generously be interpreted as a ‘you’re welcome’ and was most likely a curse. A couple of more minutes and he joined Grief again, handing him a mug of dark, fragrant tea before flopping back on his stool with his own coffee.

Then there was more silence, more staring at each other while Grief blew on his tea. When he finally took a sip, Rubin noticed how the lipstick left a dark ring on the white ceramic, and how it smudged a little to the side and off Grief’s lips when he was done. Grief must have noticed him staring, because he grinned, raising his eyebrows at him as if he knew something Rubin didn’t.

“Somethin’ on your mind, Stakh?”

Rubin looked away, sipping on his coffee. He didn’t know why he suddenly felt so embarrassed, he hadn’t done anything.

“Yes. We need to discuss some things.” It took him a split second to remember again what it was they were meant to talk about, and he added quickly, feeling dumb: “Ground rules for this stupid dating plan.”

Grief nodded. “Yeah.”

“So that what happened today never happens again.”

“Yeah, right, got it.” he groaned. “You gonna just keep sulking about it or actually contribute?”

“I’m contributing.” 

Grief’s snickered in a way that made clear he didn’t believe him in the slightest. “Really?”

“ Yes .” Rubin glowered.

“Go on then, what is your idea?”

Rubin opened his mouth, then closed it again, sipped his coffee, looked at Grief, at the floor, and finally grunted. Grief paused and stared ahead, giving him the space to do as he had argued he would. When almost a minute passed in predictable silence, Grief rolled his eyes.

“Thought so. Fine, let’s start small. How do ya feel about holdin’ hands?”

“In public?” Rubin frowned, and Grief laughed, loud.

“I would think so? Otherwise it’s just holding hands because ya wanna hold my hand.” Rubin’s face twisted into a deeper frown. Without an immediate answer, Grief took the opportunity to keep going. “I mean, I’m not gonna stop you, I just didn’t think-”

“Yeah,” Rubin cut in, voice raised, face way too red again. “I guess hand-holding is fine. Nothing excessive, though.”

Grief barked out another laugh. “Yes, of course, we wouldn’t want to excessively hold hands, god help us.”

Rubin hid his face behind his big coffee mug while his friend finished laughing. 

“Weren’t you in a sour mood just a minute ago?”

“Meh.” Grief responded, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m fickle, I guess.”

“I know that.” A short pause, while they both drank. Grief observed him with an eyebrow raised, unsure how to take this. Better make it clear, then. “That’s what worries me, we have a plan here.”

"Oh my fucking god Stakh, what crawled up your ass and died? Yeah, I'll follow the plan, I get it. Only the most essential hand holdin', no more, I promise."

This outburst, for some reason beyond himself, amused Rubin, and he hid a small smile behind his mug again. 

"Good. Another thing, no more displays while I’m at work.”

“Only if you also put the work in to keep up the act.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?”

“I dunno, use your head, for once! Talk about havin’ a date night, or something, you know Cub’ll eat that shit up.”

“I guess, if I have to… I’ll figure something out.” Rubin couldn’t look less enthused about the idea if he tried. Still, Grief took the sudden agreeable-ness as an opening to push further.

“And we’re gonna have to kiss eventually, y’know.”

Rubin scowled at him. It was an obvious thing, but he hated how the idea made him uneasy, gave him a strange lump on his throat. Unbidden, memories of time spent together surfaced in his mind, but he forced them away quickly with a grimace. “... Will we? Really?”
“If we want ‘em to believe we’re really a thing, yeah. Cub is easy to fool, but I don’t think Dankovsky is sold on it, and there’s still Gravel.”

“Ugh.”

“Yeah, I’m not euphoric about it either, big man.” There was an extra sharpness in Grief’s tone, but Rubin ignored it. This was already awkward enough for the both of them.

“When?” He asked, instead.

“Dunno for sure. Doesn’t need to be immediately. There’s dinner at Cub’s tomorrow, maybe we’ll see how it goes.”

“... Right.”

The conversation ended up flowing after that, more or less. They stuck mostly to what they had come for, what was acceptable, what wasn’t, when to ask, and decided on a couple of hand signs (including one to ‘cut it out’). When the conversation had devolved into nothing but a few jokes and an oddly comfortable silence, Grief put his empty mug down on the counter and stood up, stretching. 

“I’d call that a successful night of negotiations, eh, Stakh?”

He snorted. “I guess.”

“I think I’ll head out, leave ya to your tiny bed or whatever else you get up to in the dead of night nowadays,” he said with a smirk.

“Dead of night?” Rubin rolled his eyes, glancing at the clock. “It’s nine thirty.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Grief replied, picking up his jacket and sliding his arms through the sleeves. “Responsible adult bedtime, I’ve been told.” It was funny how much the coat changed his silhouette, gave him a much bulkier, bigger frame. In hindsight, it felt obvious what he was trying to do.

When he left, Rubin didn't follow him to the lobby of the building, claiming exhaustion (true), but they parted in somewhat good terms regardless. Even when he saw Grief pull out a cigarette from his coat pocket as soon as he was out of the apartment, probably with the express purpose of letting him see that he had, in fact, always had them. It was annoying, yes, but it was probably better this way. He didn’t need the smoke, after all.

As he put the dishes away and grabbed one of his newest medical books to read in bed, he thought that Grief was right about that one thing, at least: he could probably use a bigger one.

Chapter Text

They met outside the Burakh house, in the shadows, a couple of hours after dusk. Rubin must have already been standing there like a marble sentinel for who knows how long when Grief slithered in the dark next to him.

“Alright,” he whispered as he carelessly invaded the other’s space, bumping against his side and nudging him with his elbow, that familiar cunning spark in his eyes. “It’s showtime, pal. Get ready.”

Rubin groaned, predictably glaring down at him. Grief raised his arms in mock-surrender - he also knew what was coming next.

“Where even were you? It’s-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I spaced out durin’ work, but I’m here now, alright? So chill.”

Rubin stalled with his mouth open, as if taking a long breath before starting a long rant, but after a beat, he only huffed and grumbled a ‘fine’ between gritted teeth. Grief returned the glare. He should have known better than being late and invoking his friend’s bad mood, but it had only been fifteen minutes. Stakh was so meticulous about the most stupid things, as if it would kill him to wait a little bit...

 Still, Grief would be much more annoyed if he couldn’t tell how seriously the other man took this: his shoulders and neck were unnaturally stiff,  jaw locked into a grimace so tight that it looked like it could snap at any moment. He could only imagine how unnervely clenched his asscheeks had to be, too. People would always talk as if Grief himself was the drama queen of their little group, but in his opinion, Stakh held that crown by a long shot. He just was no fun about it.

Still, this just wouldn’t do, as far as putting on an act went. There was only so much stiffness he could make up for, and if Rubin was this worked up before interacting with the rest of their friends, then they might as well throw the towel right then and there.

“You nervous?” Grief nudged him again.

“No.” The answer was dry, serious, and obviously false.

“‘twas not a real question.” Rubin rolled his eyes.

Honestly, it was kind of baffling how the guy never got any better at lying, no matter if it was something completely inconsequential or very important. He acted like it physically pained him somehow, like he had been cursed by a particularly uptight witch to either tell the truth or lock up like a bear trap. More realistically (though that was a rather fuzzy term, nowadays), what had happened was that he used these few minutes to think up all the worst case scenarios and believed in inevitable failure. Grief wasn’t even sure how much you could fuck up pretend-dating, but Stakh had probably come up with something and was fully convinced they were headed there. Always big on self sabotage, that one.

Either way, now it was in Grief’s hands to salvage this. It was a toughie, but if they were still going for this plan, it was obvious he had to take the first step. Confident, he reached for Rubin’s hand with his own and squeezed.

Rubin stiffened up even more, and Grief thought he must have been clenching muscles previously inaccessible for regular human physiology. Still, he wasn’t going to let this rattle him.

“What?” he asked, mildly, like he was trying not to startle a wild animal (but still wanted the animal to know he was being an ass). “I’m gettin’ into character.”

The taller man looked down at their linked hands, and then away, before aggressively shrugging.

“Fine. Sure, do that.” he grumbled.

He must have expected Grief to start walking, but he didn’t. Instead they just stood there for a few seconds, looking at nothing while holding hands, until Rubin’s face grew really warm from either embarrassment or anger, and he pulled his hand away.

“What the hell are we waiting here for? We’re already late-”

“For you to calm down, knucklehead. If we go in there like this, they’ll think I’m holdin’ you hostage.”

“I-” Now, that red was most definitely from embarrassment. Rubin hid his face behind one of his big hands, and took a deep sigh. “I’m fine.”

“Well, then start lookin’ like it. Forget about getting caught, if we go in like this, they’ll demand we break up.”

Silence. There was the sound of chatting somewhere, but it was impossible to tell if it came from Artemy’s house or somewhere else.  Another deep breath, and Rubin reached back for his hand. Grief squeezed it back. The skin was cold and clammy. It took some effort for him not to remark on it, on how endearing it was, but thankfully his smirk went unnoticed(or ignored?).

A few more seconds passed, and maybe it was wishful thinking, or just the gentle breeze on their faces, but Rubin’s body seemed to relax a bit. The redness of his face seemed to subside slightly as well, though it was hard to tell in the dark. A laugh that was recognizable as Artemy’s sounded nearby, muffled by walls.

“You good now?” Grief whispered, trying to sound like he wasn’t making fun. The result was dubious.

“I told you I was fine.” Rubin hissed back.  “But yes, it’s better, so let’s just get this stupidity over with.” To his credit, he seemed to ignore the provocation. Grief nodded.

“...it’s kinda funny that after having the whole Kin after your ass and beating the fuckin’ plague, this is what freaks you out.”

“Shut up.” Rubin maintained his gaze straight ahead, and the man next to him nodded, heeding the warning.

And thus, they walked hand-in-hand to the Burakhs’ front door, and Rubin unceremoniously reached for the doorknob. The stage was set.

“-are you sure?” It was Lara’s voice, the half of a sentence hanging in the air as both her and Artemy, who was leaning against the kitchen counter, turned to look at them through the open door.

“Sure about what?” Grief jumped in, as if he’d always been there.  His gaze crossed Lara’s, and he followed it as it darted down, to their linked hands. He felt a flutter, as if suddenly exposed, blood rushing to his cheeks. A foolish reflex, nothing more. This role was a breeze, and he was still a master pretender. Furthermore, he couldn’t come across as nervous, or Stakh would lose it too, and they were way too deep in now to let that happen. A sudden firm squeeze of his hand reassured him, even if he was pretty sure that wasn’t the intended purpose. Either way, he squeezed back. It was on.

“Oh, speak of the devil-” Lara exchanged a glance with Artemy, before turning her body towards their two friends, arms crossed.  “I was just wondering if you two would ever show up.”

Grief had a hunch that this wasn’t the full truth, but Gravel’s poker face had always been solid. Well, it didn’t matter anyway.

“As if we’d skip on free dinner and drinks,” he replied, nudging Rubin and pointing at him with his free hand. “Stakh just got caught up in a work thing, as usual.”

“Sure, a work thing.” Artemy said with a wink, as he turned around and checked to make sure the stove was heating properly. Grief rolled his eyes and mumbled a “so mature” without a hint of irony, which made Lara laugh. The conversation came to a lull afterwards, with Lara and Artemy on one side over in the kitchen, and Grief and Rubin standing on the threshold. Rubin shifted on his feet, uncomfortable, his fingers twitching slightly where they were intertwined with Grief’s.

An idea immediately popped in Grief’s head.

“Hey, Cub, Stakh told me he’s not feeling too good. Grab him a drink maybe, let him sit off the headache? You know how it is for him with that stuff...”

Artemy nodded and turned again to grab a glass of water. Rubin side-glared Grief, but was otherwise decent at hiding his surprise. Grief returned the look with a proud grin, making a mental note to compliment this part of his friend’s acting later, and proceeding to immediately forget about it.

“Here, Stakh.” Cub handed him the glass. “You can have some alone time in my room if you want, we all know that spending so much time with Grief can be overwhelming.” Next to Rubin, Grief put a hand to his chest and gasped, feigning indignation, which his pretend-partner easily ignored. Rubin still tried to make clear with his eyes that he didn’t appreciate the lack of previous warning, but the idea of getting away from that uncomfortable situation was too good to turn down, and he was grateful. He mumbled a low “Thank you” and let go of Grief’s hand to turn around, starting his way towards the stairs. Grief shoved his hands in his pockets as he noticed Lara looking fixedly at the back of Rubin’s head and then at him, a glance that seemed like an inquiry. Although Lara was often quiet, he knew she was deceptively shrewd. They had to be careful with that look.

There was a  short pause in conversation as Stakh walked away, but it was quickly broken by Murky sprinting the opposite way, making a beeline to the kitchen without sparing a glance at Rubin, who stalled for a second to attempt a wave but kept walking upon the unspoken rejection with a frown that nobody could see.

“Aba,” she complained, leaning against the doorframe. It was as if she hadn’t noticed the giant man crossing paths with her at all, or the shorter one that still stood there. “Sticky won’t play with me, tell him to put his stupid book down.”

“It’s not stupid!” Sticky’s voice could be heard from the other room. Artemy chuckled, reaching his hand out to mess with her hair, but she leaned away and frowned, instead.

“Your uncle is here,” he said, indicating Grief with his head. “Why don’t you play with him instead?”

Grief squatted down to get on the child’s eye level.

“Yeah, kiddo, we can leave your brother to his dumb book,” he offered, low enough to not warrant a response from Sticky.

The glare that Murky gave him was so intense that it almost physically pushed him back. She stared him down with the fury of a lifelong enemy, proceeding to cross her arms and walk past him and down the hall, disappearing to where she came from.

“Oof. Little bear woke up on the wrong side of bed, huh?” Grief whistled as he straightened, hands going back in his pockets.

“Dunno,” Artemy leaned back against the counter. “She was in a fine mood before you got here.”

Grief shrugged, though he felt his stomach drop for a moment. He hadn’t really seen the kid since she had dragged him and Rubin together to inform them about the shitty plan their friends had been cooking up. And now, if she thought they were together despite it… Yeah, he could see why she wouldn’t like that.

“Did you say something to her?” Artemy narrowed his eyes at him.

“Heck no! Like what?”

“I don’t know, one of your bad quips.”

“Come on, you should know me better than that, Cub.” Artemy shrugged, and they both tossed a look in the direction the little girl had gone. “Anyways, I’m gonna see if I can figure out what’s her deal.” And explain things, Grief thought to himself. Murky was a quiet kid, they could probably trust her to keep it under wraps.

“Sure,” Artemy replied, turning back to the oven. “Worth a shot. Don’t be upset if she doesn’t cheer up, though.”

Grief nodded, turning around and walking away. He passed Sticky in the hall, and they exchanged greetings, but the boy didn’t seem too interested in him. Rubin had mentioned Sticky’s apparent involvement in the plan, but it seemed like he had grown bored of it once the goal of having them date had been seemingly accomplished. It was a relief - that was one less person interested in their personal affairs, and the less involved the kids were, the better.

Murky was sitting on the couch staring out of the window when Grief entered the room, but she glanced up briefly, just enough to throw him a glare. He frowned, leaning on the wall next to the couch, but Murky had already gone back to ignoring his presence.

“You mad at me?”

No answer. A closer look revealed that she wasn’t looking outside into the dark, but at a beetle on the windowsill, trapped within makeshift walls of candlesticks and a red pencil-crayon. Murky was clearly very interested in it, so he leaned in to take a closer look.

“Ooh, beetle. Cool.” he decided. “Ya give him a name yet?”

She shook her head no. He tilted his own head to see the beetle better.

“Hmmm… you takin’ suggestions?”

A pause where she seemed to consider the request, then a very slight nod. He was getting somewhere.

“I think it looks like a Daniil,” he said, after pretending to think hard for a few seconds.

Murky looked at the beetle, then tilted her head to look up at Grief. “...but that’s Bachelor’s name.”

“Aw, you’re right, little bear. But it’s so fittin’... Maybe we can call the guy  ‘Daniil two’, so we don’t get confused.”

Finally, the smallest hint of a smile showed on the girl’s face. She nodded, and went back to staring at the beetle, reaching with her little hand to touch it. Grief waited, hoping for maybe a few words to break the ice, an opening to get to her, to no avail. He decided to climb and sit on the arm of the couch to tentatively approach the subject instead.

“Alright, tiny, I can see you ain’t happy with me, and I get it, but I can explain.”

She kept her eyes focused on Daniil (the beetle), and frowned. “... you and Uncle Rubin.”

Grief averted his eyes for a moment, embarrassed. There it was, kids all up in his business again.

“You’re…” she continued, then paused and made a face. “You’re being gross. After I warned you and everything!”

“...Yeah, I can see why ya would think that.” he nodded, a crease showing up on his brow as he thought of what to say. He could practically hear Stakh’s voice telling him not to spill the secret to her, that she was just a child, but he pushed it away. He was almost sure Murky could keep a secret, especially this one. “Hey, I’m gonna tell ya something, but you gotta promise to keep it under wraps, okay? It’s top secret, just like what you told us.”

That seemed to hook Murky in, and the girl nodded with her eyes wide, scooching closer on the couch. Grief looked around more for effect than for an actual fear of eavesdroppers, then leaned in, speaking in a hushed whisper.

“Me and Stakh? It’s just pretend. Smoke and mirrors.”

“Pretend?”

He nodded.

“Yeah, like acting. We’re pretending to be-” her wording had been too good not to use, “-gross together, and then in a lil’ while, we’ll pretend to have a big fight. Make the others feel guilty for sticking their noses in the first place.”

Murky considered this for a moment, her little face scrunched up in thought. “...so it’s a trick?”

“Yeah. But we didn’t wanna trick you, because you helped us out. You can’t tell them, alright? Or it won’t work. Promise you won’t?”

Murky nodded with a gleam in her eyes. Clearly, feeling like part of a secret plan changed everything. “Okay. I promise.”

Grief smiled, and they watched the beetle together for a moment as it tried to make its escape from Murky’s makeshift cell. It climbed past the crayon barrier with some difficulty, fluttering its wings as if preparing to take flight. It was no match for Grief’s nimble fingers though, and he nabbed it and deposited it into Murky’s waiting hands within a couple of seconds.

“You’re gonna need better engineering, kid,” he said, looking at her, serious. Murky nodded and got down from the couch, running back into the kitchen. It seemed like they were in good terms again for now, and Grief smiled as he got up to follow her.

“Aba,” she called, once again, lifting her cupped hands. “Look at Daniil!”

“What about him?” Grief heard Artemy ask, sticking his head out in the hall. Grief followed his gaze, but there was no sign of Dankovsky. Upstairs, probably.

“Not that one!” Murky insisted. “Look at this Daniil, here.” She opened her hands slightly to show off the bug. Grief leaned against the counter across from Artemy, smiling triumphantly.

“Hmm, I see,” Artemy said, glancing down at the small black beetle, and then at Grief. The man just shrugged innocently, as if he was just as surprised to hear this as Artemy.

“Bachelor is Daniil Two now.” Murky closed her fists when Daniil tried to crawl out of them.

“I dunno about this name, kiddo, seems like it’ll be confusing,” Artemy tried to argue, though it was futile.

“No it won’t. Where’s Sticky?”

“I think he went upstairs to get Daniil.”

“Daniil two,” Grief corrected. Artemy rolled his eyes, huffing out a laugh.

“Sure.”

