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Ivan never smiled. No one knew why.
He arrived at the little palace when he was eleven years old. His father told him it was a great responsibility and honour to serve Ravka and their King. Ivan never saw the benefit of serving a King unaware of your existence or one who didn't care when you gave your life protecting his throne. As he was measured for his temporary kefta, he couldn't help but think of his mother, now alone. The image of her crying as she hugged him one last time before the Grisha soldiers took him away is something he longs to forget, but he is unable.
He was also the only new Corporalki to come in this year, and from he had gathered from the two Grisha who took him, he was the first in a while. When he arrived in the hall, he could see how evident that was. The hall was split between blue and red kefta's. He recognised most of those in the blue as those who he arrived with. At the Corporalki table, however, he knew no one. He sat down at the end and was ignored by the others. They were probably two maybe even three years older than him. Their kefta's already bearing the colours of their talents.
He was made all too aware of this again at training. He was the only Corporalki at the Little Palace who was not able to choose their group yet. It was almost funny. He stood alone with Botkin in the yard, each and every little mistake he made zoned in on and berated mercilessly. After the first few months, he didn't mind it though he became a pretty good fighter and was even invited to train with the Etherealki.
A few months later, some more new Grisha came to the Little Palace. Only one Corporalki like him. He was a smaller boy, but he seemed close enough in age to Ivan. The new kid waved at him as he walked past Ivan in the hall. Ivan just grunted in response. When he went out to meet Botkin for his lessons, the kid was there again, smiling at Ivan.
"Ivan, this is Fedyor. You two are partners from now on. Understood?" Ivan scowled at him but nodded his head, stretching out his shoulders before taking his fighting stance in front of Fedyor. He was smiling at him, even though his fists were raised and ready to fight. Botkin muttered something to the two of them as they began to move in a slow circle across from each other, but neither listened.
Fedyor struck first and was quickly blocked by Ivan, who tripped him as he stepped out of the line of his punch. Fedyor fell to the ground face first, quickly turning around and shuffling himself away from Ivan's boot as it came crashing down. Ivan fell off balance, and Fedyor swept him easily, sending him crashing to the ground as Fedyor pinned himself on top of Ivan.
"Finally, Ivan might have met his match. Up, both of you." Fedyor scooted off Ivan and stood up, offering him a hand with a weak smile. Ivan furrowed his brows and smacked away his hand, standing up and brushing himself off. Botkin began to lecture them both, criticising their stances and informing them both of tells. Ivan ignored him and watched as Fedyor just smiled and nodded at everything Botkin said, the side of his face covered in dirt.
At dinner that evening, Fedyor sat beside him rather than with the older Corporalki. Ivan could see the bruise already forming on the side of his face, "Why don't you go to a healer?" He muttered, gesturing to the bruise.
Fedyor touched it gently before shrugging his shoulders with a smile, "It's only a bruise."
"Why do you do that?"
"Do what?" Feydor asked, furrowing his brows a little.
"Smile."
Fedyor threw his head back and started laughing, some of the other Grisha giving him quizzical looks as their eyes darted between him and Ivan. Ivan sank down in his seat a little and allowed his scowl to deepen as Fedyor wiped his eyes and sat back up, his laughter slowly dying away, but his smile never faltering. He turned back to Ivan, gently pushing his shoulder, "That was funny."
Ivan felt a strange knot form in his stomach, "I was serious. You always smile."
Fedyor just shrugged his shoulders, looking back at his food, "I could ask you why you never smile."
"I don't have a reason to," Ivan replied quickly. It was the truth. He lost his father and then was taken away from his mother to serve the people who caused his death. His mother was now alone, and Ivan couldn't bear the idea of what might have happened to her. Now he was here, alone in a massive palace when he would be better at his mothers' side. Instead, he was doomed to serve a King he didn't care for in an army he never wanted to be part of. Not to mention he managed to make every Grisha in the Little Palace hate him.
"I'm sure I could help you find one," Fedyor replied easily, another smile tugging at his lips. Ivan shook his head, "Good luck with that."
After that, Fedyor was never far from Ivan's side. Even when Ivan turned thirteen and joined the Heartrenders, Fedyor always made sure to find him during dinner or after lessons to talk to him about everything and nothing. An easy rhythm to fall into. Fedyor did enough talking to carry their conversations, and Ivan was more than happy to listen to whatever he had to say.
