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God—he felt like shit. The whole thing was a sham, he didn’t mean any of it, he had embarrassed Anatoly and himself and for what? Some Global TV setup? Anatoly was going to hate him more than he already did, Freddie already hated himself over it, he could only imagine what he felt. He shouldn’t have done it. Then again, thinking before he acted was never one of Freddie’s virtues, he did things and thought about them later, except when it came to chess, then he thought five moves ahead — but this wasn't chess — this was life, and he was letting Anatoly leave without saying anything to him; before he could think about it (yet again) he was getting up and walking out the door to go find him.
He heard Walter say something to him, but he wasn’t paying attention, he walked right past him and out the door, determined to catch up with Anatoly before he made it into the series of hallways Freddie knew for a fact he would get lost in, or out of the building entirely. He couldn’t let him go without clearing this up, he didn’t want him to think any worse of him than he already did, if he could save face, then damn if he wasn't going to try.
He caught up to him halfway down the hallway — he definitely looked uncouth when he was nearly running up to him to catch him by the arm. “Anatoly- wait up a minute,” he said, half out of breath.
“What the hell could you possibly want with me now, Trumper?” Oh. So they were back to last names — there was no familiarity between them, after all.
“If you’d be so gracious as to give me a second of your time, I would try and get to it. I just wanted to say I’m sorry, okay? This whole thing was bullshit — I didn’t mean any of it. I don’t even know why I agreed to it, I just didn’t want you leaving without knowing that. You can go if you want, I just wanted to get some of this out into the open, okay? I wouldn’t blame you if you left, I wouldn’t want to see my face either if I was you.”
“I swear you really are clueless. You just broadcast my wife and children to the world in some pathetic attempt to remind me I left them — you don’t think I’m constantly aware of that? That I lie awake thinking about it, wondering if I made the right decision? Not only did that put all of us more at risk of some plot, but it also fucking embarrassed me. You continued to drag my name through the mire just because your straw bosses at Global Television told you to — so no, I don’t really want to see your face right now. And you can forget about whatever happened last night, it's not going to happen again.”
“So you don’t want to see me again?” Freddie asked, suddenly faltering.
“It didn’t mean anything. It was a one-time thing.”
“Oh, so you fucking sleeping with me didn’t mean anything? It was just a moment of weakness for you? You’re still with Florence, aren’t you? You’re honestly pathetic. I’m not some floozy who you can just fuck around with and act like it's nothing. If I told anyone about this, you’d be screwed.”
“I couldn't care less if you lived or died right now, Freddie. Whatever that was, it’s over, there’s no use in drawing it out longer than it needs to be.” With that, he turned and walked towards the exit.
“How’re you going to get back?” Freddie yelled at him from where he stood. “You rode here with me, remember?”
“I’ll walk,” Anatoly yelled back, not even turning around to look at him.
On the walk back to his hotel, Anatoly reflected. I’ve had an increasingly unusual set of days, he thought. From losing his first game to Viigand, to falling out with Florence, to whatever had happened with Freddie, he thought he was remarkably well-adjusted to react the way he did. He had yet to break down completely, which was something.
He didn’t think he could be blamed for how he reacted. Freddie would have done the same, if not reacted worse, he had handled it well, all things considered. He didn’t in earnest know the way back to the hotel. He was half inclined to go right back and ask someone there for a ride, but he continued walking like he knew where he was going.
He couldn’t let this get to him. He wouldn’t let Freddie throw him off his game like that. He wasn’t pathetic. Freddie wouldn’t tell anybody about what had happened — it would ruin him too, if it got out. It would have to stay between them. And Florence would have to understand what he was going through. She would have to forgive him, she would have to let him back into her room and into her life. He could adjust, he could still win. This didn’t mean anything for him, all he had to do was focus on the game and he would be fine.
Freddie didn’t know what he’d expected (certainly a more positive reaction than that); he thought they had both grown up, changed for the better, and were making moves in the right direction towards being at least civil to each other, but Anatoly clearly hadn’t — Freddie had, not for Anatoly’s sake, but for Florence’s — he was trying his damndest to be good enough, to make amends with her, but it all seemed like a futile endeavor now. He felt bad for Florence. Through all of this, she had gotten screwed over by nearly everyone, mostly by him. In the end, he just hoped she found a way to live with it, heal, if she had the chance. Anatoly had fucked everything up for him, as usual, he must have truly been out of his own head to think that they could ever have had any relationship out of hating each other.
He wasn’t going to let this go to his head, Anatoly didn’t know what the hell he was talking about calling Freddie clueless — he had more clues now than Anatoly had in his whole life, and he wasn't going to let that prick influence his thoughts. If anything, maybe Freddie’s outburst had somehow influenced his thoughts, and now he would lose sleep over it and feel bad forever and add it to his mental pile of things to be guilty over if he ever stopped fucking thinking about chess.
He didn’t hate him. He was conflicted, sure, but this wasn't hate — he had hated him once, but he was pretty sure he didn't still — it wasn’t like he wasn’t at fault here, Anatoly’s reaction was justified, he had every reason to hate him, and he didn’t blame him for not wanting to make anything of their sleeping together, to hope anything would come from that was daydreaming on his part, it just wasn't in the cards for either of them; it would never work. There was no use in drawing it out into something it wasn’t, so he might as well give up the idea now. He should have kept hating him when he had the chance, it might’ve made things easier for him now.