Murky ignored them and quickly left the room, hands clutched in front of her, and soon they could hear little feet carefully climbing the stairs to show her brother her newfound treasure.

Rubin was brought out of his thoughts by the same little footsteps walking down the hall. He shook his head, getting up from his seat on Artemy’s bed to look out of the window. At first, the break from everyone else downstairs seemed like a good idea, but he only had been on the second floor of this house very briefly since the previous year. Being back here was… strange. Despite having his own apartment, he had practically lived with Isidor for almost half of his life, and this was the place where it all had ended. Cub had obviously moved things around a bit to accommodate the children, repainted, (cleaned up the blood from the floorboards), changed the house as much as it was possible without rebuilding entirely, but still… Artemy had never explained to him exactly what he found out about Isidor`s last hours, and truth was, although he wondered, it didn’t really matter anyway, not anymore. The space and silence (except for his friends’ muffled chatting downstairs, which provided some extra comfort) had allowed him to calm down, but sitting here gave him an odd kind of nausea. This had never really been a home, but now it was like the walls were impregnated with something different. Failure. Regrets. Hatred, maybe. Cub might have been away for too long to feel it too, but to Rubin this place had become way too familiar in the worst possible way. He sighed as he leaned out of the window, trying to take in some fresh air.  

Then suddenly there was the sound of steps, a shadow at the door, and Rubin turned around abruptly towards the intruder, brow furrowed. There stood Dankovsky, looking slightly disconcerted.

“Oh, I apologize, I didn’t realize you were in here,” he said, glancing away. Rubin tried to give him a reassuring smile, show him that it was fine, but it didn’t quite manifest. They stood quiet for a minute, letting the silence hang in the air.

“I’m already leaving. Just needed to be alone for a minute.” Rubin finally muttered, picking up the empty glass on the nightstand.

“Mm.” Dankovsky glanced behind himself, then at him. Rubin didn’t like being looked at with  that kind of expression, it made him feel self-conscious, like people knew something he didn’t and felt sorry for him. He started towards the door, but the other man was still standing in the doorway, effectively trapping him. He shuffled on his feet as the two of them stood facing each other, not much more than an arm’s length between them. Then Rubin remembered something he had been meaning to say.

“I wanted to-” he started.

“I think-” Dankovsky said at the same time. They both blinked and stopped, waiting for the other to continue.

“Go ahead,” Rubin muttered.

“No, I apologize for interrupting. You go.”

“...” Rubin gave a weary sigh. “I wanted to apologize for Grigory’s behavior at the clinic yesterday. It was deeply unprofessional, and I shouldn’t have let it happen.”

Dankovsky seemed like he was about to roll his eyes, but decided otherwise at the last second.

“And why are you apologizing for someone else’s behavior?”

“Because-”

Daniil interrupted, frowning. “... please, no. You’re your own person, and so is he. I confess to being a little baffled about this sudden development, but Artemy has shared with me that you two have a previous history, and it’s not my business to question it. And I’m happy for you, regardless. Congratulations.”

Rubin forced back a grimace (of course Cub had told him, too), and nodded.

“Uh- thank you.”

But Dankovsky continued, speaking fast.

“-however, as a good friend, I have to stress, I can’t really understand it. Why him, exactly?”

Rubin blinked, and scratched a sudden itch on the side of his face. What was he even expected to say?

“...I’m not sure what you mean.”

“- see, I just wanted to make sure that you’re thinking this through. I understand Grief has been interested in you for a while, but I hope you have in mind that you don’t owe anything to anybody. Are you really thinking this through?”

Rubin stared at him in confusion, head tilted. It was as if Dankovsky had suddenly decided to speak only in Latin. That is one thing he was not expecting for tonight.

“Uh- yes? What are you even getting at?”

Dankovsky adjusted his coat and cleared his voice, glancing everywhere but at the other man’s face. Clearly, this topic of conversation made him uncomfortable, and yet he kept going.

“I might have misspoken, see, I’m not attempting to imply anything. I only wanted to confirm that you’re not feeling pressured into this, or doing it out for self-punishment. I am aware that he assisted you during the Plague, but - ”

At this point, Dankovsky’s face had become visibly redder. Rubin’s, too, under the scowl. He interrupted.

“Self-punishment? As in, if he’s guilt-tripping me into a relationship?”

The hint of annoyance in his tone alarmed Dankovsky, who winced and shook his head.

“No! Not necessarily. I should make my intentions clear - I’m just saying that you should think carefully about this, if this is what you want, and if you’re not just settling because you feel you must.”

“Daniil.”

“You’re such different people, with very different priorities, and I’m not sure if-”

“Uh-”

“-but of course, this is just how I see it. I know that I couldn’t possibly have the whole picture, and in the last year I’ve seen that-”

“Can you stop talking for one second?”

He didn’t mean to raise his voice, but he had. Looking at Dankovsky’s startled face, he silently cursed himself for it.

“Sorry.” He cleared his throat, his face becoming two shades darker than it already was. “...I’ve known Grigory for a long time. Much longer than you, and believe me, I’m well aware of our differences.” He gave a short pause, considering what to say next that wouldn’t ruin their ruse, but would still get Dankovsky out of his hair. This was tricky. “And I don’t think you know him well at all, actually. He’s annoying, sure but it’s more of a front. He likes… playing for an audience, but there is a lot beyond that - and he’s no great manipulator either, never was, even less so now. Really, you’re not giving him enough credit for how much he has matured in this last year.” He realized belatedly that he was just saying what came to mind, which was weird. It was even weirder to realize that he meant it, in a way. It sounded almost like something Cub had said to him, once, too.

This was slightly disturbing. Better change strategies.

“I’m sure, I just meant-”

“...And well, this is none of your business, is it? I’m flattered by the concern, but I believe you have your own relationship to mind. And you’re not the smoothest of matches, either. No offense.”

That seemed to shut Dankovsky up. The blush was still there, but lighter, and he nodded, the slightest frown on his face. Another short pause.

“I understand. I apologize for the intrusion, then.”

“It’s… fine. Again, thanks for the concern.” He rubbed his temples. The stress headache was back. “...excuse me, I’m going back downstairs-”

“Ah, right. I was just headed there too.”

As they walked down the hall and down the stairs, it crossed Rubin’s mind that Murky had mentioned Dankovsky as being in on their friend’s plans. Maybe she had been mistaken, she was still a small child after all, and it was easy to get confused. Though if Dankovsky had originally been involved and simply changed his mind... he didn’t know if that would make the situation better or worse, really. That was definitely not a future conversation he wanted to think about.

While Rubin had spent his time upstairs, Grief had been sucked into a conversation with their other friends. Well, mostly Lara - though Cub offered his input periodically, as he went out and back in the kitchen as he saw fit.

He had been expecting this exact situation, which was part of the reason he had sent Stakh away. Questions. Insinuations. The kind of things that, if aimed at Stakh, would put it all at risk. Not him, though, he knew the cards in advance, and most important, he knew to improvise if needed.

How did they get together, after all these years? Strange instances of fate, and all that crap.

Were things going well? Naturally, they were made for each other, duh. Opposites attract, blah blah blah.

Had they worked out all of their old issues together?

...That question caught him slightly off guard. Grief had to hand it to Lara, he never could quite expect what he would get from her.

“Of course,” he lied. And then, because he didn’t want to think about it any further: “C’mon Gravel, what’s with all the questions? I thought you would approve!”

“What, you want my blessing?” She crossed her arms, a light smile on her face. “...Of course I approve, it just seems a little fast.”

“Well, we’ve known each other for ages, it figures we could skip the formalities. And yeah, we’ve talked it all out, all is forgiven, no need for delays.”

“Good.” Her tone made it obvious she didn’t quite believe what she was hearing. Whatever, actions speak louder than words, they’d just have to put on a convincing act.

Rubin chose that moment to materialize in the doorway, looking no better than he had when he had been sent upstairs. The esteemed Bachelor was behind him, looking tense. Grief noticed that the two of them didn’t make much eye contact, and lifted an eyebrow. Something to ask Rubin about afterwards, maybe.

“Eyy,” he said, grinning. “Daniil Two, welcome to the party.”

“...two?” Daniil two asked, eyebrows knitting together. Artemy appeared behind both of them in the doorway, carrying a big heavy cast-iron pan. He laughed, placing a comforting hand on Daniil Two’s back as he passed by him.

“A beetle stole your name, kheerkhen,” he explained, smiling.

“A beetle? Oh, you mean the one Murky was carrying around-” he said, face flushing. Grief’s eyes wandered down to the way Cub’s hand rested on his partner. That kind of easy touch, seemingly effortless... he had better step up his own game.

“-I thought it was a joke and she hadn’t actually named it that.” he continued.

“Joke? Lil’ Murky doesn’t joke,” Grief cut in. He moved closer to Rubin, very conscious of the eyes on the both of them. “Or maybe I’m just not sophisticated enough to catch ‘em, who knows.”

“Mm,” Daniil Two’s tone was cold. He still wasn’t over that little joke at the clinic the day before, it seemed. “That would probably be it.”

“Ouch,” Grief smirked. “Watch out, Cub, your kitten got claws.”

“Don’t put me in the middle of this,” Artemy said, moving past the four of them. Rubin simply rolled his eyes, body turning stiff as Grief moved closer still and leaned against him, slowly, as to not spring it on him all at once. The strategy worked, and although he was still far from comfortable, he managed to stay at ease for the most part.

Soon, the Burakh kitchen was the typical hustle and bustle that such gatherings brought, and the meal itself was no less chaotic. Thankfully, the focus naturally shifted away from their new “relationship”, and both Grief and Rubin were able to ease off as the night was winding down. At one point Grief found himself perched on the top cushions of Cub’s couch, squeezed between Rubin and Lara, while Cub and Daniil took the big cushioned chair to the side. The kids had gone to bed an hour ago, and it was already that time of night where a gentle tiredness had settled over the five of them, sitting together and talking about nothing in particular. Daniil had even successfully settled on ignoring Grief for the time being, although he still rolled his eyes whenever he opened his mouth.

As he sat next to Rubin (on higher ground, but still), Grief was acutely aware of any points of contact between them. It was a strange feeling, to be so aware - usually this kind of fussing was more up Stakh’s alley. Grief never had much of a problem lounging casually on any friend that would allow it, and he had done this same thing to Rubin more times than he could count, back in the day. And still, for no clear reason, tonight his mind had decided to make him so damn aware of the spot where he had his leg leaning against Stakh’s shoulder, the warmth shared through their clothes. It was frankly distracting, and almost annoying.

“I’m going to get more tea,” Lara said, the couch shifting as she got up off of it. Grief saw her glance back at them, their awkwardness probably visible to the naked eye, and then at the couple on the big chair, Cub’s arm settled comfortably around Daniil’s shoulders, with their fingers intertwined. Was she comparing them? Probably. As she disappeared into the kitchen, he even thought he caught a glimpse of that furrowed brow she often had when the gears were turning inside her skull.

He sighed, looking away to hide a frown. Honestly, he thought they had been doing a pretty decent performance so far. He had taken the end of Lara’s questioning as a good sign, but maybe he had jumped the gun... Well, no matter, there were still some cards up his sleeve.  He slid off of the top cushion and into Lara’s now-empty seat, snaking his arm over to grab Rubin’s hand. The man shifted to look at Grief, eyebrows furrowed at the sudden change, but the other just looked at him fixedly and pulled lightly on his sleeve twice before covering Rubin’s hand with his own, letting their fingers intertwine. They had cooked up a few signs ahead of time, just in case the plan had to be altered. Rubin’s face scrunched up for a moment as he got the message, but after a minute he just sighed and turned his palm upwards, against Grief’s, and squeezed once, twice. ‘Fine’, was what the response meant.

Lara crossed the threshold from the kitchen nursing a cup of hot tea, light footsteps getting closer. It had to be now, Grief thought, straightening up on the couch so he could comfortably reach Rubin’s face. The man had on a rigid blank expression, though his cheeks grew pink when Grief placed a hand there, eyes open and very attentive, and so obviously nervous.  Grief himself felt so much more nervous than he should, somehow feeling acutely aware of the people around them, and yet fully absorbed in the task at hand. Rubin’s light stubble under his fingers, the warmth of his skin (was his own face red like that too? This was stupid, he was overthinking), the ridiculous tension of the other’s body as he leaned in, brown eyes locked on his and somehow looking like they were chiding him, even then. He closed his eyes, thinking what the hell, it wasn’t like he hadn’t given a million kisses in the past, even kissed this own specific guy plenty, and yet-

Rubin surprised him by abruptly leaning forward, pressing their lips together before he could close the distance, startling him. By the tight grip on his shoulder now, he must have thought he was taking too long and got impatient. The idea made Grief want to laugh, but now was the one time he couldn’t ruin things by laughing, so he held it back.

It took forever. Now, in reality, it couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds, five or eight or ten, nobody-was-counting, but it sure felt like forever. And it wasn’t even a great kiss, more awkward than anything, both of them stiff and self-conscious, semi-open static lips. Nothing like the ones he remembered between them, although those had the unmatched enchant of nostalgia (and privacy. and spontaneity). But still, despite everything, Grief couldn’t say it was a bad kiss. Certainly far from the worst, at least. For starters, it had made his heart speed up, like good kisses should, and he was pretty sure it looked convincing. And... well, it just felt nice, for real. The grip on his shoulder, the long eyelashes he could feel for a split second fluttering against his skin, jumping out to him now as Rubin leaned back, staring at him from under them. The warm lips, of course, a little chapped, but soft enough. And sure it was embarrassing, how flustered this had made him, like some kind of lovestruck preteen, but that only helped their case, right? Rubin shifted uncomfortably next to him, let go of his hand, turned his neck, and so Grief also turned to look back up at both his friends, their eyes on the two of them. Cub, on one side, had a dorky proud smile on his face (of course, the idiot), while Lara, standing by the couch now with her tea, had a gentle smile, half-turned as if to pretend to give them privacy.

“What’re you all looking at? Should I start sellin’ tickets?” Grief finally grumbled. He leaned on Rubin casually now, like his heart wasn’t going at a ridiculously fast pace, and crossed his arms.

“Nothing,” Artemy replied, still grinning. Dankovsky finally raised his eyes from the floor, seemingly not comfortable with being part of the staring. “Just happy for you two.”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks” he groaned. “Stop grinnin’ at us like an idiot, yer gonna make Stakh crumble to dust. Look at how red is.” A terribly good excuse to reach up to his friend’s cheek again. Rubin shook him off immediately, but that was just fine. Attention diverted. Time to move on.

“We don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Lara pitched in.

“Oh, yeah, I know.” Grief mumbled bitterly, swallowing back the impulse to speak further. Lara was the one he’d have trusted before not to comply with a shit idea like this plan. About the teasing itself, he couldn’t hold it against her, but she’d better be prepared to take all of it back when she brought home someone of her own.

Nevertheless, for the moment, the plan was thriving. They were one step closer to teaching their friends a lesson about meddling in their personal lives, and well, he’d never say out loud, but he was perhaps looking forward to revisiting Stakh’s dumb blushing after-kiss face a few more times.

After a couple of minutes, the conversation quickly moved past that particular topic into something easier, like the following week, the kids. Rubin visibly couldn’t quite relax like he did before, but that wasn’t that much of a problem - the night was nearing its end and it’s not like Stakh had ever been the most laid-back, anyway. When they all got up to leave, Grief was delighted to see him stalling near the door, seemingly waiting for him to be done talking to Cub. Technically, their houses were in opposite directions, but they had talked about how leaving together would be a good finishing touch, and although he wasn’t sure about the final decision, it would appear that Stakh had taken the suggestion. Grief would just loop on back after they had gone far enough and make his way. For the time being though, he reached for his friend’s hand one more time and they walked off into the night, leaving Artemy’s house behind them.

“I’d call that a successful performance, for opening night,” Grief muttered and leaned in when they were distant enough, sounds of the town blending in on the background. Somewhere, a cow mooed. Rubin just rolled his eyes, but made no attempt to shake him off. So Grief leaned even closer, made sure his smirk could still be seen even in the dark. “...wasn’t expecting ya to be the one to make the move there, big man. Very impressive.”

Rubin let go of his hand and flushed, or Grief was pretty sure he did. The light really wasn’t on his side here. “Yeah, well,” the tall man mumbled, shrugging. “You were taking your sweet time. I got tired of waiting.”

“Got tired of waiting to kiss me? Aw, Stakh, when did you become so sweet?”

Bad lighting or no, it was pretty obvious that Rubin was rolling his eyes. “Got tired of having your stupid mug hovering over my face.” A sigh. “...but whatever. Do you think they were convinced?”

“Cub? Yeah. He has more important crap to worry about than this stuff, I’m sure.”

“What about the other two?”

“Eh,” Grief shrugged. “I don’t know about Dankovsky. I’m not even sure I care that much.” Rubin’s expression shifted as he thought back to the other doctor’s words earlier. Maybe Grief should be more worried about Dankovsky, he thought, but didn’t say it out loud. “And Gravel, what reason does she have to suspect? As long as we keep this up a little longer, none. Give it some time.” He nudged Rubin’s side with his elbow, leaning in as he continued. “You gotta step up your game, though, I’ve kissed mannequins more passionate than ya.” There it was, clear as day, that endearing blush again. Grief cackled.

“Shut up,” he replied, pushing him away, though there wasn’t any heat on it nor in the words. Grief stumbled to the side without losing his smirk.

“Well - I think we’re done for the night. I’ll come around Tuesday, right? Then Friday. Might see you around before, though.” Rubin nodded without turning to look at him, carrying on his way while Grief stepped backwards in the other direction. “Goodnight, babe.”

As expected, Rubin didn’t answer, just carrying on his way towards his building. No offense taken, Grief he knew his friend was just a man of few words, and he had been getting better at understanding his language anyway. As the cool summer breeze gave him some much needed air, he smiled to himself. Things were going well, he thought. And though it was a long plot to take revenge on their friends, he had to admit, he was having fun with it in the meantime.

Chapter Text

Meeting privately twice a week seemed reasonable. After all, they had to work out details, make sure they were on the same page about everything, and readjust course if needed. This plan was, in hindsight, ridiculously complicated, but by now they were way beyond the point of no return. They had even finally begun planning the end performance: the break up day, testing out lines and claims and whatnot. Grief clearly enjoyed this part, treated it almost as a choreography, and Rubin mostly let him run with it, only occasionally stepping in. After all, it was important that it run smoothly on the actual date, and if Grief wanted to hoard all the attention there, all the better.

But their planned meeting on Friday had come and gone with no sign of his friend/fake boyfriend. Rubin had even bothered to buy tea and a little extra bread, but the night passed and Grief hadn’t dropped by. So the next day, he decided to head to his place and see what had kept him so occupied. It wasn't that he was worried - no, his fake-date was a grown man, and one who had always been rather lax with this kind of commitment, he thought as he stood scowling in front of the closed door and knocking twice. No, he had come here to tell him to stop wasting his time. He was starting to get lost in his own thoughts when the door surprised him by opening just a crack, to reveal half of the homeowner's face, showing only one narrowed suspicious eye appraising Rubin. Even half-hidden, he could see Grief grimace as he recognized his visitor.

"Ah. Fuckin' hell."

He mumbled something else to himself as the door closed, then immediately opened again a little further than before, now enough to reveal his whole face but little more. It had been years since Rubin had last seen him without hair gel, frizzy red hair messily falling over his brow, too short to stay behind his ears, and the sight of it felt almost invasive. Grief squinted at him, as if the sun hurt his eyes, and huffed. Visible under the light of the day, purple-ish bags under his eyes contrasted against the pale skin. 

