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    Summary

    Maybe it’s the proximity. Maybe it’s the heat of the fireplace, the faint flush of warmth on Napoleon’s cheeks. Maybe it’s the way Napoleon’s shirt is riding up, exposing his soft middle to the flickering firelight. Whatever it is, Illya knows that he cannot deny this part of himself any longer. He is in love with Napoleon.

    Suddenly, he feels sick.

    He sits heavily on the floor in front of the couch, the old wood groaning under his weight. He can’t take refuge in the bedroom without going through the effort of lighting the fireplace in there, and there’s no point using double the firewood. So he’ll settle for having his back to the source of his agony.

    It wouldn’t work, anyway. For all the ingrained societal reasons, and the practical ones too. They’d be a liability to each other. They’d only be legally acknowledged in a handful of countries, and socially accepted in even fewer. And even if it weren’t for all that, Napoleon likes his partners soft. Illya is made up exclusively of hard edges and sharp angles. He doesn’t know how to be soft.

    somewhere in finland, illya grapples with his romantic and sexual identity. napoleon supports him through it, gladly.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    3,500
    Chapters:
    1/1
    Comments:
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    Kudos:
    167
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