Chapter Text
Daniil Dankovsky was the man who had a 30 year plan at age 10 and stuck to it to the day.
It had always floated around somewhere in the back of his mind as a child, but he failed to grasp onto it. Some key element was lost to him. A part of himself omitted—though still he wouldn’t understand for years.
The day he put a name to the beast was the same day his plan was laid to paper. Some random day in September. Try as he might, he couldn’t tell you the exact day anymore.
30 years, 30 steps. Goals on when to finish his studies, on where he would intern. He spent years actually designing his first lab, but that was reasonable—after all he had 20 years to prepare and refine.
The plan was revised a few times, it was unavoidable. But no obstacle could surpass that of the first task.
1993: Tell Them.
He had until the end of the year. All of 3 months. Surely he could muster the courage. Find the words and speak them.
In truth, he was not so well spoken as a child. He’d often spent his nights beneath the covers—flashlight in one hand, dictionary in the other. His mother hated it. Said there was no need to be well spoken in the future she had imagined for him. But even before he knew why exactly her ideas left him empty, a sour aftertaste lingering in the air, he knew that if he were to get anywhere, he’d need to know how to speak—advocate, collaborate, dictate. So back under the covers he went.
He got it in just under the wire. December 29th. Now that was a date that was branded into his memory.
They took it… Well just that, they took it. He braced for impact. He had a bag sitting on his bed incase—just the essentials; a couple sets of clothes (he’d have to buy new ones anyway), some food he had managed to sneak off with, the flashlight and dictionary, and his notebook where his plan sat on the first page.
In a way the deafening silence was worse. A black hole, a vacuum sucking out all the joy from his mother’s face. His father—stone faced as always—simply rose from his chair, and without a second glance, walked out of the house. He’d never willingly address it, and Daniil learned after a while to stop trying.
He was then left to face his mother, sat inexplicably still. She dared not cry in front of him. It could wait until later, behind closed doors. But it would take all her focus. Her last reserve of breath was spent on a hushed, “okay.”
Three plates of food left untouched. One boy sat alone.
He sat in the hallway just outside his parent’s room and listened sometimes. Hushed conversations. Muffled tears. He thought of any way he could make it better. Wished to the stars that he could change who he was. He couldn’t, though.
It would be years before he let go of that guilt. Knowing that he was the reason her smile couldn’t reach her eyes sometimes. Knowing he was the reason she stumbled when discussing her home life with her friends. Knowing he was the reason she wasn’t welcome at her book club anymore because just by him being allowed to remain in the house she was lesser.
She writes him sometimes. Even finally started using the correct pronouns after 12 years. They’re often rather short. Just letting him know they’re alive and against all else, she’s proud. It took time, but she’s proud.
After all of that. After overcoming it all. After pressing on with no support, Daniil isn’t sure he can go back to square one now.
The plan needs a small revision. Ever so miniscule, really. It shouldn’t even matter. But that silence still rings in his ears. He’s not sure he could face it again.
So, as the chest beside his head rises and falls slowly, with the telltale patterns of sleep, Daniil decides to wait. Perhaps forever. Or at least until year 25 when he finally allows himself to meet a nice girl… or not girl anymore.
Stirring, the boy beside him wraps a loose arm around Daniil’s waist and places a soft kiss upon his cheek.
“Good morning, Bachelor.” The smirk in Peter’s voice is evident. It makes Daniil question his entire world—though isn’t that what he’s already been doing? Lying awake for hours, wondering how in the hell he ended up in bed with Peter Stamatin.
A new question forms: what happens next?