"So ya finally came to check the place out, huh? Tough titties, Stakh - we're closed."

"We had a meeting yesterday. My place." He fired back, resolute. Grief tilted his head and stared at him with glazed-over eyes for a second, as if looking right through him.  "You didn't show."

"Uh?" For a short moment his friend’s gaze focused again, and he blinked as his brain seemed to process the words. "Oh yeah, we did, didn’t we. My bad." He didn't sound like he felt particularly sorry about it, or anything at all, just nonchalant. He looked more gaunt too, Rubin noticed now. Tired. The faint smell of smoke reached his nostrils and they both stood there for a moment. Something felt off. Silence.

His hand came into view as he put a cigarette between his lips, all bony knuckles and cracked (bitten?) black nail polish. Grief was rarely seen without his fingerless gloves, so much so that they almost seemed to be a part of him. It was strange, seeing his bare palms.

"Is that all? 'Cus if it is, I'm gonna go-" Some impatience colored his voice. It sounded better than the indifference from before, at least.

"Let me inside." Rubin interjected.

That seemed to get a reaction, and Grief balked before turning to look behind himself, and back at the man at his door. Okay, that pretty much confirmed it: something was wrong, and it was probably  inside the house. 

 "What? No. Go take a walk under the sun or fill forms or whatever bullshit you do for fun on the weekends." 

"I just want to take a look inside for a second. Then I'll go do that." Rubin wasn't even completely sure why he was insisting, but he had come all the way here, and he’d make it count for something (and admittedly, now he was starting to get a little concerned).

Grief stared at him with half-lidded eyes, and something in his face softened. Not a pleasant kind of softening, more like resignation, accompanied by a cynical smirk.

"An’ you're not leaving until I do, right? Got it. Fine. Just gimme a minute-" And with that, the door clicked shut.

Five awkward minutes must have passed with Rubin standing there, alternating between staring at the closed door and at the peeling wall paint, his thoughts occasionally disturbed by a bird or the distant giggling of kids playing somewhere nearby. There was sparse clattering coming from inside, sound of steel against steel, against glass, something heavy being dragged, muffled cursing. Grief was undoubtedly moving things around during this time, but part of Rubin wouldn’t be too surprised if this was just a distraction and he didn’t plan on returning to the door at all. The thought made him frown.

Thankfully, that suspicion was proven false when Grief returned after a couple of more minutes, shoving the door wide open like it had personally wronged him.

Rubin could see him better now. Grief was barefoot and dressed in a shirt that  had been buttoned wrong, the most ragged denim pants he had ever seen, and of course, one of his eccentric large coats. It seemed to have the opposite of its intended effect since he looked so small inside it, spindly even - a child dragging a blanket around. He glowered under Rubin's gaze. 

"What? Admiring the view?" He opened his arms and half-heartedly struck a pose, then stepped to the side. "Stop standin' there like a fool and just get in, since you wanted it so bad."

Rubin hesitated, suddenly unsure if finding out what was inside would be worth it. A whole new problem, possibly, another thing that he was much better off without having to deal with, but… he was already here, and it was better to know. For everyone’s sake. As he walked past Grief, taking in the smell of smoke and of someone who had probably not showered in the last couple of days, he saw a workshop.

Or at least, what he thought were parts of it. There were clocks, some working, some broken, all hung on the walls in a way that could with some effort be attributed to an eccentric taste in decoration. That is, if there weren’t also mechanical parts strewn about, tools, cans of oil, cans of paint, blending in with dishes, bottles, clothes on the floor. Rubin thought he saw a misshapen bed, before realizing it was just a small couch under a sheet and some pillows. Near one wall he glimpsed an amorphous pile of blankets, and next to it a bunch of ashes and a half-turned filled novelty ashtray shaped like a bird, looking very much like someone had just tripped over it.  The place smelled like a factory:  oil, smoke, soot, all mixed with something living and unwashed.

It looked like it didn’t want to fully commit to either being a workshop or a bedroom, and it fell just short of either. The door that led further inside the house was shut, he noticed, and Grief leaned casually with his back against it, arms crossed, eyes on his guest. After taking it in for a moment, Rubin turned to face him, frowning. 

“A beauty, ain’t it? Best in town.” Grief said before he could say anything. “No whinin’ though, not like you gave me time to fix up beforehand.”

There was silence while Rubin again let his eyes wander around. Grief rolled his own, seemingly deeply annoyed by the stalling.

“Well? How can I help ya today? Did my improper workplace make you catatonic, should I call Cub and his doc?”

Silence again. Grief looked at him with deep scorn, foot tapping idly on the floor as he waited for an answer. Rubin just sighed, rubbing his palm against his face.

“Honestly, at this point I’m just relieved there isn’t a dead body.” 

Grief looked at him as if he was speaking another language. Then he laughed. A hollow, tired laugh. 

“A dead body, Stakh? What, in this economy? Only in my dreams.”

“I’m serious, I thought you might have done something awful.” Rubin said sternly, stepping closer. 

“So am I. No shortage of dead bodies in my dreams, these days.” He said, humorless, with that extra edge of sarcasm. “What’s it to you, though? Have you come to lecture me about forgettin’ the meeting yesterday? Or were you bettin’ on finding another reason to spice it up, once you were in?”

Rubin’s initial plan was indeed to scold him, but the sad sight of the place had momentarily made him  forget his anger, now turned into something more like concern, but he didn’t want to admit to either of these things. There may not have been a dead body, but this was still far from good, even for Grief.

“What happened here?”

“What do ya think happened here?”

“Don’t turn it on me, you’re avoiding the question.”

Grief gave a long , dramatic sigh, and flipped some hair out of his face. Rubin didn’t budge.

“I live here. That’s what happened, nothing more. Boring answer, eh?”

“What was the last time you cleaned up this place?”

“Fuck if I know. Not that long ago.”

Rubin had turned now, and picked up one of the blankets from the floor to angrily start folding. Grief watched it with apparent disinterest.

“This is disgusting. You’ll end up poisoning yourself living in this mess, or catching a-”

“-what, a disease? I’m not gonna catch shit, Stakh. Not anything that matters, at least, that’s not how it works .”

Rubin turned back towards him with a scowl.

“What are you talking about? I’m a doctor, I know about these things. This is exactly how it works. You were lucky to have survived once. Don’t push your-”

“Yeah, yeah, you know all this crap, but in the end you only lived ‘cus you were lucky too, didn’t ya? It doesn’t fuckin’ matter, Stakh. Doesn’t matter what I do or don’t, it’s all scripted. If I’m gonna die of a disease, then it’ll happen no matter what. I probably won’t though, what would be the satisfaction in that?”

Silence. Rubin set the folded blanket on a chair.

“...what the fuck are you on about?”

"No narrative gratification. See, live people die for no reason. We aren't that, so we don't." He said, gesticulating as if explaining to a child. He gave a tired grin in return for Rubin’s confused frown, as if that was exactly the response he was expecting.

"What is happening to you? What's with this 'not living people' talk?"

"Nothing is happenin' to me, I've just been ponderin'."

Rubin stalled for a few seconds, staring,  like maybe if he glared enough he could squeeze some sense out of Grief. Failing that, he sighed, placing the folded blanket down on top of the previous one and starting on another one by his feet, quickly figuring out it was actually a coat. Really, for how long had these been piling up?

As he finished folding the coat, he could feel the other’s gaze on him, too heavy to ignore. He then turned to see Grief standing there with his arms crossed, not bothering to act like he hadn’t been watching him. A moment of silence again - a staredown.

"That's what you came here for? You gonna clean my house now?"

“I’m helping you make this place livable, since you apparently can’t do that on your own.” He didn’t have an answer ready for this, and the one he gave sounded stupid to his own ears. By Grief’s face, it probably sounded stupid to him, too. He felt the impulse to toss the coat back on the grimey floor, but he held back.

“Fine then, but I ain’t gonna let you pretend you’re doin’ me a favor, helping out your poor shitsack buddy who can’t take care of himself - find another reason to feel good about yourself, I’m doin’ just peachy as it is.”

“What happened to you? Why didn’t you show up yesterday?”

“Are you deaf? I just forgot, like I told ya. What else do you want? A novel?A private show?” 

“No, I just want you to tell me what the hell is going on.”

“Oh,” Grief smiled at him, a toothy grin. It reminded Rubin vaguely of a cat from a book he had borrowed from Lara once a long time ago, though he didn’t remember what the context was. “Ya wanna know what’s really going on, Stakh? Then I’m gonna tell you what’s going on.” He flopped down on his ass on the floor, back to the wall, arms half-raised. Theatrics.

Rubin remained outwardly unfazed, but all this was starting to alarm him. He put the folded coat aside, and stepped closer.

“Sure. Tell me.”

Grief looked up at him with skepticism, as if expecting him to change his mind at the last minute, then shrugged, and looked away. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, more nervous.

“Fine.” The cockiness seemed to seep out of him. Now he looked small again, hands shaking slightly. He shoved them back in his pockets.  “Back last year, when all the shit was going down. Did you get to meet the Inquisitor?”

“No.”  Rubin crouched down to his level, trying to hear the words better, eyes narrowing with realization. They hadn’t talked much right after the Plague, each with their own wounds to take care of, but he had heard a bit about this from Cub. Lara, too. As he continued, Grief raised his eyes to meet his, glazed over again. This made him feel guilty, somehow, but Rubin tried to ignore it. “I was supposed to, in the morning she arrived, but I must have passed out before I could. I was exhausted, and didn't think I'd survive. The girl said she’d go on my stead, you know the one. The Changeling." he said. That was something they had talked about before, briefly, superficially. The girl who was and wasn't Clara, the future mistress, the Saburov's ever-merciful heiress.

"Oh yeah. The little fiend." Grief chuckled hoarsely, as if laughing at a private joke. 

"Yes, her." Rubin nodded, dead serious in comparison. "Whatever she told the Inquisitor was enough for her to leave me alone. When I felt like I wouldn’t collapse in the streets, I crossed the district to find the soldiers at the station. There, they told me they had pumped the Inquisitor full of bullets just a few hours before."

"Hah. Lucky." Grief smiled to himself again, something Rubin couldn’t really make sense of in his eyes. It annoyed him, perceiving condescension, but he tried to ignore it too. "She was a piece of work."

"I didn't feel very lucky, but sure, I suppose. I heard she messed with your head."

Grief’s expression fell, and for a second Rubin feared he had stepped on a landmine. But then the man nodded, resigned, staring at his own fingers.

“Yeah, that she did. Not all her, though. The place, too. The cathedral, I mean. The wench was slick, but not as above us all as she made it sound. Dunno, maybe I was easy prey, I did walk right into the mouth of the beast after all, offered myself on a platter.”

Rubin did his best not to sound impatient when he interrupted.

“Right. So what does that have to do with you, today?”

Grief scoffed at the question, then signed with his hand for Rubin to come closer, so he did. The oblique sunlight coming from the window in the dark room made for some dramatic lighting, accentuated the hollow of Grief’s cheekbones, made him look like a smirking corpse, the bits of dust in the air between them adding to the odd atmosphere. Rubin found the whole thing pretty gauche, but he had to wonder how much Grief himself was aware of it. He’d love the dramatic tones of it, probably.

“What did Cub tell you?”

“Not much. That she broke you, that you were raving about time and strings and puppets. When we met again, you were just quieter.”

Grief tilted his head from one side to another, as if evaluating this, then nodded.

“Yeah, that sounds ‘bout right.”

“So?”

“Hm.” Grief shifted in place. The atmosphere of the scene also shifted with the lighting on his face, and now he looked alive again, just barely, but his eyes shined again with something unknown. When he spoke, the uncertainty in his voice made him sound much younger.  “You’re gonna think I’m crazy, just like Cub did.”

“I already think you’re crazy.” His stomach dropped for a moment as Grief looked at him with something he still couldn’t define (hurt? anger?), but relief overruled it as it turned into a smile. “Just tell me, alright?” Grief’s smile widened for a moment, before he sighed and his face fell again.

“I just feel fragmented, I suppose,” he started, after a moment. “I mean, I thought I finally had it down, for a bit. That I had figured how the gears turned, even if I couldn’t really do shit to stop them, even if they were my chains.” 

Rubin didn’t know what to say to this, so he just listened, attentive. 

“But now it's... different. The game has changed, I can feel it. There is a shift, like a new script, or something- but I still can feel the pulling of the strings. And the cathedral... the cathedral is still up, we’re not going anywhere, but it’s not, there’s not- anyone running the show anymore. You feel it?” Grief’s voice raised higher, cracked, and his face got increasingly red as his breath got quicker. “Or maybe that's not it, either. I don’t know, I thought was a doll, but now I don’t know what the fuck I am. There are new rules, we can be anybody, do anything- except free, no, our desires are still not really ours, not even Cub's-”

Rubin reached over and put a hand firmly on his shoulder, causing Grief to flinch, eyes widening at the sudden touch, glistening wet, in contrast to the other’s stone face. He was never any good at these things, never knew much about being comforting, and none of this talk really made any sense. 

Still, what else was there to do?

“Breathe.”

Grief shook as if he was about to burst into laughter.

“See, you think I’m a quack too, even though I’m right. Wonderful. You really had to force your way-”

“I don’t know, you may be a quack, I don’t care. But right now, you’re freaking out, I’ve seen that before.” Rubin moved his hand, pressing his fingers to the side of the other’s neck, and barely avoiding a kick in response as Grief jerked back, face now a deep red. “See? Your heart sped up, you’re sweating. This is normal. Just keep breathing.”

Grief stared at him yet again with something he couldn’t read, something much like anger, but did as he was told anyway, curling up over himself. Rubin went back to squeezing his shoulder. Some time passed with them there, sitting facing each other, until it seemed like Grief was calm enough to speak properly again, face back to pale. He looked even more exhausted than before.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m your patient,” he mumbled.

“I’m not. I’m talking to you like a friend,” Rubin mumbled back.

Grief rolled his eyes, then laughed weakly to himself again, face gaining a pinker tinter as he looked back at him with a smirk. Rubin felt his own face heat up too, unsure of exactly why, and took his hand back. Sure, what he said was corny, but still. None of this was funny. He was just relieved now, that whatever this rant was about had been the reason for this whole  mess, and not anything worse. They stayed sitting like that for a few more minutes, not saying much, disconnected thoughts, Grief’s hands idly picking at the fraying hem of his shirt.

“Have you eaten?” Rubin’s gruff voice took Grief out of his thoughts once again. He blinked at the question, then scoffed.

“God, it’s just like I said. Exactly like Cub.”

“Shut up.” Rubin huffed as he got up. He winced as he stretched his arms out, glaring when he spotted the upturned ashtray on the floor. “Where do you keep the broom?”

“In the kitchen. Are ya still set on playing maid?”

His tall friend had turned away, deeming the question undeserving of an answer, and headed towards and through the one door that Grief was leaning on earlier. Grief got on his feet lazily, shaking off the dust from his coat.

“How long has this been here?” The voice came from the kitchen.

Grief groaned. Well, no use in lying. He had already found it.

“Dunno. A day, I think.”

Rubin stepped back into the room, a blackened pot in his hands, just taken from the stovetop. Inside, the sad ashy remains of rice.

“A day? And you haven’t been eating since?”

“It wasn’t because of that,” Grief snapped back, defensive. It was… mostly true. It made him avoid the kitchen, sure, but it wasn’t why he lost his appetite. Not the core reason, anyway. “I just didn’t feel like eating, is all. I was gonna toss it out eventually.”

“How long did you plan for this to go on?” Rubin huffed, turning back towards the kitchen.

“How long did I plan- you ever listen to yourself?” He sneered back.

“Whatever. Put the dishes away and get the broom, I’ll see if I can cook you something.”

Grief looked around at the room, feeling overwhelmed by the sheer amount of stuff laying around. This would take hours... 

“Nah, don’t feel like cleaning up right now.”

“Then take a shower. You stink.”

He stared at the back of the other man’s head as he disappeared through the door again, perplexed. How come everybody always pinned him as the weirdest? Stakh was a bizarre creature, coming into his house, pulling this crap. He felt a wave of endearment again, a warm feeling on his chest as he heard the sound of the sink running, then dishes clattering. Aw , he thought, realizing how the corner of his lips had unconsciously lifted up in a smile as he headed towards the bathroom. He had thought he had developed antibodies against this kind of shit.

A few hours later, they were both back to sitting on the (now swept) floor, the plates next to him the only remaining evidence of eggs ever having been there. Turned out Grief was hungry after all, and even more so after they had spent a couple of hours moving things around and cleaning. He had changed into different clothes, a cleaner shirt and pair of jeans, coat shed and hanging up near the door (though he hadn’t bothered with his gloves or any hair gel, and though clean,  his hair still flopped annoyingly over his forehead).

Stakh had apparently been hungry, too, from the looks of it. So now there were no more eggs, and they were both sitting on the floor of the room that served as his living room and bedroom (the workshop itself was mostly confined to the back, on most days). He wasn't exactly sure how it ended up like that, the two of them cleaning up his mess for a couple of hours and now, this. Why was Stakh even sitting on the floor? For Grief it was instinct, something he just did, natural, but it couldn’t be that for someone that uptight. There was no lack of chairs, though. He fished out a cigarette from his pocket, stuck it between his lips, then pulled out a box of matches. In the middle of this, he gently elbowed the man next to him.

"Why are you sitting here?"

"What? Do I need a reason? I'm tired from helping fix up your mess."

Grief rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know. Never asked for that, may I remind you. You pretty much broke into my house.” 

Rubin nodded, conceding, which made any irritation from the answer he had given dissipate. "But I mean, why on the floor?"

No answer, for a few seconds. He obviously had to think it over.

"I don't know. You sat down and I followed, I guess. I've spent plenty of time on floors before. It's nothing new," Rubin said the last part with noticeable bitterness. Grief scanned his memory for context on this, even contemplated asking, but better not. They'd had enough of this kind of talk today, he'd rather just enjoy the moment.

"Yeah, me too, but I don't have a monster spine." He said flippantly as he lit his cigarette, shoving back the matches into his pocket. Now Rubin was staring, silent, with his big amber eyes and nice eyelashes and that stupid frown. It was a nice face, really, despite that last part. "What?" Oh. Of course. "You want one?" He pointed to the stick between his lips.

Rubin just shrugged. "No." Pause. Grief knew him well enough to know he had more to say. "You should smoke less."

Grief snorted, surprised. "Should I now? Hm. It stinks, I'll give ya that, at least." He inhaled back with energy, then blew out the smoke to the side. " So you quit, I gather? When?"

"Not really.” Rubin sounded more tired than usual. Hm, probably not a topic he liked. Still, if Grief let that stop him every time, they'd never have a conversation. "It damages the lungs, Master Isidor asked me to stop. So I did, for a while." As he said it, he sounded absolutely miserable, guilty even. Yeah, bad choice of subject, Grief concluded. It made him curious, but they could talk about it some other time.

As mistifying as Isidor Burakh was, he also couldn't help but think it was funny to refer to a dead man as Master. The old doctor sure was something else, he and his lines (strings, he thought. like The Inquisitor, both dead), but he was beyond dust now. Not the time to bring that up, though.

"Heh, doc knew best, I guess. And it's a costly vice, too. Back in the day, I'd only smoke the best brands, took my share from the shipments, no pay. Now I can barely afford this trash." He lifted his hand, showing off the blackened cigarette between his fingers. Rubin’s eyes scanned it, attentive. “You can take a drag if you want. I’m sure your bull lungs can handle it, you know.” Grief offered with a wink.

