Work Text:
Chuuya gets himself into the worst scenario he could’ve ever thought of.
And he’s gone through plenty of bad situations but this takes the cake for sure.
On his way back home, he encounters a sewer rat, walking out of the convenience stores.
He doesn’t pay attention to him nor does he care what he’s doing in a convenience store out of all places, but of course, someone breaks the tension between them.
“If it isn’t, Nakahara Chuuya-san, what a surprise to see you here,” Fyodor says in the most welcoming of tones.
The executive glances over at him as his brow twitches, “Oh… I didn’t see you there, Dostoyevsky…”
“Are you going back to your home?”
“Why would you care?” Chuuya asks and begins to walk off thinking that would be the last of it.
But no, Fyodor has the audacity to follow him.
“I’m coincidentally walking this way too. How about I escort you home?”
“Fuck off, and go back to the sewers.”
Fyodor notices the bags under Chuuya’s eyes and decides to comment on it, “Missions have been hard lately?”
“No thanks to you. Now stop talking to me or I will really punch you in the face. I can’t fucking deal with you people right now.”
“I just want to talk to you, Chuuya-san.”
He cuts him off, “And I want you to leave me the fuck alone.”
Surprisingly enough, Fyodor doesn’t say anything else and Chuuya could make it home in silence.
Touch.
He jumps when Fyodor’s cold hand brushes over his hand and darts his eyes to him. He doesn’t look like he realises so he’ll let him off for now.
Touch.
Chuuya moves his hand away. The second time now.
Another touch.
He’s beginning to question why Fyodor is coming closer to him every time he pulls back.
He doesn’t say anything but moves his hand away… again… for the third time…
One more time and I’m gonna murder someone. Preferable a fucking rat.
On cue, a certain someone’s hand brushes over his hand for the fourth time and Chuuya loses it.
That’s it.
He whips his head over to the Russian and keeps his hand the furthest away from him.
“Would you stop touching my hand?!”
Fyodor gives the fakest innocent smile to him and responds, “I was? I didn’t notice.”
“You know what you’re doing, Dostoyevsky—!”
“Enlightened me, what am I doing, Chuuya-san?”
The redhead cringes at the way he calls him, “If you think I’m going to fall for your trick and hold your hand, you got another thing coming—“
“Hold your hand? Are you sure didn’t come up with that, Chuuya-san?” He asks back and Chuuya swears he hears a faint tone of teasing in it.
“NO! FUCK ME, YOU’RE SO ANNOYING!”
“Is that another suggestion, Chuuya-san?”
Chuuya burns bright red, about to explode as his ability activating is the only warning Fyodor needs to stop.
“You're having too much fun, know your boundaries, Dostoyevsky.”
He grins, “My apologies then, Chuuya-san.”
Chuuya growls and turns away from him, shoving his hands inside his pockets now because of him.
As they continue to walk, the weather begins to get colder and the sky gets darker.
Chuuya suppresses a shiver as a soft gust of wind blows past him.
He has a few more metres to walk until he gets back.
Meanwhile, for Fyodor, he looks completely immune and unfazed about the cold. He looks like he is wearing fewer layers than Chuuya is but has no problem with it.
Chuuya isn’t concerned at all about him but curiosity takes care of it, “Are you not cold?”
“No. I’m used to it.”
His eyes stare at the footpath ahead.
There is always a blank look in his eyes. Dull. No shine in his eyes, empty, lost, dead almost.
Chuuya averts his eyes to the side.
“Your hands are freezing, you know?”
“That’s normal for me.”
“Probably because they’re already numb, idiot,” he mutters under his breath.
The silence drags on and Chuuya begins to feel an urge to do something stupid. He doesn’t like how quiet it became.
He quietly outstretched his ungloved right hand to Fyodor.
He looks at his open hand, slightly confused, “What are you—?”
“Don’t make it any weirder than it has to be,” Chuuya says while gesturing his hand for Fyodor to hurry up.
He turns to meet his eyes, “come on, do you—”
Without another thought, before Chuuya has the chance to pull his hand away, Fyodor’s fingers find themselves intertwining with his fingers.
Chuuya suddenly jolts, coming in contact with his freezing hand. “Holy shit! You’re used to this?! It’s fucking freezing!”
“You’re fine to let go if you don’t want to.”
Chuuya ignores what he says and doesn’t let go of Fyodor’s hand and instead tightens their hold.
Fyodor squeezed them gently and gave him a small smile.
“Thank you, Chuuya-san.”
He dodges Fyodor's smile, trying to hide the very red and visible blush on his cheeks.
“Shut up. Don’t talk to me.”