Chapter Text
What the hell was he thinking? It was one thing to send letters halfway across the world to where he wouldn’t have to think about them for a while, but to have him here? In his house? He really needed to start thinking about things before he did them.
He had thought about it - he worried about it for weeks before asking. He just didn’t think about the practicality of it - or of how it would affect his life. But there wasn’t any going back now, Anatoly was there, in the passenger seat of his car, looking at Freddie like he was either completely out of his mind or the only one who was still playing with a full deck.
“How was the trip over?” Freddie asked, trying to fill the silence. If there wasn’t anything for him to focus on instead, he was going to start thinking too hard about the whole thing. I still hate him, he thought. Less so now than a year ago, but he couldn’t let everything go that quickly.
“Long,” Anatoly said. It was the only way he could think of to describe it. He wasn’t going to explain that he had almost not come at all, or that he was half convinced this was a ploy to get him killed, or that he hadn’t felt safe in months. The trip was long, that’s all.
“Sorry. At least you didn’t crash and die,” he said. He would’ve been upset if Anatoly had died - all that effort just for him to die in a fiery plane wreck? The thought was unpleasant. This was something at least - maybe he didn’t hate him so much, just the normal amount.
“I’m glad I didn’t die.” He was glad he made it, even if he was here with Freddie, and every time he looked at Anatoly he thought he would kill him where he stood - if he didn’t beat him to it.
He didn’t hate Freddie, he hardly had any real reason to, but he was awfully close to it. It was like he knew all the ways to piss him off.
When he saw him for the first time Freddie had moved towards Anatoly in a way that made him question whether he was going to hug him, kiss him on the mouth, or hit him in the face. He put his arm around his shoulder.“You look like shit,” Freddie had told him.
“You look good,” He had replied. “Your hair is long now.” He did look good. He looked like he worried less.
“I’m growing it out now - thought I needed a change.”
They would have to get used to each other at some point - not now, but someday. They’d kill each other otherwise. They rode the rest of the way in silence - Freddie turned on the radio and they drove listening to whatever was on.
“Home sweet home,” Freddie said as they walked into the apartment. It was small - but it worked for him. He had everything he needed, a good radio, a tv that was, at the moment, covered up with a sheet and unplugged (he had a thing about the static), all the other essentials, he worked with it.
Anatoly looked around, taking everything in. “You look like you’re doing well for yourself,” was all he could think of to say. He had come into Freddie’s life — which he had put in place long before Anatoly — and now he was going to squander whatever order he had already. He almost regretted coming.
“It works,” he said. “I’m back in school, political science and applied mathematics. It’s been good — keeps me out of my own head.” He was rambling — the whole situation was terrible. It was a shitty idea and he shouldn’t have done it — he didn’t want this guy in his life, in his house, he didn’t want anything to do with him. He was faced with the reality that he did not have a second bed — his ‘guest bedroom’ was currently being used as a ‘things that don’t fit in the living room-room’. He contemplated telling Anatoly to get out of his house right then, but decided against it, because where else did he have to go?
“You’ll have to sleep on the couch. We can figure a bed situation out some other time, but for now, you’ll have to take the couch.”
“Okay,” Anatoly replied. “It’s better than the floor, no?”
“Can you cook?” Freddie asked.
“I never needed to.”
“You can do dishes. I hope you enjoy eating a lot of cereal and fruit, then.” Freddie could cook, but it was basic stuff, grilled cheese and pancakes. He usually didn’t bother, and he wasn’t going to change how he did things just for Anatoly’s sake.
Anatoly just nodded. He was exhausted. The more he thought about his position the more ill he felt. He didn’t have the mental energy to disagree with him. “I’m going to sleep if you don’t care. I’m on my last legs and I’ll just be irritable if you don’t let me sleep.”
“Do what you want — there’s blankets in the closet in the hallway. I’ll be in my room, I have stuff to do.”
He didn’t have much to do, he had said that just to avoid any more awkwardness — at least they weren’t arguing yet, but that could probably be because of Anatoly’s jet lag and his own grappling with the gravity of the circumstances. He sat in his desk chair and stared out the window. Usually, he kept it closed, he didn’t work in his room on most days, but it was open now and he had a clear view right into the brick wall of the next building over. An Edenic view, he thought.
In the living room, Anatoly was staring at the ceiling lying on the couch. He was spiraling. He should never have left. He shouldn’t be here, with him. He had lured him here to kill him as he slept. Maybe he would leave, he would wait till Freddie was asleep and then he could make his escape under cover of night. He could kill Freddie. He could kill himself. Somehow, none of those options seemed particularly appealing, he would just wait until he fell asleep — sleeping on it felt like a far more palatable alternative. He could contemplate murder-suicide in the morning, he would have all the time in the world now.