“No, thanks. And you really should cut it back, too, it will make these things worse.” Rubin said, still serious, but a little more mellow.

Grief chose to ignore whatever his friend meant by ‘these things’. 

“Maybe I will, one of these days.” They bring back some good memories , he thought but didn’t say as he breathed in and out again. “...Thank you, by the way. For helping me with my shit, even though I didn’t ask.”

Rubin nodded, shoulders relaxing slightly. With some effort he could even make out a little smile. Grief took the opportunity to lean a little closer, slowly. Stakh didn’t look thrilled, but he rarely did in the best of circumstances, and the important thing was that he didn’t stop him when Grief gingerly set his head on his shoulder. 

He was tired now, more than anything, and he let his eyes drift halfway closed as they sat together. Idly, his right hand, the one closer to Stakh, inched closer to him little by little, running his fingers along the side seam of his shirt, and then the hem of his sleeve, and then finally, his hand made its way to lay over Stakh’s. He felt the man stiffen up slightly, of course, and he prepared to be shaken off and probably left to mope alone in his house once again, but it didn’t happen. A small glance up at his face revealed Stakh was just sitting there with a slight tinge of pink on his cheeks, staring off into the distance.

“This okay?” Grief mumbled. 

No answer. A grunt, a nod maybe, not really. Well, if it was up to him to decipher it, this was a yes.

This arrangement made him a little nostalgic, he thought, letting his eyes close. He could feel Stakh’s warmth through his thin summer shirt and he could hear his breath, in and out, soft and unobtrusive, controlled. That was nostalgic, too, kind of. It made his thoughts wander, the contact between them bringing forth memories he thought long buried. 

There was one night, hot and humid, Grief remembered, though his memory wasn’t always the best. He was pretty sure it had been summer, too. The temperature, the aspect of the landscape, and the availability of his friends were the only real thing that changed for him with the seasons back then, since there was no school or work to force him to keep track of the days.

They must have been 16 or 17, and it was just him and Stakh back in their headquarters, as it often was by that time. It felt like the others were growing out of their little place and their things. Lara had all these plans for the future, Artemy too, talking about trips to the city and big new ideas. He was sure Stakh envied them for it, but as it were, it seemed like his tallest friend was stuck in this town (and this warehouse) with him.

And he couldn't complain, truth be told. As much as he loved Cub and Gravel, there would be nobody else he'd rather be stuck with at the moment. And only mostly because of the smooching.

"I'm gonna ask somethin' really stupid," he remembered announcing from the top of a crate, not leaving time for the other boy to interject. "If I was a girl, do you think you'd wanna marry me someday?" 

He didn't know why he was asking something so idiotic, or what kind of answer he expected, or most of all, why he felt like there was a knot tightening in his chest, or even why his voice cracked for a split second. He covered it up with a long drag of his cigarette (the same kind he was smoking now, he realized faintly).

"What." Stakh stared at him as if he was talking gibberish, and he might as well have been.

He blew the smoke out and shook his head, rolling his eyes. "Just humor me, alright? If I was a girl, if it wasn't weird, and we were like, twenty-something when everyone else is getting married, would ya?"

Stakh stalled, then scoffed, obviously finding the question ridiculous. "I-" He opened his mouth to start.

"Gravel is waaay out of your league, just so you know-"

Stakh groaned, giving him an exasperated glare. "I'm just not going to answer."

"No - sorry, go ahead." His voice sounded a little too much like pleading for his own ears, and again he covered it up with a cigarette drag.

"No." Ah, well. It stung a bit, but he wasn’t surprised. Stakh continued. "I'm not ever marrying anyone, I want to be a doctor and dedicate myself to work. I have a duty, it would be unfair for anybody else to carry that with me."

Grief stared at him with narrowed eyes for a moment, taking his time to process that answer, then snickered.

"What, like a priest?"

Stakh huffed, the dark smoke rising off his nose and disappearing into the warm summer air.

"Do I look like a priest to you?"

Grief got up, tossed the cigarette butt aside and stomped on it, proceeding to flop next to his friend (??) on the floor with an arm around him, nuzzling the side of his neck.

"Dunno. Never seen one up close. But if that's how they look, then hell, I like it."

Stakh scoffed again and craned his neck to the side, giving more space for him to bury his face in, which he quickly took advantage of.

There was quiet for a second.

"You think I'd make a pretty girl?" Stakh stared at him as if he had lost his mind. He stared back, fluttering his eyelids.

"Seriously, what is with you today?"

"Yes or no, Stakh. Easy-peasy."

Grief noted with amusement that his friend blushed, which made him lean  over to press his lips against his cheek, just to make him redder. Rubin shrugged, looking away.

"Maybe. How am I supposed to know?"

"Is it that hard to imagine?" Grief laughed, again not sure which answer he would like from this, and leaned his weight against him. He had wondered, before, if he'd not rather be a girl. Sometimes, it didn't seem so bad, and not only for getting to marry other boys, even. It seemed almost easier, sometimes. Sometimes not at all.

"I hear everybody spots me as a pansy, anyway." He felt the other boy's body tense up under him.

"Kids are jerks, you know that. Especially the ones you hang out with." Rubin grumbled, but Grief laughed again. Stakh, the grown up as always, finding a way to reproach him. Even when he's stuck in here too.

He reached over and squeezed Stakh's cheek, like he imagined old aunts did to toddlers, and almost got headbutted in response.

"Well, I think you would make just the prettiest girl-" 

He laughed as Stakh pushed him away with an indignant yelp, and flopped onto his back, staring at the curved, rusty ceiling of their borrowed warehouse. 

He wouldn't be able to tell how much time passed between that and when Stakh was laying next to him, head resting on the side of his chest.

"You're insane." His friend had said about whatever they had been talking about at that time, or maybe just spontaneously, he couldn’t remember for sure. It was something that Stakh could feasibly say out of the blue, he supposed.

"Yeah?" He didn't know why he said that. He probably was just tired, distracted with picking at the other boy’s hair, and how it felt against his shirt when he nodded.

"Yes. And I'm not kidding,"

Grief scoffed. "-yeah, I know, you don't do that kinda thing-"

Stakh ignored the interruption. "-but about your question earlier. Yeah, probably."

Grief perked up, feeling the knot in his chest tightening again, though he wasn't sure if it was a good or bad feeling. "Which question? You avoid answerin’ pretty much everything I ask."

And true to form, the bastard didn’t answer that one too.

Grief’s head was brought back out of the clouds by Stakh asking him… something. He hadn’t heard him, not really, just that he had asked a question when he wasn’t listening. He lifted his head, blinking.

“-huh?”

“Oh. You’re awake after all,” he grumbled. He sat up straighter, having apparently been leaning to the side to be a better headrest, wincing with likely stiff muscles. Grief couldn’t help to find it kind of adorable, that big softie. Could have pushed him off. Didn’t need to do all this for his sake.

“Seems so, yeah” he muttered in response, his mind still feeling like it was working at half capacity. He rolled his own neck, feeling stiff as well. Following that, silence.

“...I should go,” Rubin broke it, unreadable. Grief glanced at one of the windows and was a bit surprised to see the sky was getting dark. Damn, how much time had passed? The clocks on his wall, each showing slightly different time, didn’t help much. He figured it must have been around six.

“Mm,” Grief agreed, shrugging. He took a minute, then struggled to his feet, stretching and feeling his back pop with the effort. Stakh shook his head when he offered a hand to help him up and got up himself, letting out the quietest groan possible as his long legs worked to bring the rest of him upright. 

They exchanged quick goodbyes, and the man went on his way. Grief didn’t mind, still sleepy, body hurting from the moving things around from earlier (and his neck, too, from dozing off sitting up). As he flopped down on his couch-bed, he wondered if Stakh’s body hurt the same. What an idiot. Coming to clean up his shit, lecturing him… listening to his whining, too, even though he clearly thought it was bullshit. Probably didn’t have anything better to do on a Saturday, he concluded.

...Still, it had been pretty nice, Grief thought as he stared off into space. His head ached dully and he still felt annoyingly fragile, helpless, but it was at least better than before. He groaned to his empty apartment as he felt that familiar warmth wash over his chest, thinking back to the impromptu nap on Stakh’s shoulder. They guy acted like he was made of stone, but to anyone who knew him even a little… so earnest. Soft.

Thankfully, he was too exhausted to think too much harder on it, and soon a merciful dreamless sleep came for him.

Chapter Text

“Say that shit to me again,” Grief said defensively, puffing his chest out. “Go on, you ugly snake-” Rubin stood in front of him, stiff, a hopelessly weary look on his face.

“Mm.” The man started, as if he needed time to recall what he had just said. “I said I can’t trust you, and you don’t honor commitment.”

Grief gasped, then narrowed his eyes and stepped aside, walking around his friend, circling him, slow but nimble like a big cat preparing to pounce.

“Oh, you got some nerve - after all my sweat and tears, after I gave so much...”

“Whatever.” Rubin rolled his eyes, uncomfortably looking away from the dramatic display. Grief waited for more, something to play up against, but there was only an awkward silence. Rubin didn’t even bother to sound angry, he sounded like an annoyed storekeeper fed up with repeating the same lines.

“You don’t appreciate anythin’ I do,'' Grief stepped in again, raising his voice  and getting a finger up in Rubin’s face. The man had a very significant height advantage, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t been in this kind of situation many times before - it was all about posturing. 

“You whiny, ungrateful lil-” he cut himself off as he saw Rubin look at him with something like scorn or embarrassment. He wasn’t giving him an inch, the uncooperative ass, and then dared to look at him like that. How was he supposed to work with this?

Grief had always been known to be resourceful though, and knew a surefire way to get a strong reaction. All it took was a little elbow grease, he thought as he jumped forward, landing resolutely on his friend’s foot.

Rubin growled and heaved, brusquely shoving him away and sending Grief stumbling backwards, face quickly turning red and scrunching up in anger. 

“What the hell is wrong with you, asshole?!”

“There it is,” Grief smiled, ignoring the question and raising his hands as soon as his feet were firmly on the floor, though his own accelerated breathing betrayed a burst of adrenaline. “You got it! Now, just gotta bring that same energy in here.”

“I didn’t agree to this!” Rubin’s face was now getting a purple tint as he shook out his aching foot, raising his eyes to glare at the other man with seemingly murderous intent.

“Well, you weren’t pulling yer weight, so I took the liberty of-”

“If you’re going to be taking these liberties, then I will take the one to throw you out of my house, ” Rubin hissed. 

Grief gave a loud sigh and crossed his arms, but didn’t budge, unimpressed by the threat. In fact, he just settled in, sitting on Rubin’s kitchen table.

“Look,” he said, ignoring the glare. “Try to look like you care for one second, yeah? This is the big finale, if it can’t hold up, the whole thing tumbles down and all this time and effort is wasted.” He shook his head and sneered. ”Besides, I woulda’ thought ya had plenty of practice bein’ pissed at me, but no - ya couldn’t convince Cub’s pet bull with this shitshow. I might as well be fightin’ a wooden door.”

Silence. Rubin crossed his arms too, and nodded begrudgingly, regaining his posture. 

“Fine.” He grumbled. “Let’s just go back to the beginning then, I don’t think this argument is a good idea.” Grief straightened up, looking almost offended.

“What, why? I fine-tuned everything like clockwork, ya know I did, what else do you want?”

“So I’m supposed to be angry at you for, hm-” Rubin interjected, but got interrupted.

“-For all the things you’re always bitchin’ about! It’s true to life, it couldn’t possibly be better.”

He grimaced, but went on. “And you’re mad because-”

“‘cus you never appreciate the shit I do, and nothing is ever good enough. Also true! The script writes itself.”

Rubin blinked and  stared at him with mild disbelief. “And you think the best way to fool them is to yell these things in front of everybody, while acting like we suddenly want to strangle each other?”

“Why not? It’s realistic, that’s all we need to sell it. If anythin’, I’m playin’ it safe.”

Rubin kept staring, squinting as if waiting for him to admit to something. It made Grief feel exposed, judged. Why the hell was Stakh being so difficult now, again?

“Fine. Then tell me, smartass, what do you want to yell about instead?”

A few seconds passed in silence. Grief was now up and pacing around the room, his back towards Rubin. Rubin scratched the side of his head as he thought, eyes on the floor.

“We could just stop meeting and act like we fought. No rehearsal needed, no staged showdown. Same result,” he said, clearly not expecting the suggestion to be taken.

“Oh, c’mon, Stakh. You’d have to be a thousand times more competent to pull  off that kinda acting,” he scoffed, giving a dismissive hand wave. Rubin felt a wave of anger rise again.

“Fuck off. I’m trying to work with you here, asshole.”

“Aw, look! There it is again,” Grief grinned sarcastically, pointing at his friend with both hands. “There’s the bitchy Stakh we know and love! As I said, if only you’d-”

Rubin groaned and tuned out the conversation, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, as if maybe he stopped looking at Grief, the situation would sort itself out. When it didn’t, he took a heavy, slow sigh.

“I just don’t see the point of making such a spectacle.”

“This whole thing is a spectacle, always been! I really thought this would be the easy part for ya-” Grief crossed his arms again, blinking with effect as he leaned back against the table in the middle of the room without looking. This time, the sudden weight made the table move, knocking off a book and a few pens on the floor and sending Grief staggering on his feet. He glanced at Rubin, expecting a smirk or something like that at the expense of his almost-fall, but instead the man just walked over and started picking the objects on the floor, stone-faced. 

So, it looked like today he really wasn’t in a good mood… ugh. Fine, they would find a way to work around it.

Grief crouched down next to him, picking up the last pen before he could, just to get in the way.

“You awake?” he asked in a surprisingly soft voice.

Rubin stared at him, confused, eyebags ironically emphasized by this angle and the dramatic lighting. “Uh? Of course.”

“Excellent. So if ya could maybe try to act like it, that would be great-”

The pen thrown on his face was almost welcome, and he couldn’t help but laugh. 

Sure, he knew it was hypocritical of him to play that card after that last Saturday at his place, but it’s not like Stakh operated under the same formula as himself. He couldn’t just let him keep sulking, and trying to get him to talk about whatever was on his mind would be like pulling hens’ teeth. Never a big talker, that one, and Grief wasn’t sure how good of a shoulder to cry on he would be anyways. No, his best bet was to keep poking at his friend’s shell until it cracked enough to give him an opening. 

Tonight was a slow night, it seemed. They hadn't managed to get that much done, though Grief had only been around for a little more than an hour, so maybe it would pick up. It often took a little bit for Stakh to loosen up, and even though it could get frustrating, Grief couldn't say that he minded hanging out for the extra time all that much.

They had been running this sham relationship for a little more than a month now, and as far as Grief was concerned (because Stakh didn't really vocalize anything on the subject), they had managed to find a pretty good rhythm. They'd meet biweekly to sort things out and plan ahead, although somewhere between the second and third week it had turned into a triweekly thing (counting Saturdays), but they hadn't really talked about it. For a good chunk of the time together, they weren't even planning or rehearsing anything, just chatting and getting comfortable with each other, which at some point they had realized was crucial for the plan to work. 

And it was easy - well, not always, sometimes it turned into a bit of a game of tug-o-war, but easier than he had expected, in any case. Of course, they never talked about anything that mattered, and Stakh almost always turned the conversation back to the plan when it strayed - but that was typical work-minded, obsessive Stakh. Grief wouldn't admit that he could almost forget about it sometimes, and very much didn’t want to think about what that could possibly imply.

See, it was just that he felt like they were falling into a really , really nice rhythm. It was funny to remember that first awkward conversation about holding hands, because now that kind of thing felt pretty much like second nature when they all met. And sometimes when they were alone even, as it turned out that shit just felt nice and not nearly as embarrassing as initially assumed - Stakh just rolled with it. It's not like either of them had had that much physical contact since the plague (not counting Cub hugs), and even before that, so this was a nice treat. He even had joked in their previous meeting that Stakh had become a pro at holding hands, to which he got back a groan and his hand squeezed to the point that he thought all his bones were about to crack. Worth it, though, especially to see the pink spread over his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

But Grief was anything but naive, and he knew how to put the pieces together to form a whole. It didn't take a genius to realize what was happening. He had started to slightly dread the end of this shared endeavor, and not only because Stakh was very nice to look at - he genuinely liked spending time with the guy, a lot. There were these little glimpses behind his walls you could only get with time, and it had been years since he had allowed Grief to get this close. He knew it was a very risky business, to get too used to this.

But... well. They weren't doing anything that special, were they? It didn't really matter that much if Cub or Gravel or whoever thought they were a couple, even though he had an obscene amount of fun embarrassing Stakh publically. So, who knows? Maybe they could keep meeting like this, or something, after their supposed breakup.

“You wanna take a break?” he suddenly asked, stretching his arms behind himself and listening to his own shoulder pop.

“We just took one,” Rubin grumbled in response. “At this rate, we’ll never move on.”

“Well then, if you’re itchin’ to start, be my guest.” 

Grief waited, standing idly and staring. Silence again.

“It’s your line,” he prompted with a nudge. Rubin’s eyebrow twitched in apparent irritation. Grief puffed out a dramatic sigh.

“Alright, fine, you know what? Forget the lines. Just wing it, let’s see what happens here.” Rubin looked at him as if he’d grown an extra eye on his forehead. “C’mon! Easy as pie, tell me why you’re mad at me, I wanna hear it.”

“This isn’t-”

“No chickenin’ out, Stakh.”

“Gr-”

“I’m sure ya can come up with someth-”

“Can’t you just shut up and let me think for a moment?” He interrupted, scowling. There was silence as Grief blinked, he hadn’t been expecting this tactic to actually amount to anything.

“Well well well, looks to me I’m the only one putin’ any thought into this in the first place!” He recovered quickly, smirking and crossing his arms, leaning in just slightly, clearly interested in what the other was bringing next.

“Take that smirk off your face, there’s nothing funny here.” Rubin pressed on, eyebrows furrowing. Grief raised an eyebrow, not fully sure if they were playing anymore. Maybe Stakh could act a little, after all. Better keep going.

“I’m just happy you’re pullin’ your weight here, for once. Such a rare sight, to see ya puttin’ work into this relationship.”

“At least I’m not late to every get-together for no reason.”

“And at least I ain’t makin’ mountains outta every teensy-tiny molehill I can spot! You act like if yer not clenching at all times you just might collapse.”

“It’s a medical condition,” Stakh muttered, overly serious and ducking his head. Silence. Grief stared at him with a cartoonishly shocked face.

“...do my ears deceive me?” To hell with the rehearsal, this demanded to be pointed out. “Was that a real, honest-to-god joke ?”

Rubin gave him a weary look, then shrugged.

“Maybe. So what?”

He snorted. “Solid seven out of ten, I’m feelin’ generous. Extra points for catchin’ me by surprise since I thought you weren’t capable of it. In the middle of the rehearsal for our damn breakup, too... yer breaking my heart here, Stakh.”

Rubin huffed, annoyed and probably a little embarrassed.

“Fine. Sorry, let's continue.”

“Nah, hold your horses, this is a momentous occasion! Round of applause for Stakh Rubin, comedian extraordinaire!” Grief lifted his arms up as if presenting him to an imaginary audience, a big grin on his face. “Truly the greatest funnyman of our generation!”