Much to Ivan's dismay, he even found himself befriending some of the other Grisha. Nadia and Marie had seemed to join Fedyor in his quest to make Ivan smile which just made him more stubborn. Zoya never partook, but she still sat with them during their free time and, on occasion, came with them down to the coast to watch the Tidemakers.
Soon, Fedyor was with him and the other Heartrenders. Training side by side constantly. Ivan still stubbornly refused to crack a smile when at fourteen, he was chosen for a small task with the Darkling and some of the older Grisha. But he couldn't deny the slight excitement he felt about travelling from the Little Palace for the first time since he arrived years ago. He knocked on Fedyor's door and let himself in, "Fedyor?"
"What are you doing here?" He asked, his usual smile forming on his lips as he turned up from his books to greet his friend. Ivan shrugged his shoulders, "I got chosen to go on that trip to the fold with the Darkling."
For the first time, Ivan saw Fedyor's smile slip, "What?"
"I'm going to the fold."
Ivan watched as Fedyor's warm eyes were replaced with something he couldn't quite place for just a second before he flashed his usual grin. He pushed himself away from his desk to stand up and face Ivan properly, "Congratulations, you're officially a soldier in the Second Army!"
"How about you?" Ivan asked.
"What about me?" Fedyor asked, his head cocking to the side slightly.
"Were you chosen?"
Fedyor laughed and shook his head, "No, said I was too young. Maybe next time."
Ivan's chest tightened as he listened. Fedyor wouldn't be with him. His legs suddenly felt weak beneath him, but he stayed standing, biting down on the inside of his cheeks. He was going to be gone for at least a year. A year with no Fedyor seemed unbearable. Fedyor must know as well if he had sought to join. As much as his constant talking annoyed him at times, it was a comfort. Sure, Fedyor had helped Ivan work on his 'people skills', but no one ever wanted to talk to him the way Fedyor did. None of them cared like he did. He couldn't work out why this was upsetting him so much, but he took a moment to calm himself, fiddling with the sleeves of his kefta before looking back at Fedyor.
"I'm sorry," Ivan muttered. He wasn't sure why he was sorry. He just felt as if he had to say it. Fedyor laughed and patted Ivan's shoulder, his hand resting there and squeezing gently, "No need. Besides, it gives me some time to think of some new jokes to try to crack that scowl of yours." Fedyor beams.
Ivan could feel his lips twitching and bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from cracking. He didn't know why he was so stubborn about it. Maybe he feared Fedyor would stop talking to him once he smiled. He had no other reason to talk to him after all. Ivan barely responded to his ramblings most of the times and resorted to insulting him when he did.
Ivan fixed his kefta and nodded at Fedyor, "I'll see you when I get back."
Fedyor smirked, "Whether you want to or not."
It was two years before Ivan returned to the Little Palace. He had been chosen to help train first army soldiers in hand-to-hand combat. He spent most of his days walking around the new drafts, making sure they were at least able to punch correctly. For the first few weeks, all he could think about was Fedyor. The way he smiled when Ivan waved him one last goodbye. His eyes didn't shine like they usually would. They seemed empty and cold, not the usual warmth Ivan had come to expect of Fedyor. Ivan found himself turning, hoping to see Fedyor when he first arrived at the camp, the knot forming in his chest every time he realised, he wasn't there.
Eventually, he adjusted like he always did. He didn't find himself looking for his friends face in a crowd or wanting to just sit by him after a long day. Occasionally he felt a pain in his chest when he couldn't sleep late at night, and his mind drifted back to Fedyor, wondering what he might be doing. Now, he was at the dining hall doors about to enter for the first time in years. A lot taller and wiser. He opened the door and entered, his eyes locking on Nadia and Marie first, who just smiled at him. He greeted them with a nod before turning to the Corporalki table. His spot was still there, the others filling the other seats. But Fedyor wasn't there. He sat down and poked at his meal for a few moments before nudging the healer beside him, "Do you know where Fedyor is?"
She shook her head, “He excused himself before we left our lesson. He’s probably in the library.” She added. Ivan nodded his head and excused himself. He slipped out of the room and began to walk to the library.
