Work Text:
Warm-toned beacons emblazed the antique Kremlin towers that loomed over the Moskva River, their mammoth silhouettes casting abstract shadows on the expansive city with only a weight history could carry. One tower spanned ten stories, ringing to life as a golden hour hand struck downward. Tourists and local stragglers alike took a moment to look upon it in awe, the red brick contrasting the neutral stones below their feet. They were apprehensive as they approached the guards who lined the tower's perimeter, admiring its uppermost structure only from a distance.
However, unknown to the people below, two figures observed the tower from a different perspective, their view hoisted high above the heads of those who drifted below. Sneaking past the guards was effortless—their schedules had remained the same for years. They slipped inside, shimmying up rickety staircases and slinking through claustrophobic passageways, relieved of the dense, suffocating air once they reached the top. The vast Russian city skyline met them at their destination, still as a painting despite the wind.
Snowflakes threaded through tresses of hair, powdering their clothes in a flurry as they stepped out from beneath the shelter of the roof, allowing themselves to drift towards the edge of the viewing area. A pair of gentle hands traced cracks in the white concrete of the railing, designing patterns in the snow as her eyes gazed longingly at the people below.
"They're so small from up here," she uttered, lips parted in childlike wonder as her eyes shifted from families to couples to loners. Some swayed to an unheard tune as they admired the shimmering specks of snow dancing in the skies. Others kicked at the piles of slosh that built underneath their feet as they made a beeline for their homes.
Although many wouldn't dare call him anything human, the man beside her, with hair slickened in shades of midnight, joined his companion to peer at the common folk strolling the square, uninterested in comparison.
"They are much like ants—mindless." (Name)'s trance shattered, eyeing Fyodor with pursed lips. It was not unlike him to break her away from her more human perspective of the world, even if she held pride in her optimism and romanticized outlook. In her opinion, it was the most enjoyable way to view life, even if it wasn't accurate. "Each lives and dies in dictation by the rules of their colony. And from their perspective, so rooted to the earth, they fail to recognize the heavens."
"Mmm," (Name) hummed, considering him with a careful crossing of her arms. Despite more than a decade of attempts to decipher it, she couldn't pretend to understand every cleverly crafted word that toiled in his prodigious mind. She had come to accept that aspect of him, his cryptic disposition and transcendental mindset becoming his most charming traits—at least to her.
"You're not wrong," she concluded with a muffled quiver, purposefully ignoring the knowing smirk that slipped onto his lips. As beautiful as an angel, as vexatious as a devil—it was the only way to describe him—an inhuman oxymoron. "I can't say there's ever been a time when you were. Although their complacency makes them so fascinating."
Her eyes raised to meet his, and passersby would've mistaken them for a pair of predators circling one another. "Wouldn't you agree, Федя?"
He pulled her closer in response, ensnaring her body in a vulturine embrace, his gloved hand settling against the small, sensitive area of her back, reveling in the shiver that rattled her spine.
"Why, of course." His other hand trailed along the solidified ice base that had frozen against the railing, fingers tracing abstract shapes on the snowy edges. "People fall into pattern and predictability, which can be shattered by the slightest temptation."
He slashed through her drawings as quickly as a sword could be pulled from its scabbard, precise and swift. "Like the slightest touch to a still pond, their fates change only by the hands of those that have broken through to the surface."
"Okay, okay, I get it," she grumbled, attempting to fix the mess he had created for his so-called demonstration. "You didn't have to destroy my art to convey your point."
"I was only making the message clearer for you."
"Don't patronize me." She brushed him off with a bristle of her shoulders, but it would take a complete fool not to sense the fondness that was consistent in her tone. The irritation in her voice didn’t match her expression. And her mind wandered as she studied her ruined work, the abstraction leading her to a chain of thought she had long tried to avoid.
Not here. Not at this moment. It wasn't the time to discuss such a matter.
"Is something on your mind, моя дорогая?"
But, of course, she had been caught. Always caught within that familiar stare. It took a great strength of will to peer up towards him; her mouth parted as if to speak, but words refused to fall. A deep frown settled upon her features, attempting to summarize her scrambled thoughts into intellectual speech with a furrowed brow—but there was barely anything she could say.
"This mission."
He immediately knew. He always knew.
"It will be quite dangerous."
A low scoff echoed against the sturdy walls of the bell tower. The corners of his mouth couldn't help but quirk up at this most apparent declaration.
"I am quite aware of this risk. However, this is a mission from God himself." His hand stiffened against her back, presence solidified in the stubborn Moscow wind. "And as his righteous hand, I will be victorious."
He grinned almost cheerfully, but she knew better as he observed her features with equal scrutiny.
"This is nothing to be concerned about, мышка." She trembled as his lips neared her ear, hot whispers slipping, escaping him as his hand smoothed down to the divet of her hip. "You will be at my side the entire way."
"I know," she relented with a sigh, surrendering as she leaned into the intense swelter his cape and body provided. "I believe you. I believe in you. I just can't help but worry."
"It's so silly. You're the smartest man I know—maybe ever will know, but I can't help my concern whenever you leave my line of sight." An equally mirthful scoff escaped her lips, an amused cloud of air wavering with the peltering snowflakes. "You were always involved in some scheme—that has not changed. There are only larger plans with much larger consequences."
"Soon, you will understand, моя милая." He eyed the cityscape as his hand slowly guided her to shelter further under his cape. The horizon was deafened by dense snowfall. "I am certain of it."
And she could not help but stare up at him, basking in his presence as sharp spotlights and softened moonbeams illuminated him from each direction. He was beautiful even here, hidden behind the railing and pillars of the bell tower. An unorthodox heavenliness followed him wherever light existed, his pale pallor contrasting with striking, vibrant eyes. It made her soul feel alight.
"You will always remain an enigma, Fyodor," she muttered, her voice hushed by gales as she joined his view of the last parts of the city that remained visible. "Perhaps that is the reason I love you."
He simply hummed in response, but she didn't need an answer. She knew.
Their hands migrated together as frost crept upon them, hovering over the mushed patterns of snow that they had both unintentionally collaborated on. Fingers interlocked, faces remained unmoved, cradled together as a beacon of humanity within the ever-growing mist descending from the heavens.
"You've always been an enlightening little thing, милая."
Silence persisted between them, only watching as the square became unseeable beneath the swirling white flakes. Not an inch of Moscow seemed to remain as structures were blanketed in glacial sheets, making the formerly imperceptible couple conspicuous to anyone who dared traverse at this time. The wind viciously nipped at their skin, blistering as it worked to simultaneously cocoon the city's two children in their own sanctuary.
Fyodor had become so enraptured at the moment that he was barely startled by the intensified pressure of weight settling against his side. His eyes peered downward, an imperceptible smile forming as he looked upon his lover. Her eyes were ensconced in tender slumber, spiting the frigid hands of winter with her contentment—though her limbs continued to quiver regardless of her unconcious protest. It was almost second nature for him as he tucked his warm cape around her, conscientious to admire how it completely engulfed her like a rabbit nestled in its burrow.
With one steady hand bringing her even closer, the other cupping her face like that of an Elysian statue, he left a chaste kiss against her forehead, remaining only inches away to cherish the crinkle of her eyes internally—his true heavenly sight for the evening.
"И я обожаю тебя, любимая."