“Are you done?” His face had turned pink again by now, and he pinched the bridge of his nose again. Grief looked at him for exactly the normal amount of time (definitely not for a second too long), pushing down the warm feeling in his chest that had grown annoyingly familiar lately. 

“Yeah, yeah, wouldn’t wanna scare ya off from jokes forever. Maybe someday they’ll actually be funny... Imagine!”

“Shut up.”

“Picking up the argument with a classic, I see. Lacks creativity, but I like it. Keep ‘em comin’.”

“You really can’t take anything seriously, can you?” There was a hint of satisfaction on Rubin’s tone now, endearment even maybe. Grief decided that, while maybe not appropriate for a convincing break-up argument, he liked this, too.

“Why would I? Name me one thing in life that deserves to be taken seriously, I can’t think a’ one.”

“Work. Life itself, death. Consequences. Relationships .”

“Oooh-” Grief’s face lit up, and he clapped his hands together. Now they were back in the game.  “So that’s what you were buildin’ up to. Wonderful, very sneaky, I’m impressed.”

“Shut up.” Rubin stepped forward, closer, making the other back off to maintain the distance.

“Aw. Now you’re repeatin’ yourself-”

“And you’re being obnoxious. Can you just stop grading everything I say?” Another step, then another. Grief felt his heels bump against the wall behind him, Rubin now looming over him, using the full advantage of his massive height. Smart move, he thought. If he really thought Rubin was mad at him, this would be pretty scary. A faint memory of something like this happening in this very apartment a long time ago flashed in his mind for a fraction of a second, but it was quickly pushed away - quick enough to not dissuade his brain from the idea that this was, actually, kind of hot.

He hoped that it wasn’t showing on his face, but something must have slipped, because suddenly Rubin stopped with a confused look on his face. It was unusually expressive for him - confusion, embarrassment, whatever else Grief couldn’t really read. Shit, he could feel his breath from this distance, warm on his face, smelling of coffee. There was no way Stakh wasn’t aware that this was too close, he had to be playing with him now.

“Nah. Guess that’s my medical condition.” Grief quipped with a nervous smirk.

Rubin stared at him from up close, hovering with his eyebrows raised in some kind of unimpressed bafflement, face now tinged a dark red. Then, out of the blue, the corners of his mouth twitched up in an almost-smile, like he was about to laugh, the surprise making Grief’s heart start beating at a frankly alarming rate, his muscles tensing up. Just as Rubin was starting to move back, he let his body act on impulse and grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him back down, so close that their noses pressed against each other, their lips brushing. Fuck, he was warm. And soft too, the same soft but slightly-chapped lips from the other night, overly familiar almost, this was… fuck. Knowing Stakh, this could ruin the whole plan. He had to think of an excuse, fast - this had been a reflex, just that, his body had betrayed him - something like that, it wasn’t even a lie.

While he made a (frankly gigantic) effort to focus and think of something, he still held the other in place, somewhat afraid to let him step back and to see regret or genuine anger or his face. He was positive that was what must be there, or maybe he’d shove him away or something, ask what the fuck were you thinking, which he could only respond with ‘yeah I’d like to know too’ . But the guy must have been paralyzed by embarrassment or something, because he didn’t pull back. There were hands on him too now, Grief noticed. Heavy ones, resting on either side of his waist, holding him there, in a grip that wasn’t forceful, but just… strong. Solid. 

For hours, days, eons, and realistically just a few seconds, they seemed to stand there with their faces practically pressed together. Nothing else in Grief’s sight but open, amber brown eyes, focused, questioning, waiting for some kind of clarification, but not angry, at least. 

And then, all of a sudden, he decided fuck it . This was already awkward enough, might as well go the whole nine yards. He moved his hands to the back of Rubin's neck while moving forward, and finally, after what felt like a lifetime of uncomfortably staring into Stakh’s eyes, he leaned up and kissed him. 

The kiss itself was much less impressive than the excruciating moments leading to it. It was just… nice. Felt natural, despite how tense both their bodies clearly were. Somehow, he didn’t even feel that shocked when Stakh moved along, kissing back carefully, tongue tentatively poking, trying to work against his teeth, the hands at Grief’s waist giving the barest hint of added pressure.

Then, for some inexplicable reason, maybe remembering what they were actually supposed to be doing, Grief burst into laughter, shaking in place as he did. Cackling loudly, he nudged the other away so he didn’t accidentally shove his nose against his face.

Rubin stepped back, his face twisted in embarrassed rage, and let go of his friend, straightening his back.

“What- what the fuck is funny now, dickhead?”

Grief struggled to shut up, laughter so forceful that his sight was suddenly blurry. “What do ya mean?”

“I mean why the hell are you laughing?”

“C’mon, it is pretty funny,” Grief managed, reluctant to let go of the hands on the back of his friend’s head, though the fact that Stakh had straightened up meant that it was now uncomfortable for both of them. He looked up at him, seeing the angry hurt that was beginning to cross his face. The realization hit him. “I- stop with the angry face, I’m not laughin’ at you, promise.”

Rubin glared at him, lip tilting up in an unconvinced sneer.

“Cross my heart. I’m part of the joke as much as you are.”

“What?”

“It’s just- I mean, it’s pretty funny, don’t ya think? We’re preppin’ this grand earth-splitting fight and then we just... y’know. Like, such wrong timing, it’s hilarious.”

Rubin ducked his head, seemingly thinking, brow wrinkled. Grief waited for him to speak. 

“I don’t know, I thought it made sense, I guess. For us to get more comfortable. With… this, too. In public. Before that.”

His voice was oddly hesitant, as if he was ready for the other to rip into this explanation, yet still held that distinctive defensive Stakh edge.

Grief snickered, and shrugged, seemingly buying it. Whatever. It kind of made sense, he wasn't complaining. Rubin’s hands were back on his waist. “Finally putin’ some thought into this, huh? Great. Love to see it.”

Stakh nodded seriously, setting his jaw as if he was thinking incredibly hard about something, face still very red. It made Grief feel bolder, and he laid a hand on the back of his neck again, the other settling on his jaw, and nudged Rubin back down and closer. 

“So, if we’re practicin’ this... We gotta get rid of all that tension, you look like you really need to take a shit.”

“Are you serious?” Rubin narrowed his eyes, anger back in his voice.

“Extremely.” Grief responded, sounding oddly genuine. “This ain’t convincin’ anybody, we gotta make it look like we do it all the time.” The grip around his waist tightened again and he grinned, enjoying the hot breath on his face again, even when Rubin huffed.

“I guess,” he half-mumbled against the other’s lips, sounding small for once, before leaning down further and closing the distance between their lips.

That one was closer to a real kiss, like the ones in their shared past. Still awkward, of course, and distantly there was a voice in the back of his mind screaming that this was perhaps a terrible idea, but it was conveniently very easy to ignore.  Rubin’s shoulders were also ridiculously tense, hunched, which made it clear that his walls were still up. A vast difference between these and the kisses back in the day, behind closed doors, without any pressure or expectations.

 It almost made Grief feel a little guilty, like he was taking advantage. But well, this had all been negotiated. Besides, if this felt nice - good enough to make him feel a little light-headed, even - then that was all a bonus, not the purpose. And when they separated, looking back at Stakh’s flustered face as he straightened his clothes, he could swear that he saw the sentiment mirrored there. 

“That one was better. We gettin’ there,” Grief said as Stakh stepped back, just for the sake of saying something. His own face was still warm, heart still beating a little too fast, but a good amount of practice allowed Grief to more or less maintain a cool façade.

Rubin’s response was a vaguely affirmative grunt, as he turned back to the table to look at his pens or whatever else was distinctly not in Grief’s direction. 

“So, do we take a breather now?” Grief ran a hand through his hair, making sure it hadn’t lost its shape. “Or shall we go back to yellin’ at each other?”

They did discuss the break up argument a little after that, and Rubin made himself another cup of coffee, but the mood for proper planning and rehearsing had been disrupted. Well, maybe, not exactly. They had made some progress, but something had certainly changed. Grief felt it hanging over their heads despite the further lack of acknowledgement, the elephant in the room. He felt triumphant to see that his friend was so invested in this, enough to be  willing to talk and cooperate, and Grief was optimistic, a little bit. It had been good, even under the pressure of the absurd situation. This stupid plan… it was turning out much better than anything he had ever intended, somehow. They had gotten closer. Stakh was listening to him, finally. And there was no reason for it to stop once the show was done either, not if he was reading it right, and he’d always had good instincts.

When it was getting late (and the silence was starting to hang in the air for too long) it was time to head out. He leaned in to give his friend a final cheek kiss, just to tease, see what came out of it. The face Rubin made was very funny, so affronted that Grief would dare to not give previous warning, as if they hadn’t been glued together just an hour before, but he didn’t complain or shove him off. Good signs, overall, he concluded, starting the walk home. Good signs.

Chapter Text

Everything was spiralling out of control, Rubin thought to himself. And it was happening faster than he could process it.

The plan was working fine, he grudgingly gave Grief credit there. His friend was an experienced pretender, and Cub, Lara, and Dankovsky were all apparently sold on their ruse. This wasn’t the issue.

The issue was that things were going a little bit too smoothly now. They had perhaps gotten too comfortable with each other, and with the date of their break-up approaching, it was all a little much.

It hadn’t helped that they had started ‘practicing’ real kissing while they were supposed to have been practicing their break-up. There was a purpose to all of it, of course, they needed to get comfortable doing this in front of the others... and so they had continued with it here and there during these rehearsals. Never anything beyond light kissing, but, as much as he hated to admit it, it had been actually pretty nice.

He mentally reprimanded himself as he felt the blood rushing to his face at the thought. According to the plan, they would be broken up within the week. And that was perfect, he couldn’t wait to be free of this ruse. Hesitation made no sense. He couldn’t let this kind of thing become a habit, neither of them could.

“Ey,” Grief nudged him and leaned close to his ear, snapping him out of his thoughts. They were squeezed on Cub’s old couch together, their friends and the children engaged in conversation around them. It had been an usual weekly get-together, and they had reached that time of the night when conversations grew long and thick with nostalgia. Cub had the word now, slightly drunk and telling another story about the mysterious girl during the plague, one they all had heard before.

“You good?” Grief asked, softly, when Rubin didn’t reply. He untangled his hand from where their fingers had been intertwined (when had that happened?) and waved it in front of his face. Rubin rolled his eyes.

“Yeah. Just tired,” he muttered. Not a lie, but also nothing out of the ordinary. He couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t been tired. That was just the way things were.

“C’mon, Grief,” Artemy chimed in from his seat on a nearby chair, apparently having finished his story. “Surely you’ve managed to stop him from working until sunrise at least one of these days, right?” His expression was warm as he glanced at the pair on the couch. Rubin scowled, flustered again. He looked away. 

“Nah, I’m the guy’s boyfriend, not his babysitter. And I’m sure ya know that it’s easier gettin’ blood from a stone than persuadin’ this one to look after himself.” Grief was quick on the reply, pointing to the man next to him. Artemy grinned like he just had heard something really funny but was trying not to laugh out of politeness, and shook his head when Lara gave him an inquisitive glance.

“What time is it?” Sticky asked from his place on the floor. Grief took out his pocket watch to consult, taking a moment to dramatically turn it between his nimble fingers. 

“Ten forty-three, on the dot.”

Artemy got the cue. “I’d say it’s way past the time for you two to go to bed.”

Sticky scowled. “No way! For Murky, maybe, but I’m older, right? I should get to stay up longer!”

“Unfair,” his sister mumbled, her eyes already half closed. “If Sticky gets to stay up, I  do too.”

“Come on,” Artemy gave his son a look. “Set a good example. Besides, we’re both up bright and early tomorrow, I need your help in Shekhen.”

“ You’re staying up…” Despite the response, he had already gotten up on his feet. He waved a tired (and slightly awkward) goodnight to the other adults. Cub and Murky followed, Artemy promising to return soon.

“... It’s late. We should go too,” Rubin said. He shifted, beginning to get up, but Lara only smirked, shaking her head. Apparently, the drink had gotten to her a bit too.

“Oh, let’s stay and talk for a little longer, Cub will be back soon. It’s too nice of a night.”

Grief smiled and sank further on the couch, lounging and propping his legs up on Rubin’s thighs, crossing them at the ankle, effectively trapping him there with him. Rubin opened his mouth to say something, but the touch broke his focus  and now he just gave him a silent glare. Artemy was back in the room now as well, and the attention was on them again.

“C’mon, you heard the lady, a decision has been made. Get comfortable.” Grief said, raising his eyebrows, lifting a hand to cup Rubin’s chin and getting his arm lightly slapped and an even more fuming glare in response.

“Stop speaking on my behalf.”

“Sorry, babe. Thought you’d appreciate it.” Grief patted the side of the other man’s face, and made kissy lips. Rubin looked away again.

Artemy sat down again, laughing. Lara too, had a big smile.

“If looks could kill….” She said, looking between the two of them and reaching up absentmindedly to pull her hair free of the ponytail she kept it in. Her hair had gotten long, Rubin noticed. It wasn’t often that she wore it loose anymore.

“If looks could kill, I wouldn’t have made it out of the diapers, Gravel.”

“Probably true,” she agreed.

A long silence followed, comfortable at first, but increasingly awkward. Running from his earlier musings, Rubin looked around. Artemy seemed like he wasn’t too far from sleep himself, and Lara had put her hair up in a bun again, looking self-conscious and almost regretful of her request. He could understand her, he thought, the shame that came from admitting to want company. So he spoke up, to the others’ surprise.

“Maybe we could put some music on?” All eyes on him now, like this was some shocking thing for him to suggest. He resisted rolling his eyes again. “Just to finish off the night, not loud enough to bother the kids.”

“Oh, that’s a pretty good idea! I’m just going to grab some old records-” Artemy got on his feet again, looking suddenly more awake as he headed upstairs.

The three remaining all watched him go before Lara turned to the other two.

“Wow, Stakh. What’s with the fun suggestions now? You’re a new man,” she teased. 

Grief pounced on the opening and grabbed his fake-boyfriend’s hand again, lifting it in the air.

“It’s not-” Rubin tried (and failed) to interject. 

“My influence, makin’ waves.” The two of them snickered, and the moment felt way too much like home for Rubin to hold the silliness against them. 

Artemy returned just a couple of minutes later with a smile, holding three vinyl covers, all far too faded by time to show anything recognizable. Rubin saw the excitement in his eyes and wondered just a little bit too late if this had been a bad idea.

“Watchu got there, Cub?” Grief lifted his legs off so he could lean forward.

“Just listen.” He pulled one of them out of the cover and placed it gently on the record player. After a moment of fiddling with it, music began to flow out of the speaker. It was some flowery orchestral piece that Rubin imagined would be popular off in the Capital. It sounded vaguely familiar, but not recognizable.

They sat there in silence for a moment, simply taking in the music with the company of each other. It was nice. Calm. 

And of course, it couldn’t stay like that for long.

“Remember how we used to all dance?” Artemy asked, big smile on his face. “Back when we were kids?”

“‘Dance’ isn’t the word I’d use.” Lara laughed, softly, like it was something she was still getting used to doing again. “I’d say more… stomping around, off beat. No matter how much I tried to teach you.”

“I wasn’t that bad!”

“You were pretty bad, Cub,” Grief grinned. “Two left feet.”

“I was elegant ! I'll prove it.”

He first looked to Lara, who shook her head in response, laughing to herself and taking another drink from the glass she held, and Rubin  decided suddenly that the carpet deserved a keen examination. That just left Grief, who laughed and stood up. He swayed the tiniest bit under the influence of his own drink, and Rubin instinctively put a hand against his thigh to steady him. They exchanged a wide-eyed look as Rubin immediately dropped his hand, struggling to hide the embarrassment. Grief didn’t comment further, already distracted.

"Well? Aren't ya gonna pop the question, Cub?"

"Fine, fine." Artemy bowed an exaggerated amount, putting the same level of emphasis on his words: "Will you do me the indubitably esteemed honor of having this dance with me?" he said, in a low voice, struggling not to laugh. Grief rolled his eyes, exaggerated.

“An’ what’s this? Dankovsky’s influence? Our dear Cub has been contaminated!” Grief slapped the top of Artemy’s head like someone hitting a malfunctioning machine, then grabbed his hand to pull him closer. Artemy laughed, freely, and soon they were holding onto each other, and dancing. Well, trying to, at least. Neither of them had any finesse, their movements further exaggerated by the fatigue and the drink. They burst out laughing as Grief stepped on Artemy’s foot and tripped, pulling them both down and crashing against each other and into the wall. Lara’s laugh joined the sound of the other two, as they steadied themselves. 

Rubin was the only silent one amongst his friends, watching with mild scorn. He failed to understand what was so funny about the scene. In fact, it annoyed him in a way he didn’t know how to explain. And the fact that he couldn’t pinpoint a reason behind it, in turn, annoyed him even further. It was all ridiculous.

“Better watch out,” Lara said next to him, suddenly. He hadn’t even noticed her moving closer while he had been distracted by this stupidity. “Cub might steal him away with those skills.”

Rubin turned to look at her, incredulous at her joke and ready to snap back, but her rare unguarded smile dissuaded him. It wasn’t worth it, she was drunk. Better to just let it go. He just grumbled and rolled his eyes, leaning back, arms crossed.

...Though apparently, Lara was not as drunk as initially thought, and she remained as sharp as ever.

“What’s the matter, Stakh?” The other two were now back on their feet, following the conversation from behind her.

“Nothing,” he responded, because it was nothing. Fake dating or not, he wasn’t willing to admit to any offense there.

Artemy opened his mouth to say something, but Lara struck again. "It’s because I said that about Cub, right?" 

"No-" She interrupted before he could say anything else. 

"Just go and take your boyfriend to dance, then." The amusement in her voice made his face go red again. Now he wondered if she was even that intoxicated, or only messing with him.

"It wasn't-" He got interrupted again, this time by Grief, and he'd have to admit he was a little thankful.

"Bold, Gravel. Why doncha get up and give a demonstration, if ya want us to dance so bad? You’re the teacher after all.”

"No - I told you I hated ballroom dancing before, didn't I?"

"Come on. We need your guidance. " He smirked and bowed slightly, and Artemy nodded next to him, leaning up against the shelf.

“Oh, please, you’re all grown up. And you already have a partner, too, go on without me. Can’t you see he’s jealous?”

“I’m not-” Rubin raised his voice, just to be interrupted again.

“We’ll dance if you do, Gravel. Show us how it’s done.” 

“Hmm, will you?” She brushed hair out of her face, eyes narrowing as if thinking. “Maybe I will, then. As a favor to my shy friends...”

At this point, Rubin was just glad the conversation had moved away from him. When Lara asked for confirmation, all he could muster was a ‘sure, whatever’, without thinking twice about what he was agreeing to and only second guessing when seeing the big smiles on the other two.

Lara got up, resolute, already moving along to the rhythm, and walked towards the music player.

“What do you have here, Cub?”

“Oh, I think I know just the one.” Artemy walked towards her, visibly excited, and stepped up to the vinyl player. While the two talked in whispers, changed the record and found the right song, Grief plopped back next to Rubin, hand reaching for his fake-boyfriend’s hand yet again. Rubin tensed up slightly, but forced himself to relax. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to this. He shouldn’t get used to it, anyways.  He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temples with his free hand.

“So, you’re doin’ it?”

“Doing what?” A new tune started coming from the record player, more upbeat, also more familiar than before.

“Dancin’ with me.”

Rubin opened his eyes to respond (no), but Lara’s voice again cut him off. God forbid if he ever actually wanted to say something.