When he arrived, Fedyor was standing over a book, his eyes scanning the text. His mind was oblivious to everything around him. Ivan stood in shock for a moment. Fedyor had changed beyond what he had imagined. He was no longer a skinny boy. He had filled out his frame and now stood strong in his red kefta, his hair parted perfectly, framing his sharpened facial features. Ivan composed himself before clearing his throat and making himself known, “I didn’t think you knew how to read.”
Fedyor's head shot up, his eyes sparkling as they landed on Ivan and his grin grew. Ivan noticed his dimples. Had he always had them? Fedyor didn't hesitate to reach forward and pull Ivan into a hug. The other Grisha feeling smug that he was still taller even after two years away at the fold. He slowly hugged back, gently patting Fedyor. Fedyor pulled away but held onto Ivan’s biceps, his eyes scanning over him, “You’re here.”
"So, I am," Ivan replied, his lips twitching a little. He prayed to the Saints Fedyor didn’t notice. If he did, he didn’t say so. He stood there a moment longer, his smile falling a little as he patted Ivan’s kefta, “I missed you.”
Ivan felt his body tense, ducking his head to avoid Fedyor's gaze. He had missed him for some time. He felt guilty now that he had moved past it in recent months—his only true friend. Ivan didn't say anything back, his heart beating stubbornly in his chest. Feydor squeezed him again, making him look up, and he offered his usual soft smile, "Come, we'll find somewhere to catch up."
They made their way to the palace's courtyard, resting by the orchard there as Fedyor began to explain all that had changed. The young Prince leaving, how the other Grisha faired. Things that wouldn't significantly impact their lives, but Ivan listened closely, enjoying Fedyor's presence again. They fell back into a routine quickly. They would now attend the Corporalki meetings with the Darkling regarding current wars and where conflict was happening. Spending meals together and their free time at each other's sides.
One evening, they sat in Ivan's room, Ivan listening as Fedyor told a story about his childhood village. Fedyor stopped and began to fumble with the sleeve of his kefta, Ivan lifting himself onto his elbows, “You okay?”
“I was wondering…”
"Unusual for you," Ivan remarked, flopping back down onto the bed. Fedyor whacked the side of his leg jokingly before clearing his throat, "You don't talk about your life before the Little Palace. Why?"
Ivan shrugged his shoulders, “Not like I can ever go back.”
"It's nice to remember, though," Fedyor argued.
“Not always.”
They sat in silence for a few moments before Fedyor broke his silence, “Is that why you don’t smile?”
Ivan shrugged, “I’m not sure.”
Fedyor let a small laugh escape his lips, “You aren’t sure? Saints, Ivan.”
Ivan bit down hard on his cheek as the smile began to tug at his lips again. He loved the sound of Fedyor’s laugh. He hadn’t realised how much so until now. He steadied himself and stared back up at the ceiling, butterflies filling his stomach, “I was mad for a long time.”
“Mad?” Fedyor repeated.
Ivan nodded his head, “My father, he was in the First Army. He died protecting the Prince’s escort during a hunting trip of all things. He would have been proud of that. He loved the King. I didn't see the pride in dying for them." He explained, stopping for a brief moment to take a breath, "Then it was my mother and me. I did jobs in town to help her out, but then the Grisha came."
Fedyor was silent as Ivan stopped for a moment to regard what he just said. He shrugged his shoulders again, “I guess I never stopped being angry.”
Ivan felt a weight on his leg and looked up to see Fedyor holding it gently, giving it a soft squeeze as he looked up and greeted Ivan with a weak smile, “I’m sorry.”
Ivan shook his head, sitting up properly and crossing his legs over, "No need." He replied, reaching out and awkwardly putting his hand on Fedyor's shoulder. He hadn't even noticed his lips had curled into a half-smile until he noticed Fedyor's eyes glanced down at his lips and back up. His own smile growing.
"Of course, talking about something miserable is what makes you smile, I should have guessed sooner." Fedyor teased, gently shoving Ivan. Ivan couldn't stop the smile spreading fully across his cheeks, and he pushed Fedyor back. His ears burning from embarrassment. Fedyor's laugh made it all that harder.
He chuckled to himself for a few moments before gazing up at Ivan with a lazy smile, “You have a nice smile.”
Ivan scowled again, causing Fedyor to whack his arm. Ivan let the smile return to his lips as he gazed at Fedyor, “Your fault it’s here in the first place.”