“You two, up!” Grief obeyed, tugging him along.

“-isn’t all this going to wake up the kids?”

The question went ignored, as Lara leaped towards them, separating the held hands just to arrange them as she pushed them to face each other. Artemy watched from his place, swaying his shoulders and hips in a pitiful attempt at dancing.

“I’ve done all I can for you two,” she said, proud. Rubin side-eyed the clear amusement on his dance partner’s face. “Now you’re on your own.”

She gave them her back, reaching for Artemy, who hesitantly held her hands.

The music kept playing, pacing up. Rubin was pretty sure he recognized it now, one of the tunes they’d played when they were kids and managed to find a record player for the old warehouse fortress. One of Lara’s favorites, probably.

“Don’t stand there and stare, start moving!” Lara objected when she saw the two of them looking at her as she spun Cub, somehow catching him without falling herself.

So, grudgingly, Rubin looked ahead at his partner, who had a hand on his shoulder and another holding his own firmly. Grief smirked at him, the way he does when he’s waiting for something.

The eyeshadow and the lipstick had stopped being a novelty at this point, it was there almost every other day, but still, Rubin found it uncomfortable to stare. Not because it didn’t look good - no, he could admit that. It was maybe even for the opposite reason, he almost wasn’t sure if he could stop, and the whole thing would turn awkward. So he looked at Grief’s forehead instead, which was even easier due to their height difference.

They had not prepared for this. The music suggestion had backfired so spectacularly, he wanted to slap himself for it.

It must have all been pretty clear on his face, because Grief got on his toes to whisper close to his ear: “Chill. Try to get that stick off your ass and move along, okay? We got this.” In response, he squeezed Grief’s side so tight that the other let out a yelp and stepped on his foot, making him spring back. His eyes met Artemy’s concerned ones, looking at them for a second while Lara moved alone in the middle. Okay, fine, they had to do it. Rubin took a deep breath and tried to get his heart to stop pounding so damn fast. 

Then finally, they started moving together. Awkwardly, for sure, but manageable. He hadn’t been any good at this back in the day, and hadn’t thought about it in years. The ability to translate sound into movement had always seemed like something way beyond him, and he didn’t particularly mind the lack of it. Grief had been better, he was pretty sure, so he allowed him to take the lead, the two of them now stepping slowly, back and forth, Grief moving his body and tugging him along. They were in a rhythm, now, one that was far from perfect but it seemed to work well enough. There was something familiar about it, not from when they were messing around, but before then, when they had been younger, and Lara had shown off one of the records her father had brought back for her.

...The memory sprung into his head hazy, more sound than matter, sheathed by the same song playing in the background.

"You have to move to the sound of the music," he remembered Lara saying to him. As far as he understood, her dancing was flawless, although later she would confess to them that she hated it ("except with you guys," she'd laughed, whatever that meant). "Try to pretend you're enjoying it, that will help."

On this particular day, they were in the meeting room of the Ravel house. It was spacious, made for this kind of thing, yet his side already hurt from bumping into furniture and somehow, no matter where he tried to step, Grief would go for the exact same spot. Gravel had assigned the pairings, the two tallest with the two shortest, though back then, when he was thirteen or fourteen, the two tallest had been himself and Lara. The arrangements were the same as they were today, Gravel and Cub, he and Grief.

Did she know something back then? She couldn't have, there had been nothing to know, it would be at least a few months before that whole complicated thing between the two of them. Still, with the awareness he had now of what his friends were capable of, he couldn't help but wonder...

Fifteen-year-old Grief stood in front of him, stepping to the rhythm of the music, the height difference almost as big then as how it ended up being years later. He was obviously better at it than Rubin, if a little too fast, and his partner couldn't help but think that most of the bumping and ankle-kicking and mistepping was on purpose. Gravel might have shared that impression, as she suggested to "let him lead for a bit, maybe you will loosen up and he'll fix his tune". Past-Rubin complied, one hand moving awkwardly to Grief's shoulder. 

Grief had always been better at moving than he was, Rubin thought, shaking himself out of the memory. The other had better instincts for it,  listening to the music, folding and pacing and whatever other skill this took, so it was easier to just follow back then, as it was now. And that was basically the whole base of this fake-dating plan, wasn’t it? For Grief to lead and Rubin to follow, doing the best he could not to ruin it, whether it be with poor acting, or the stirrings of… whatever, something in the pit of his stomach that would rise at moments like this and make this whole thing more difficult.

True, Grief was far from graceful, none of them were (though Gravel could fake it, a better observer knew it didn’t come easily). Rubin had always been the most awkward out of all of them though, ever since they had been kids. His friends all moved with a quiet confidence that he utterly lacked, and he suddenly felt self conscious about his own movements as they continued to dance. He felt his cheeks burn, and he cast his gaze to the floor, but not before he caught Grief looking up at him, a smile on his face. Their eyes met and settled there for a moment, Grief’s painted lips rising at the corners while he just felt his face heat up more(as if it wasn’t enough). Grief’s hands were warm, and in motion he could feel them moving towards each other, breaking the distance, just a little. He almost wanted to lean in, tilt Grief’s chin up and close the rest of the space between them. It would be so easy, and they were already so close-

No, why would he even do that? They were about to have a big, public fight in the next few days, and then this would be over. Done with. They would almost certainly have to avoid each other for a little while, to make it believable, and after that… things would go back to normal. To the way they were, before all of this, more or less, although hopefully Cub and Lara would have learned to stay out of their personal business. They’d tell them about the ruse, eventually, to make them feel dumb, and then joke about how this entire ordeal had been stupid and overly complicated, finally.

He stepped back, recreating the physical distance between them that had been there at the start of the song, and didn’t lift his eyes off the floor for almost the whole remainder of it. Grief went along, and if he noticed any change, he didn’t mention it.

A few seconds later (though it felt like hours), Artemy almost knocked a chair over as he accidentally kicked it, and Lara’s spontaneous laughter sounded through the start of the next song. Grief let go of his partner to turn away and join in, making a jab that Rubin didn’t pay attention to at all as he helped Artemy balance back onto his feet, knees unstable with the vodka.

“I think we’re done here boys, or Cub is going to start taking apart the room and the kids will want to know what happened,” Lara said. She flopped on the couch, tired, sweat glistening on her forehead and voice slightly out of breath.

“Agreed, for the sake of my toes, too,” Grief chirped in. “Bulls in a china shop, the both of ‘em.”

 Rubin didn’t know why the comment annoyed him so much, but it did, enough to elbow Grief’s rib next to him, earning a yelp.

“Yeah, I wouldn't want the two of you destroying each other either.” She rolled her eyes. “Everything alright, Cub?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Artemy nodded, grinning as he turned off the record player. “You really showed them, Gravel.”

“Hopeless, all of you.” She teased back, shaking her head with endearment.

They were all too tired for further talking, and after a quick and superficial fixing up of the room, they exchanged goodbyes and each left towards their own house, with the exception of Artemy, who was dragged away by his tired daughter, grumpy at being woken up by the noise.

Grief held Rubin’s hand up until the moment they all separated near the door. Even grabbed him for a quick goodbye kiss for the benefit of their audience. It still left Rubin a little too flustered for his own taste.

As he headed back to his apartment, feeling the cold breeze of the evening against his face, he went over the next steps of the plan in his head. Sometime next week, a giant argument would break out between the two of them, and that would be it. No more secret rehearsals with chipped tea and coffee mugs, no more performative affection in public, no more sitting and enjoying each other's company. At least for long enough time to make that bad breakup believable. 

He was too tired to deny that this ending somehow felt like something to mourn. But he found relief in the idea that he wouldn’t have to carry on with all this pretending. He’d always been a terrible actor.

Chapter Text

The fated break up ended up delayed for one reason, and one reason only: they couldn't really settle on the exact circumstances for it to happen. Grief didn’t entirely mind, it was no skin off his back if they continued the performance for as long as they needed - he had learned to enjoy this journey.
The first challenge was to separate Cub from his kids. Seemed easy at first, but they quickly realized it was harder than it appeared. Stakh made it very clear that he wasn't willing to put on a show in front of the small ones, and Grief agreed that he'd also rather not. A confrontation at the clinic was suggested then, but Stakh adamantly refused. It was far too public, he had said, and Grief had agreed to no more work-plan mixing after that display at the very start. Besides, they'd have to drag Gravel in somehow, since as far as Grief was concerned, she was the biggest traitor involved.
Of course, there was always one of their little reunions, but due to an active summer at the clinic, they kept getting rescheduled again and again. So they had put it off, and carried on with the secret meetings and all that entailed. A few more days until they figured it out, that was all. Although Grief was in no particular rush, the delay seemed to bother duty-driven, efficiency-obsessed Stakh. He could see that the man just had some issues living in the moment, always had had it, probably would always have. Even when things were good, really good, Grief could see those wheels in his head turning, working overtime.

Eventually, when the right time had arrived, it took both of them more or less by surprise. The clock started ticking when Artemy pulled Rubin aside to explain that Dankovsky’s birthday was the next day and he wanted to have one of their small gatherings the night before. He knew very well Stakh wouldn’t want to come to the party at the Stillwater that was scheduled for the birthday proper. Rubin didn’t think much of it, and agreed.

For Grief, the invitation came through Lara, who dropped by his place in the afternoon. She only told him to come by later, that Cub would be around, and to be on his best behavior. He joked then, said he’d have to talk with his boyfriend first, and was informed his boyfriend would also be attending, which led to further joking about being propositioned. Which Lara did not find very funny.

They met at the Shelter about eight in the evening. Cub’s children had apparently been left home (since this was a night of drinking and celebrating) with one Yulia Lyuricheva, whom Sticky had come to almost idolize.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed to Grief that he had found himself spontaneously at the same place with Stakh and every other person they needed to trick. It was obvious that their time had come.
To anyone else, it would have been a given, but with Stakh, he needed to make sure to clear it first. So that presented the first problem: communicating in private, since it was too late to meet in advance. Not a terrible challenge, but, still, a minor obstacle.
At this point Grief was also informed that they were gathered for Dankovsky’s birthday. He didn’t care, birthdays had never held much meaning to him, but he could see this being an issue for Stakh. A few drinks into the night and he took his chance, leaning into his tallest friend and getting on his toes to speak softly while Dankovsky proudly rambled about something or another in the background.
“Tonight.” Grief whispered. Rubin grunted and shook his head, as if to stave off an annoying bug. Good thing he had recently re-sharpened his silent Stakh language skills.
“Why not?”
That seemed to be enough to warrant a verbal response, at least.
“I don’t want to ruin it.”
“A stitch in time saves nine, buddy. We’re gonna have to ruin somethin’, might as well be now.”
“Not today, it’s Dankovsky’s birthday.”
“So what? Could be my birthday too, for all we know-”
“Cut it out,” he muttered, side-eyeing him. “That schtick was never funny.”
“Are you guys alright?” Cub had turned to ask them, blinking and staring with his big Cub-eyes. From behind him, Dankovsky glared at them, unimpressed and obviously annoyed at the interruption.
“Yeah, just Stakh bein’ Stakh.” Grief threw an arm around the man next to him, who cringed. He gave him an appreciative pat, and gave Artemy the fakest-looking grin he could muster. “Regular stuff.”
“Right,” Dankovsky stepped in, unimpressed. “Now, as I was explaining. It’s obviously not an easy concept to grasp, but-”
Grief tugged at his fake-boyfriend’s sleeve, a way of saying ‘See? He deserves it’, which went ignored. Fifteen more minutes passed of Dankovsky explaining his new idea about the nature of dying and his findings from there (Cub managed to look pretty interested the whole time, bless his heart) and he finally got a response, a sluggish squeezing of his wrist, a tug from Stakh. Their sign to ‘go ahead’. It was all that he needed.
They didn’t have to discuss details, Grief thought, the rehearsals were all pretty fresh in his mind. He just needed an opportunity to pounce… and they could take their sweet time with it, as the group could stand to all enjoy themselves a bit before the big number. Despite everything, Grief was not without a heart, and this was fun for him, too. More importantly, he needed Stakh to loosen up - a few more rounds of vodka would do the trick (the steppe herbs needed for twyrine had nearly disappeared after the plague, and the price had catapulted). He enjoyed this part, too, as Stakh would get more talkative, more malleable, and it was much easier to catch a glimpse of that rare smile of his.

And so the night went on, with Grief observing this magnificent giant animal Stanislav Rubin, the way he would very slowly start finding jokes funnier, and his sharp edges began to soften. Grief tried his best not to get distracted by it, looking for an opening for the show to begin.

The thing that made getting on with the plan slightly difficult is that Cub seemed genuinely happy. He was at ease, talking loud and proud, and it was undeniable that the man had done a lot and gone through something monumental for their continued existence. He was grateful for it, most days, at least, and now he was even somewhat grateful for the stupid plan he had most certainly started. Grief truly loved the guy as his most loyal friend - unlike Stakh and Lara, Artemy had never outright rejected him. At this point, although he could use a lesson about not sticking his nose where he’s not wanted, Cub was a bit of a sacrifice to be made.

With Gravel, he was far more certain. Lara had been something of a confidant when it came to the many things that Stakh wouldn’t understand. She, despite all her judgement and self-righteousness, was more in tune with feelings, less grumpy, and could often be his most trusted ally. Which meant that when he saw she had noticed him staring at the bit of exposed skin under Stakh’s shirt, completely innocently, he had trusted her to keep it to herself. She had broken that unspoken bond, and therefore, this was all really her just deserts. He couldn’t feel that bad for her.

Dankovsky’s exact involvement in the dumb scheme that had gotten them to this point was obscure, as Murky had been very vague on the details. As it was, Grief considered the man a casualty of their plan - but certainly not a casualty he’d mourn. Besides, it was hardly likely that the doc was invested in the relationship. The break up would have to be merely an inconvenience for him, and as far as Grief was concerned, ‘inconvenience’ was his official title in relation to Dankovsky.

He wasn’t entirely sure if Stakh threw him a cue or if he was just being his normal self when he raised his voice to tell Grief not to interrupt for the fourth time, but either way, he nabbed the opportunity, letting his shoulder bump against his side forcefully as they both sat at the table. Cub’s beef stew had started going cold.
“Yeah? Or what now? You’re gonna cry? Yell at me?”
Pause. The man stared at him with a pained expression, and he saw hesitance there. Come on, Stakh, don’t drop the ball now… A full second must have passed before he returned the line, and Grief resisted throwing his hands in the air in relief.
“Maybe I will.” Not great, but good enough. He could work from here.
Grief rolled his eyes dramatically.
“You can’t even think of a decent retort, can ya? I’m sure you have something better than that bouncin’ around in that big empty head of yours.”
Rubin sighed. Pinched the bridge of his nose. Grief waited, feeling the silence of the others thick in the air.
“You really wanna do this here? Now?”
“You know what? Sure, why not, it’s past the time. You started it, gettin’ on my case, like always.”
“Guys.” Lara stepped in suddenly from the other side of the table, careful concern in her voice. Artemy leaned forward to look at them with a serious expression, and Dankovsky seemed determined not to look at all, fussing with his gloves, consternation showing in his face despite himself. “Calm down.”
Grief opened his mouth, but Stakh was faster this time. It made his heart swell up with pride, really.
“I’ve never been calmer, Lara. It’s the queen here who has a problem.”
He had a completely serious face too, it was hard to not break character and start praising him. Grief got up on his feet, pushing back against the table.
“Oh, I’m not the drama queen here and ya know it, baldy. You can’t even have a chat without throwin’ a tantrum and ruinin’ the party for everybody.”
“What is wrong with you two?” Artemy got up too, alarmed.
“Oh, easier to ask what’s not wrong… I’m fed up with this,” Stakh practically growled.
Such a good line for someone who was so unsure that this would work. Grief felt his heart starting to beat faster. Honestly, in some weird way, he had to admit this was kind of a turn on.
“What happened?” Artemy’s voice was serious, definitely worried. Oh, they really had him.
“Well,” Grief picked up, “so am I. Fed up with your shit moods, and all your whinin’! Dull as a brick, like a tick all over my shit, testin’ my patience, all the fuckin’ time.”
“Would you learn to talk like a human adult for once?”
“Guys.” Now Artemy’s voice sounded even a little broken, like a kid caught in the middle of an adult argument. “Can you- I’m sure you guys can talk and work it all out some other time. We’re here to celebrate Daniil today, remember?”
“There won’t be another time. I’m done, Cub,” Stakh responded. “If it had been up to me, I’d never have started talking with him again after what he did. And now, I regret listening to the two of you.” He gestured with his head towards Lara.
Ouch. Yeah, that wasn’t a line of argument Grief found so hot anymore, but he did suggest that they should be more true to life, and it was undoubtedly a good performance. He scoffed.
“Feelin’ is mutual. I thought I’d be happy if I never saw your ugly mug again, and turns out I was right all along. Take your stupid unrealistic expectations and shove them up your ass, shithead, maybe it’ll dislodge the massive stick you have stuck in there.”
Dankovsky cursed under his breath, looking down. The focus of attention was lost for a moment, but quickly regained as Rubin cleared his throat.
“...Whatever. This was a mistake from the very beginning,” he said, getting up to leave. He clearly ignored Grief, turning to talk to the other three instead. “Sorry for the mess. This has been a long time coming. I only wish we could have resolved it privately.”
Grief frowned, though underneath it all, he was thoroughly impressed.
“I’ll leave you all to your celebrations,” Rubin continued. “I will only bring the party down even more.”
Lara stepped in before he could make his escape, her eyes wide, face pale, brow furrowed. She grabbed his arm.
“Stakh....” She started, but stopped. The light reflected in her eyes revealed wetness, and the regret and guilt there were palpable. For a moment, Rubin considered breaking the plan, the adrenaline of the performance starting to subside. But from the corner of his eyes he saw his fake ex-boyfriend and co-conspirator watching him like an owl, his own eyes gleaming with something else, and found the motivation to carry on. He gently pushed Lara’s arm away.
“Gravel. None of this is your fault.” He could somehow hear Grief roll his eyes on the other side of the room. “We’ll talk later. Again, sorry for the mess.” He sounded like, good, honest Stakh again, and even managed to give her a small sympathetic smile.

At the same time, Grief contended with Artemy in an adrenaline-addled conversation, from which he himself was distracted by observing Rubin and making sure he wouldn’t blow it.
“It’s useless, Cub. This was bound to happen, he never changed! This ship has sailed and sunk, no survivors.”
“You’re both drunk, maybe you can resolve this later-”
“No, no, it’s all over, it’s all ruined. This, and the mood of the party. Sorry for ruinin’ your husband’s birthday, Cub, I’d better just go before I make it worse.” Dankovsky looked at them across the table, listening and clearly struggling to stop himself from jumping in to correct the way he’d been addressed, face turning a dark red.
“No, Grief-” Artemy was almost begging.
“We’ll talk later, Cub. This was all a stupid mistake.” Grief interrupted, and then added, just because: “Silly of me for thinking it could work out between us, huh?”
He could visibly see how Artemy’s body dropped down in disappointment, and although it hurt a little bit, it was still nothing compared to the triumph of a complex job flawlessly executed.
Rubin left the house first, as Grief repeated more or less the same conversation with Lara and stalled a couple more minutes - he didn’t want to deal with the awkwardness that would arise from being seen walking together. Besides, he was technically in no rush, as he knew the way to Stakh’s apartment very well by now. He followed his co-conspirator out of the door about five minutes later, secretly feeling on top of the world - the real world even, not their puny puppetshow of a town.

Inside the Shelter, the atmosphere was much like a post-war scene. Lara sat at the head of the table, her head sunk in her arms, battling a migraine unlike any she’d had the past year. Cub stood by the door for a few more minutes, where he watched Grief turn the corner and disappear. Upon returning and seeing Lara so quiet, he flopped down on a chair next to Daniil, feeling that he once again had completely lost his group of friends, and by his own fault, too. Dankovsky just sat, quiet, fiddling with the silverware, the napkins, his buttons. As awkward as this was to him, he could imagine how rough this was for his partner and their friend, and so he waited, as respectful as he could.

“Hm, well. I can’t say that I hadn’t seen this coming in some capacity, but even so it’s truly a tragedy that it ended like this,” he tentatively broke the silence. “Thank you for the dinner. I’ll go ahead and start on the dishes, if you don’t mind.” He got up and started assembling the plates before quickly making his way out towards the kitchen, leaving the other two to brood on their own.

Outside, Grief caught up with Stakh before he even crossed the bridge, slowed down slightly by the effect of the drink on his step. Though it may be more accurate to say that he collided against him, hooking an arm around his neck as they both slammed against a wall of a nearby house. Hopefully the residents hadn't heard, but in any case, they separated and stumbled away to have a rushed conversation hidden in the dark of the shadows across the street.
"Are you crazy?!" Rubin hissed.
"Yeah! And so are you, you wild bastard - crazy good at this shit! What was that?" Grief offered excitedly, throwing his arms around him again.
Rubin took a deep breath, feeling the blood rush to his face,then laughed. A nervous, tired, but relieved laugh.
"So, you think it worked?"
"Hell, I was almost fooled myself. Didn't think you could actually pull anything to surprise me by now, but you were a real beast.”
“And I guess that's a positive thing?”
Grief patted his cheek. They didn’t need to be standing so close, and Rubin knew he didn’t entirely need to have his hands on him, but he did, anyway.
“Don’t play dumb or modest with me now, babe. Let yourself celebrate a job well done, for once.”
“You can drop the ‘babe’ thing, now,” he muttered, lifting a hand to scratch his nose.
“Oh, I could. But that title never felt as earned as it does today,” Grief grinned. “So I think Imma keep it, babe.”
Rubin snorted. It was a funny sound, hoarse, awkward, and if Grief was allowed to chirp in, hilariously cute. His laughter cut through the quiet night before he stifled it against Rubin’s shoulder, making them both shake against the wall of some stranger’s house. They should probably move again before risking catching anyone’s attention… and so they did, stepping away, both laughing quietly, hands still unnecessarily linked. The whole thing felt a little bit surreal, a little too good, like some kind of delightful glitch in the universe, or at least in the timeline. It crossed Grief’s mind that it must be like what real people feel, real freedom, but he wouldn’t want to ruin the mood with a thought like that.
Twenty minutes of mostly quiet walking and one shared cigarette later, they safely arrived at Rubin’s apartment. They hadn’t ever talked about what to do after the break-up performance, but it felt like an unspoken agreement now: they had to celebrate further. Neither wanted the night to be over just yet, so a return to the place that had served as their homebase for this scheme felt like the most natural choice.

Stakh struggled to unlock the door to his apartment, dropped the key from unsteady hands, and when he finally managed to push the door open Grief pushed him out of the way and stepped ahead mumbling “Wow, what a gentleman” and then proceeded to laugh at how dumb and flustered his friend looked standing there, causing Stakh to roll his eyes and scoff.
The apartment was as dark and narrow as ever, but at the moment it really felt like there was no better place to be. Even more so when Stakh went into the kitchen and returned with glasses and a pair of bottles, one vodka, one water. All they needed for this private party, really.

Bottles put aside, Grief perched atop the table, shoving aside a few papers and books carelessly to make room. Rubin glared as some of his books hit the floor, but he didn’t comment on it whatsoever, only bent down to pick them up.
“So,” Grief started, leaning in close. For once he was on high ground, and he saw Rubin’s brown eyes flicker up to meet his.
“...What?” he asked. Grief blinked.
“Dunno,” he muttered, shrugging, feeling his cheeks heat up and laughing to himself. “Forgot what I was gonna say. ”
Rubin snorted again, making him laugh even more.
“Well, no more alcohol for you, then. I’ll pour you some water. If you even think of getting sick in my apartment-”
There was a sudden quietness between them. Grief laughed nervously, then spoke again. Better to say something dumb than to let the silence linger.
“C’mon. I can hold my drink just fine.”
“Yes, you’re doing wonderful,” Stakh said with dubious sarcasm as he extended his arm, offering Grief a glass of water before pouring more vodka for himself.
Grief stopped drinking halfway to call out his hypocrisy: “Hey, no fair!”
“It’s my house and it’s my vodka.”
“And what are you now, a cop? Come here, gimme a sip.” He pointed to the other’s glass. Stakh sighed, but the corners of his lips tilted up just a bit.
“Fine.”
Stakh sat on the chair facing him, and handed him his glass, from which he took a generous sip. Then, as if something struck behind by force and swinging forward, he laid a kiss on the other man's surprised face, wet and smelling of vodka.
Grief cackled at the successfully stolen kiss, while Stakh just looked at him as if he'd been kicked, eyes wide. Grief thought it was a very good look on him, so he leaned in to give him another.
And so, like so often in their last "secret meetings" and years ago, he wasn't even surprised when he felt arms around him and Stakh kissing back, slow, a bit sloppy, but confident. The difference between chair and table quickly became too uncomfortable to sustain, so Grief slid off the table to take a seat on his friend's lap, kissing down his jaw. When he stopped to breathe, he burst into laughter again. Stakh held him in place, burning face pressed between Grief's shoulder and neck.

It was comfortable there, in that darkness, but of course, it couldn’t last forever. Eventually (a few seconds, really), Rubin finally found the courage to peek out. His heart was beating at a frankly absurd rate, with a million thoughts running through his head, but they were dulled from the alcohol and the distraction of Grief kissing the side of his scalp. This was nice, actually, he decided, shifting on the chair to balance Grief’s weight out evenly.
The chair under them groaned in protest, then emitted a dull crack that made them both freeze in place. The thing probably wasn't made to handle the weight of two grown men.
"You wanna move?" It wasn't a suggestion as much as a request, and Rubin nodded.
“Yeah. Get off,” he muttered, nudging him away and getting up.
"Sure." Grief responded with a wink and a grin as he started making his way backwards around the table and towards the bedroom. Rubin turned to pick up their glasses and the bottles, and therefore didn’t see when he tripped over the only rug in his home, only the aftermath of his friend sprawled on the floor. He was momentarily alarmed before he saw Grief’s shoulders shake with laughter.
“You idiot,” he mumbled, putting the bottles back down and extending a hand to help him up.
“Yeah, heard that one before,” he smirked. “You doing some new decoration’, Stakh?”
Rubin glanced down. He frowned, kicking the corner that had lifted due to Grief’s fall. He suddenly felt that if he allowed either of them to look underneath, at that ugly twyrine stain that still persisted, the night would suddenly crumble away.

“Yeah,” he grunted, forcing the thought out of his head. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, fussy, all good.” Grief patted his cheek, then whirled around and continued his trajectory to the bedroom. When Rubin made no move to follow, he shouted, voice distant, teasing: “You coming or not?”
Rubin forcefully shrugged away whatever apprehensions were still bouncing around in his head and only stopped to take another sip of the vodka before following him in. He sat next to him, glancing at the other’s coat discarded on the floor and making the bed creak under the weight shift for a split second before Grief promptly moved onto his lap again and proceeded to cup his face and press his lips to his once again.
Something in the back of Rubin’s mind suggested that he asked him to stop - it’s all over now, it said, ignoring the fact that they never had really begun at all. But the idea that they would separate and Grief would immediately head home now was entirely undesirable.

...One time before the real end, he decided. That’s all it was, one more time to get it out of mind. After tonight, they would go back to the way things were before this crazy plan that had somehow worked beyond their expectations.

But for now it was good. This was nice. It had been… far too long since he’d been like this with anybody, and for a moment that one last time crossed his mind, causing his face to heat up. Grief didn’t seem to notice the moment of uneasiness, far too occupied in his kissing and sneaking his hands past the hem of Rubin’s shirt. Rubin for his part, lowered his resistance and committed to returning the affections, holding Grief in place as he leaned in to kiss his jaw and down his neck. When he reached the little bow-scarf he wore every day without fail, he paused, reaching up to untie it and letting it drop to the floor.
His flow was interrupted, somewhat, as he saw the thin pink scar on his throat and around his neck. He blinked, then narrowed his eyes, lifting a hand to gently run his fingers over the scar tissue. He hadn’t seen this before.
Grief hummed at the touch, but when Rubin didn’t make any move to do anything else, he cracked his eyes open, lifting an eyebrow.
“What?”
“What happened to your neck?”
Grief sighed, as if the question hardly warranted this interruption.
“Oh, y’know, some asshole crook thought he could strangle me with a piano wire a few years ago. Any other burning questions?”
“Why hadn’t I heard about that before?”
“You wouldn’t talk to me,” he said flippantly, punctuating the sentence with a kiss. “Water under the bridge. What’s it to ya?”
“Seriously? And you never thought to mention it?”
“I forget it's there half the time. C’mon, you gonna sulk all night or are ya gonna kiss me again?”
Rubin scowled, tracing the scar gently once again. Reminders of the past seemed dead set on making themselves known tonight, it seemed. When he didn’t reply, Grief huffed, cupping his face in his hands again.
“It’s fine, Stakh. Cross my heart, or whatever. If ya care so much, why dontcha kiss it better or somethin’?”
He rolled his eyes, thought about arguing, pressing the subject, but it seemed like nothing good would come of it now. So he just shrugged.
“Fine. Just stay still for a moment-”
Grief raised his eyebrows in surprised delight, then leaned back, offering his neck, showing off the reddish mark that went around it. He hummed softly as Rubin worked, closing his eyes. Then, suddenly, he shifted, pushing Rubin away and getting up.
“Wait, wait - I got an idea.”
“What?” Rubin tried his best not to sound disappointed, shifting to watch what he was doing. His brain felt like it was running with a delay, still, but Grief’s excitement was contagious and he couldn’t help the small smile that graced his lips.
“Patience, dear Stakh, is a virtue-hah!” He was now on his knees, digging into one of the pockets of his large coat, and had apparently found something. The next second he pulled a dark, slim cylinder. A lipstick tube.
“What is that,” he asked as if he didn’t know, feeling his face heat up once again. He tried to push down the embarrassment.
“Duh, what do you think? I’m sharper than ya give me credit for. I saw you staring before.” He grinned as he pulled the lid off, revealing a dark red shade. He proceeded to pass it on his lips, hand a little shaky, making it just slightly crooked. Rubin didn’t care, just looked away, wishing he could hide his face somewhere. For some reason, being caught staring felt like the most embarrassing thing about this whole ordeal, and he jerked back when Grief leaned in to give him a deep, long kiss, one hand holding the collar of his shirt firmly. When he leaned back, grinning like a madman, the area around his lips was smeared in red. He kissed down Rubin’s jaw, then near his ear, clearly much more comfortable with this situation. Then he suddenly stopped and reapplied his lipstick, even messier than the first time, and looked at Rubin with a smirk, eyes brimming with something mischievous. If the night had felt surreal an hour earlier, now it felt beyond anything his imagination could reach.
“What?” He asked again, in disbelief, as Grief lingered and started unbuttoning his own (incredibly tacky) shirt with his free hand, the other still holding the lipstick, eyes on him.
“Your turn. You like the look, dontcha? So pucker up.”
"...What are you going to do?"
"I'm gonna kill ya, with this tube of lipstick. What the fuck you think I'm gonna do?"
It somehow felt like that was entirely possible. But Grief was clearly delighted, so he held that back and did as he was told, seeing the other's smile widen as he leaned in, focused, clearly having so much fun tracing the lipstick carefully over Rubin's lips. There was a thick silence as he worked, concentrating too hard to tease him, apparently, and Rubin wasn’t about to start talking and ruin it. Afterwards, he sat next to him, beaming as he stared at his work.
"...How do I look?" Rubin asked, quietly. His face must be red enough to match the lipstick.
"Hot as the fires of hell. You should try it for real, sometime. I could-"
For maybe the third or fourth time tonight, Grief got interrupted by Rubin pulling him in for another kiss, dropping the lipstick from his hand, which fell and broke against the floor. Ah, well. Sacrifices had to be made and all that.
They carried on from there, with inhibitions and concern properly dulled by alcohol, and the rest of the night went smoothly.

Chapter Text

Rubin opened his eyes slowly. It took him a second to process his surroundings - this was his room, yes, but something was obviously off. Still half asleep, he felt around himself. He seemed to be… closer to the floor than normal. And though his back ached slightly, his legs were not cramped from trying to squeeze them on his bed.

Suddenly he realized, with dull surprise, that he was naked.
And more importantly, he wasn't alone.
He closed his eyes again with the faint hope that when he opened them again, the morning would start anew and everything would be back to normal. However, being in the dark only brought back a clearer memory of how he ended up like this, and there were now things that creeped through his careful barrier, impossible to ignore: the smell of sweat, the unmistakable warm feeling of skin on skin, the weight against his chest... He could feel someone curled up against him, just out of view, but he didn’t dare to assign names. Maybe if he didn’t, it would be easier to ignore the whole thing. Easier to ignore the annoying warm feeling that kept trying to bubble up from his stomach to his chest lately (he could feel it now, too). This person was snoring, his chest filling in and out and pressed softly against Rubin’s, body hair tickling him, warm air hitting his collarbone with every breath. The sensation made Rubin shudder. It wasn’t bad, not at all, and that was the worst part. The whole thing made him feel out of control. He wasn’t used to being so close to a body alive and warm, and the dried gel-thickened hair brushing against the underside of his chin made the identity of this other person rather hard to deny. As he laid there, unmoving, his brain was forced to slowly put together the remaining pieces of the previous night. The successful plan, the alcohol, the kissing, the lipstick, the-
He took a deep breath, scrunching up his face and sitting up, dislodging his friend (ugh) lying against him.
Grief made a soft sleepy noise (Rubin refused to think of it as ‘cute’ or anything close) and frowned, cracking his light blue eyes halfway open and then shutting them once again before rolling to the other side. Rubin resolutely stared at the wall until he was settled again. He only dared to glance at Grief after, seeing the back of his head - the mess of red hair sticking in different directions, and the lipstick marks all over his neck and shoulders, continuing down. The awareness that he was the one that left those made his body immediately tense up, blood rushing quickly to his face, making him a bit dizzy. There was some kind of joy there, mixed in with revulsion, something dreadful and shameful that he refused to admit even to himself. He rubbed the back of his hand against his lips and stared at the faint red mark it left there, his heart beating fast, waking him for good. The evidence, he thought, feeling like he had just swallowed a stone. At least Grief seemed to have fallen asleep again, his chest moving up and down with more soft snoring. The lipstick marks all over his bare torso moved along with it, curving around his ribs and down past where the thin blankets covered him at the hips.

The fact that he was still asleep provided Rubin with a momentary relief. The last thing he’d want to do right now would be to have a conversation. A realization suddenly hit him - hell, what time was it? It was Tuesday, a regular workday, he had to be at the clinic! He got up quickly from the shared mattress on the floor - the bed was too small for two people, he remembered the thought process of last night with shame.
What had he been thinking? He hadn’t, was the obvious answer. Neither of them had, they were supposed to be done after the fake breakup, and now everything was going to be monumentally awkward and unpleasant and he needed a shower.
The clock showed ten minutes to eight - he’d most certainly be late, but if he rushed he could take a shower and still be there in less than twenty minutes if he didn't stop to shave. He took another deep breath, and got on his feet slowly, struggling against the demands of his own body. He had to brace against the wall for a moment. A strong headache - that wasn’t surprising at all. That’s just how it had been in the last few years since… well, whatever. He had different problems now, different obligations - yes. That’s what he should be thinking about, getting clean, dressed, and heading to the clinic. He grabbed some fresh clothes from the wardrobe, pointedly not looking at the ones discarded on the floor or the person lying asleep near them, and headed into his bathroom.

The cold of the bathroom floor was safe, familiar, and there alone he felt like he could focus again. The headache didn’t go away, but he could tell that he’d be stuck with it for the rest of the day.
There were lipstick marks everywhere on his body, as he was very embarrassed to discover. The dark red covered his neck, his chest, his navel, everywhere, so he avoided looking as the cold water washed off the signs of his (their, he didn’t do it alone) mistake.
The lipstick proved tricky to get rid off, to further his shame, and he spent a few valuable extra minutes scrubbing them off. Not satisfied but somewhat resigned, he dried himself off and got dressed almost mechanically, only stopping to check himself in the mirror before heading off, just in case. He was glad he had done so, as somehow there was still a smudge of lipstick on the underside of his jaw. It could have been disastrous if he’d gone to work looking like that.
This was the worst possible time for this to happen... They were supposed to act like they had just broken up, he remembered with a start of anger. This all felt like a joke played on them by some kind of merciless, farcical god.*

When he opened the door, he saw Grief sitting up on the mattress. He was lounging, a lit cigarette on his hand, coat, scarf, and gloves back on but otherwise naked, still covered in lipstick marks, including his face. On his lap, as the most insignificant act of modesty, were the rest of his clothes.
“Hey,” Grief said, as if the scenario wasn’t the most embarrassing and absurd thing Rubin could ever conceive. “I shoulda known ya would be early to rise. You washed already?” Rubin felt himself blush as his friend’s eyes scanned him up and down with something like playful disappointment.
“Yes,” he responded, stern, not looking. “...and I think you should too.”
“What, no breakfast?”
“No. I’m going to the clinic, I’m already late.”
“Nobody is gonna be mad at you for being late today, Stakh. You just had a break up for the ages.” He snickered, throwing his head back. Rubin only dared to look at him from the corner of his eyes. ”Stick around a lil’ longer, let’s grab a snack.”
“I have work to do. A schedule, a job. We can’t all screw around and make trinkets all day.”
Grief’s expression immediately turned sour and Rubin cringed inwardly. Stupid, he obviously wasn’t thinking clearly. He hadn’t meant the comment to be so harsh, but apologizing might elongate the conversation, and the less they talked, the better.
“Oh wow.” Grief said with half of a smirk, raising an eyebrow. “Guess someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, huh? What’s the matter? That big noggin of yours hurts again?”
Rubin just rolled his eyes, still avoiding eye contact.
“C’mon, stop standing there an’ sulking. Ya look like you ate a lemon,” Grief sighed, motioning to the empty spot beside him. “Come sit.”
“No.” He paused and looked at the clock. “... If you’re not going to shower, you should get going too.”
Grief’s eyes narrowed as he processed the words. There was a long silence between them.
“Come again?” The question sounded tentative, like a challenge, a test.
“You should leave. You don’t live here.”
There was a short awkward pause where Grief took a drag of his cigarette. Then, breathing out smoke, he cackled. “You’re seriously kickin’ me out right now?”
“I’m not kicking you out. Don’t be so dramatic,” Rubin snapped back.
“Then what the hell are you doin’, Stakh? ‘Cuz it sounds exactly like you’re kickin’ me out.”
A big sigh from Rubin. This was exactly what he was afraid of. “Look, I’ve already said I’m late, I have to go-”
“I see.” Grief crushed the cigarette between his fingers, letting ash fall to the ground. His shoulders were tense and his gaze fixed. Controlled anger, an animal on the defensive, carefully considering his next move. Rubin realized he wasn’t really trying to hide the sentiment, because if he was, he would have never caught it. “So you mean you’re all done here, yes? Nothin’ else to say to me.”
“Yes?” He didn’t mean for it to sound like a question. Better to clarify. No hesitation. “Yes. That’s what I mean.” He felt cornered, his nervousness was too obvious in his voice for his taste. Pause. Grief glared at him. “...I don’t know what you want from me. I’ll leave the key for you, just leave it under the door for when I come back, alright?”
Grief’s face softened for a moment, baffled, and then he laughed again.
“Yeah, Stakh. That’s exactly what I want from you, your fuckin’ keys. Are you really that thick-headed?”
“Why are you so angry now?”
Grief pretended to think deeply with a hand on his chin, but the performance didn’t even last four seconds. “Hmm, dunno, maybe because I was stupid enough to expect that this would mean anything? Hell- I’m not even talkin’ about last night, but the last few weeks. What did I even do this time?”
“What are you talking about? We were rehearsing for the fake breakup. It went fine, your plan worked. Now we’re done.” He huffed and shifted on his feet, visibly uncomfortable.
“You gotta be kiddin’ me. What am I talking about-” Grief repeated and waited, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Did ya fall and hit your head again last night? I’m talking ‘bout all those days we were rehearsing, all that smooching and touching. Remember that?”
“Yeah, that wasn’t meant to be real, it was part of the plan. Practice.”
Grief opened up his mouth, and then, as if he had changed his mind, shut it. “... Cub was right, you really are a dumb one. I shoulda expected this from the start.”
“You’re being erratic,” Rubin snapped back, feeling his temper rise up in his throat. He wouldn’t take the obvious bait, but it was only with herculean effort that he managed to keep his voice level. “We both knew this was coming!”
He got a sardonic scoff in response.
“Whatever,” Rubin continued, when there was no further rebuttal. “This night was clearly a mistake, we can agree on that. Now I need to get going-”
Grief’s eyebrows furrowed together, eyes shining with something intense. “Uh huh. A mistake, yeah? Spending the night with ol’ Grigory the trinket maker, right? Because you’re way too good for that kinda thing.” He gestured with the hand that held the crumpled remains of the cigarette. “Get off your fuckin’ high horse. People ain’t dying if you skip work once either, not anymore.”
“That’s not-” he sighed. Tried again. “It was a mistake because we’re supposed to be finished-”
“-Yeah, yeah, ya can’t wait to be rid of me again. Heard loud and clear.”
“Stop twisting my words.”
“Yeah? Explain to me what you mean then, asshole.” He left the clothes and tossed the butt of the cigarette on the floor, getting up on his feet. Rubin resolutely stared at the floor to avoid seeing him exposed, although Grief clearly didn’t seem to mind either way. “Kicking me to the curb first thing in the morning, real nice. What a great, heartwarming friendship we have,” Grief said, spitting the word out like it was a curse.
“We had a plan. We’re done with it. We got carried away yesterday, that’s all there is to it.” There was the sound of rustling, and when Rubin tentatively glanced back up, Grief at least had his pants back on. “What the hell did you think was going to happen now?”
“Doesn’t matter. You clearly couldn’t wait to be done with me, and now you’re runnin’ away like a damn coward. Typical. Shame on me for not expecting it.”
The little patience Rubin had left was dangerously close to running dry.
“You’re no victim here, stop trying to act like I’ve wronged you somehow!” He pinched the bridge of his nose again, squeezing his eyes closed and breathing out. “Now, are you planning to keep wasting my time like this, or are you going to let me get to work?”
Grief turned around to pick up the rest of his clothes, then used them to further smear the lipstick marks on his face and neck. At this point, he almost looked like he had a really bad sunburn. “Ah, yes, your work, ‘cus the world is gonna end if you don’t show up on time every day. Fuck off.”
Don’t take the bait, he told himself. Don’t.
“I just want to move on from this-”
“Move on!” Grief repeated, mockery thick in his voice. “Now you wanna move on. As if you aren’t the guy who clings to old grudges like they’re fuel.”
“I just try to learn from things.”
Grief stopped buttoning up his shirt to laugh that same humorless laugh. “Hah! What a joke. As if this isn’t the same thing over again.”
“Go fuck yourself, Grigory. You were the one who ruined everything before.”
He saw Grief flinch at the accusation and felt somewhat righteous. Then Grief shook his head and smirked again.
“Go fuck myself, yeah? Hm, I think I will. Thought I didn’t have to, but seems like you can’t even take your head out of your ass long enough for that.”
The dark red on Rubin’s face could be either from fluster or rage. It was hard to tell, now, but he wasn’t keen on either option. Of course this morning had gone like this. And it was all because of that stupid, nonsensical plan that he must have been crazy to agree to in the first place.
“Shut up. Just get out of my house.”
Grief threw his shoes on again and stood to his full height, almost a full head smaller than Rubin, but somehow, it didn’t feel like it.
“Sure, kick me out of your shitty apartment again. How many times have we done this already? And yer tryin’ to convince me you can change? Learn from things? Hah!”
“This isn’t the same and you know it.”
“Isn’t it? You haven’t changed a bit, the same neurotic, whiny, spoilsport-” he snarled, sticking his hands in his pockets. His face might have been red with rage too, but it was impossible to tell under all the smeared lipstick. “Shove that key up yours, shithead, I’m out. It’ll be too soon if I ever see your ugly mug again.”
“Yeah. Fine. Great,” he replied, arms crossed. Grief was almost out the door before he added, “Don’t let anyone see you leave.” Just in case it wasn’t clear already. It came to mind that he had said this exact phrase weeks before, when Murky had let them know about their friend’s scheming. Forever ago, now.

The only response he got was Grief flipping him off as he disappeared out of the door, angry steps echoing loudly as he went back down to the first floor. Rubin glared at the empty room, the mattress on the floor and the crumpled cigarette, the rug just a little bit out of place, before following the same path out of the door.

---

Rubin arrived at the clinic significantly later than he had planned, due to having taken a different path than his usual short, direct one. The mere possibility of somehow crossing paths with Grief so early after this was completely unacceptable, and he couldn’t risk it.
As he walked in, the chatting he could hear from outside the clinic abruptly died. He ignored it, but as he went into his office, his neck prickled with the heavy, expectant stares of his two colleagues. It wasn’t that he hadn’t expected a reaction to their ‘show’ yesterday (it had been the goal, after all, he remembered bitterly), but he felt like he had very little patience left to deal with this today.
“What?!” he barked out after several minutes of standing in complete silent, glaring back at Artemy’s concerned face. Dankvovsky watched silently from behind his black leather notebook. “If you have something to say to me, spit it out.”
“Sure.” Artemy nodded, resigned. “We think you deserve the day off.” His voice was careful but firm.
“Out of the blue? Why?” His voice strained with frustration, already knowing what the answer was and hating it. He didn’t think he’d hate it this much while they were planning, but apparently he’d gotten all his expectations wrong.
A pause. Hesitation. Artemy and Dankovsky exchanged a glance as if they were about to tell him of a patient’s death before Dankovsky went back to attentively writing his notes. Artemy picked up the conversation again.
“Well, we all saw what happened yesterday.” he said, solemnly (obnoxiously).
“So?” Rubin scoffed. “Of course I’d come in. This is a job, not a hobby.” Why was this so hard for his friends to grasp?
“Well, at least-” Artemy didn’t seem to be surprised at all by this course of events, and even glanced towards his partner with a look that seemed to say ‘I told you so’. “You don’t have to worry about covering for us today like we talked about. We got it, it’s all fine, just try to get some rest and enjoy yourself.”
“Don’t patronize me, Burakh.”
“I’m not patronizing you!” He saw Artemy’s expression turn from concerned to exasperated then back again. “I just... look, I know it has to be hard on you. You can be honest now.”
Not patronizing. Yeah, right. Artemy didn’t even know anything of what actually happened, and dared to speak like this. Rubin glared at him.
“I’ll drop it if you want me to, I know it hurts your pride or something stupid like that,” he continued. “But what I just wanted to say was that… I’m here for you if you need it, alright? Don’t shut everyone out. Again.”
It didn’t warrant an answer, so Rubin didn’t give him one. He just went in to settle down in the secondary office and began to review the notes from the previous week.
Focusing was… difficult, with all the pesky memories creeping in and the headache still pulsing behind his eyes. And more than that, throughout the morning, the concerned glances from the hall carried on, as if his colleagues were checking up on a timebomb. Artemy even tried to engage in conversation a few times, talking about trivial stuff, attempting to joke, but his attempts trailed off quickly against Rubin’s unwavering exhausted expression.
Dankovsky, however, was more sneaky. It was mid-morning when he went to hand over a form and stalled next to Rubin, face unreadable. Rubin considered apologizing again for the scene yesterday, but the other man spoke first.
“I hope you know that despite what I may have expressed before, I lament what happened yesterday. I was hoping you two would work out, against all odds.”
Rubin tried not to sigh. Fine. More of this ridiculous acting stint. Just for a little longer.
“No. I’m the one who has to apolog-”
“No, please don’t worry about it,” Dankovsky interrupted. “Your suffering takes precedence over my convenience, and I understand you can’t plan for these things, for better or worse. Nescit amor habere modum.”
Rubin just stared through his colleague, form in hand. He had no idea what the phrase meant, but he had just been reminded of Dankovsky’s most insufferable qualities, and had to fiercely fight back the impulse to punch him.
“Thanks,” was all that he could muster. “Hopefully you and Burakh can work out, against all odds.”
A crease showed on Dankovsky’s brow. Rubin imagined that he was gritting his teeth. There was a split second of satisfaction.
“Certainly. Thank you.”
After that, Dankovsky left him alone.
As noon came, his colleagues left for Eva Yan’s place to prepare for Dankovsky’s actual birthday party, as Artemy had told him they would. The party that he and Grief wouldn’t be ruining, unlike the mess the day before. How had he allowed Grief to talk him into doing something like that? How had the idea seemed even remotely good? Maybe Grief was right, and he was actually just monumentally stupid.
His thoughts were interrupted when the lead he was writing with suddenly snapped under the pressure of his grip, and he threw it against his desk, where it crashed with a grating noise and rolled onto the floor.
His headache throbbed and he shut his eyes, dropping his head to rest on the table. Despite his best efforts, the disastrous events of the morning kept invading his thoughts. They’d meet again, obviously. What, then? Would they talk? Was the plan still up, should they wait and tell the others, or better leave it alone? The problem of their friends trying to set them up now seemed trivial in comparison. They should have just left it alone, like he had said at first - but it was far too late for this thinking.

---

With the confrontation over, Grief went right back home. Home, he mumbled the word sarcastically to himself as the door slammed behind his back, eyeing his messy living room as if it was something new. He kicked off his shoes, took off his coat and headed to the bathroom, mumbling more disconnected thoughts to himself as he finished undressing and the tub started to fill up. He sat on the toilet while he waited and sighed, avoiding looking in the mirror in favor of staring at his bitten nails and the cracked nailpolish.
Funny how fast things change, he thought with a joyless smirk. Just a couple of years earlier he was Bad Grief, king of the warehouses and the railroad. And that was his home, his kingdom - that whole district. More or less. And sure, it was all smoke and mirrors, but he couldn’t help but think that, had this happened back then, all this crap would be like water off a duck’s back and he would probably be getting smashed with his gang right now, without a care in the world. Stakh Rubin...who the hell was Rubin? A nobody, a memory, a second-rate doctor who never responded when he was needed. A poor bastard who only knew how to suck up to people, a bore, a zealot. Good fucking riddance, he thought as he carefully stepped into the tub, curling over himself to fit and recoiling from the cold water. He was angry at himself, for ever letting his brain (puppets, no brains, all scripted, the words flashed in the back of his mind and he ignored them) fool him into thinking Rubin was anything other than a friend from another time. A friend who had always been kind of an asshole, anyways.
Sure, he wasn’t a saint either - he wasn’t the girl of anyone’s dreams, he had accepted that. And no powerful king of thieves, not anymore… and truly, he had never been powerful, always moved around by strings pulled by bigger fish. It wasn’t like Stakh was any better, though, he thought as he absentmindedly scrubbed the red marks off his skin (and what a waste of a perfectly good tube of lipstick). If anything, Stakh was much, much worse. At least Grief was self-aware. He wasn’t ignorant and content, as much as that really meant anything. Stakh was never content either, but that was his own fault, and Grief had made the mistake of trying to come between him and his misery too many times.
He sighed. The memory of their recent plan and of the night before came back to the surface of his mind and he sank further into the tub, feeling his ears get hot . It had been nice - yeah, very nice at times. The touching, the whispering and, most of all, just hanging out and chatting. Kind of like old times. He begrudgingly could admit now that maybe, just maybe, he had been a bit in love back in the day... He had been a dumb teenager, after all. These things happen. He may have even gotten carried away and thought for a second that they could have a future, that nobody would care because they were nobodies anyway, or even better, that Stakh could be the queen to his king of the warehouses (or the other way around, not like it really mattered in this fantasy). He almost believed that somehow, if he had a good enough proposition, Stakh would agree, despite everything. And Cub would support them, of course, Lara too…
The water in the tub splashed as he rearranged himself, scoffing. And what had happened in reality? Cub left and Lara and Stakh immediately turned on him.
It wasn’t true that Stakh’s abandonment hurt the most, or at least, not for the reason one would think. He loved Cub and Gravel just as much. More even, sometimes, right now, maybe.
Water dripped from Grief’s hair down into his eye and he blinked it away. Love, love, love... were any of them, soulless toy people, even capable of that kind of feeling?
But back to that previous thought, Cub and Gravel had always been, despite the closeness, from another world. Betrayal was pretty much expected, par for the course, which is why he took Cub leaving so well. Yeah, he was hurt too, but what could he do? If he had the opportunity to get away like Cub had, he’d probably take it, so he couldn’t really hold it against him. Stakh’s and Lara’s betrayal was much worse, especially since it came in the form of an ultimatum that they knew (of course they knew!) he couldn’t agree to.
Lara, he could still understand a bit… She didn’t need a no-good kingpin friend in the warehouses, she already had a safe spot among Gorkhon’s most respected habitants. But Stakh… Stakh could probably have used a hand. Papa Burakh didn’t live luxuriously as far as he knew, and from what he heard, Stakh always got the short end of the stick there, even with Cub out of the picture. Most importantly, they were both warehouse rats.

Now he stared at his hand again, back, front, the pad of his fingertips wrinkled from being too long underwater. A few more seconds, a deep breath to gather courage, and he was off the tub, drying himself off with a ragged towel, feeling every hair rise up from the sudden cold before putting on clean clothes. The ones from earlier remained on the floor, and he sidestepped them.
On the way to the kitchen, his traitorous thoughts meandered to Andrey Stamatin, of all things.
“Oh, great,” he mumbled to himself. Exactly what he needed now, to think about Stamatin. He made a detour back to the living room to grab a much-needed cigarette, then gave up on wrangling his mind to other topics and half-heartedly committed to reliving more of his regrets.
In hindsight, the situations were similar - kind of. Not that Stakh had anything in common with Andrey, the two men were pretty much opposites. And he had known Stakh for longer than his memory could reach, while Andrey… Yeah, he could remember that meeting. Six, maybe seven years ago, more or less. He was still a minor criminal then, but quickly rising in the ranks, and he had heard that the latest train had brought more than the usual riches: an architect. Then someone cleared up, not one, two, twin brothers. Grief wasn’t really interested at first - he imagined them to be older, pedantic quacks like the Kains, or Farkhad. Imagine his surprise when he discovered he couldn’t have been more wrong - well, at least about half of it.
Soon they met because of the twyrine trade, or maybe they were introduced by a goon, it didn’t matter. The point was that Andrey Stamatin left him floored by all his contradictions. Andrey was nothing like the scholarly architect he had imagined, he was combustion in the shape of a man: confident, unpredictable, dangerous, free- Grief snorted standing in front of his cheap oven, absentmindedly cracking an egg on his frying pan. Well, that certainly seemed like freedom at the time, at least. Shit was simpler back then.
Either way, an actual fun guy to be around, at least at first. And so, he was bewitched. And delusional, since when Andrey responded more-than-amicably to his advances he thought they were in for something special. Birds of a feather, right?
Hell no. Andrey was a fucking maniac, as he’d come to learn a little later.
Grief transferred his fried eggs to a mostly clean plate, grabbed a fork and went to eat on the couch. As he quickly found out, he had left the eggs there a little too long, but it didn’t bother him enough to do anything about it. He kept shoving the food mechanically into his mouth, consumed in thought.
And somehow, despite being ridiculously different, it turned out that a night with Stakh led more or less to the same morning as with Andrey, though at least Stamatin was honest enough to recognize that he was kicking him out. Flippantly, yeah, and later Andrey would become forever one hell of a pebble in his shoe, but still.
...hah. If Andrey was a sharp peddle in his shoe, Rubin was like one of those massive rocks out on the steppe. Distant. Immovable. Technically a lot less of a problem most of the time, but still too often on his mind. And he hated those big rocks, really. For no particular reason, maybe even because they reminded him of Stakh and how unbelievably dense the fucker was. But nobody could be that dense, right? He was just too much of a coward to even give Grief a proper rejection, despite all the bullshit he had to put up with from him before.
He stomped his way back to the kitchen, feeling the cool floor under his feet, tossed the plate in the sink, then returned to his bed-couch and threw himself there. With the corner of his eyes, he peeked at a cigarette pack on the floor and stretched himself almost to the point of falling and landing on his face before realizing it was too far away and retreating, accepting defeat. Oh, well. Nothing but disappointments today, it seems.
Twenty minutes later, sleep had already come for him.

---

Lara Ravel sat on the counter at the kitchen in her house. There was no reason for her to sit there, the house offered plenty of perfectly good, comfortable chairs but she got the impulse to sit there while waiting for her kettle to boil, so she did.
It had to be seven or eight now, the bell in the Cathedral would probably let her know soon, but her sense of time was off from having woken up in the middle of the night and being unable to go back. In a couple of hours, everything had to be up and running for class… but she didn’t feel like taking care of it at all. First, she was exhausted. Second, she felt guilty for all that happened the night before, and she was worried about Artemy, too. It was stupid to worry about him, of course, Cub was stronger than any of them would ever know… but it kept her from worrying about herself, or one of the other two. Maybe she should come clean about it, it could help repair things, forgive each other… or just cause more pain, drive everyone apart further.
The kettle went off and she went to grab it, flipping messy hair out of her face, and poured herself a cup of tea, flopping on the chair to wait for it to cool off a little.
She gave a deep sigh, inhaling the morning air and brushing any wetness away from her eyes, and took a small sip. It burned her lips a bit, but she only licked over them. Yes, she decided, this wouldn’t be easy now, but her friends deserved an apology for the well-intentioned prank. They got through the plague united and alive, it wouldn’t be something like this that would break them apart again. Hopefully. She didn’t feel very confident right now, but she at least had to do something. Later in the day she would go and check on Grief, apologize, and tell him all about it. She couldn’t expect him to be understanding, but it was probably the safest, most logical move at this time, the first step she could take for repairing this mess they had unwittingly helped crafting. And of course it was her responsibility to do so.
With her meager breakfast over, she went to change and wash her face. The kids had nothing to do with this mess, so, if any of them did show up, she had better have her best poker face at the ready.