Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It began on the end of the fifth day.

Daniil was in Rubin’s sanctorum, looking over the still-beating heart he had to retrieve from a human body but he didn’t have any time to focus on how truly repulsive the idea was, how disgusting it was that this was what he had resorted to, to try and cure this horrible pest, and yet it really seemed though it was failing, there was nothing there, no antibodies, nothing. There was only the increasing pain in his own chest, unlike the hissing pain of the sand pest in his veins, no, this cough was piercing, grounding and deep.

The first pieces of the plant emerged from his throat cleanly, he didn’t recognise it, clearly not a leaf of any flower Daniil knew, of course he couldn’t use the language of flowers for this, that would’ve been far too easy and of course this town wouldn’t even let him have that.

It wasn’t as if Daniil had never heard of the affliction before, he had learned about it in university, had encountered it in some of the people around him, he wasn’t stupid, he knew exactly what this meant, but it wasn’t as though Daniil had ever had the illness himself. He had thought himself unable to catch the disease, and the fact that it simply had to happen, had to be in the worst circumstance, of course this was how horrible his luck was.

Daniil simply had to keep the disease in check, he’d already been infected with the sand plague since the third day, since he had himself locked into that house, and they were all none the wiser, he could keep another illness to himself, especially since he had no semblance of an idea of who the affliction had pointed him towards, it was certainly someone from this town, seeing as the plant smelled like the heavy, suffocating haze which laid upon the Steppe that had made survival much more difficult. Must also be the nature of the person then, not that that realisation narrowed it down at all. Daniil rolled his eyes, pocketing the fragile stem and returning to his work, there was much to be done.

On the seventh day Daniil counted four reasons for the incredible pain on his chest, first was death, piercing him with its sharpened claws, second was the plague, burning through his veins, third was the harsh fabric binding him that he had he refused to remove, he didn’t have the time, and last and very much least came the floral growth in his lungs.

And yet all that pain simply had to be put aside, he just didn’t have the damn time, and even if he did, the flowers came last. Daniil would let them die out, starve as he left the town. Even if the idea of losing the love he thought he was incapable of terrified him, that was the best for all of them, whoever it was, whoever it may have been, they were better off not knowing at all.

The eighth day brought with it relief, the Haruspex had handed him an experimental serum, the Panacea, as he’d called it, and Daniil struggled against thick blood as he swallowed, it was disgusting, and he felt stem and flower curl against intense, thickly chorded life pushed down his throat, the relief was immediate, plague not hissing away, dragging him down with it as he’d heard the shmowder would do, but simply leaving his body, leaving those damned blooms more space to grow.

He stared at the Haruspex for a few good moments, quietly massaging his neck, he was excited, hopeful in a way he hadn’t felt since he first got to the town, and it made something shift in his heart, something inside him softened, easier earth for the flowers to take roots in. Burakh looked at him, a mix of curiosity, concern and what Daniil dearly hoped was awe in his eyes, and the Haruspex smiled, triumphant, solemn, and Daniil returned that smile, more excited than he should’ve been, more open. Oh. Oh, that was certainly one way to find out who it was, wasn’t it? Not that it helped, they were quite literally in the middle of a plague, and their rocky alliance would likely shatter if Daniil said anything, it was better to wait, or to simply allow this to die out.

The first bloom that grew past his lips broke on the tenth day, when he heard Aglaya speak of the Haruspex, a pang at how easily she could express her interest, how different it was from himself, from the undefined mess resting in his lungs, now very clearly defined as the white flower peeking through his lips, a million tiny pin-pricks of pain in his throat as the white, wispy flower grew its way out, it wasn’t one he’d seen out in the steppe, in the wild, a rarer one maybe? It was clearly local, with how hostile it felt.

Daniil kept the flower behind the mask, careful not to choke or cough, although it was clear from the Inquisitor’s eyes she could sense his discomfort behind the mask, when he was finally released Daniil leaned back against the wall of the Cathedral, pulled down the mask and reached for the flower, it reached down his throat, stalk choking his airways, he tried to cough it up, but the roots caught there, he felt them dig in, panic burning like tears behind his eyes as reached a hand around the stalk, unable to doubt the motion, unable to think it through as the Bachelor ripped the plant out. The pain that was left behind was horrible, ripping and deep and burning, he coughed, blood on his gloves. The flower in his hand seemed much more delicate than It felt, beautiful white flower, thin stalk and thin leaves, though it was tinged with blood, he considered crushing the plant, getting rid of it, destroying any remnant of that deep, clawing, guilty feeling of simply not being enough, but he didn’t quite have the chance.

“Could I have a look at that, Oynon?” The voice almost made Daniil jump, hold tightening on the stem, softly crushing it, he looked up, the Haruspex stood there, solid and immovable and incomprehensible. “That’s white whip,” He said with some measure of surprise, reaching out for the plant, “How did you find this? It’s quite difficult to get.” Oh and that hurt, that hurt in such a bittersweet way.

“I must’ve gotten lucky then.” Daniil wanted to laugh, to laugh until he coughed his lungs out, until he didn’t have a heart he needed to spill, “Here,” he said, handing over the flower, it would probably not be recognised that way, but Daniil had intended it as a show of affection, and even that acknowledgement sent a sharp feeling of relief as he felt the pressure lighten if only a beat,  “It’s not like I have any use for it, do these even have meaning?” Daniil needed to know what this meant, what this said about him, but it terrified him in equal amounts.

Burakh took the herb with a half-smile that twisted terribly in Daniil’s stomach, he looked away, towards the Polyhedron, the only thing he felt deserved a shred of his care, but he was so apparently wrong, the flower now in capable, strong hands the clearest evidence there was. “White whip grows in places of fear and anguish, of plague,” Daniil snorted, right hand moving to where his heart lay, obviously it would grow there then, a miserable flower, “It isn’t as worshipped as twyre, but it’s incredibly important for medicine nonetheless,” Artemy took Daniil’s hand in his own, leading his fingers to trace the gentle stalk, the small blooms, “Twyre can be dangerous on its own, white whip helps with that.” The haruspex’s voice was quiet, careful, and Daniil felt so much stuck in his throat, so much he wanted to say or do but he just could not bring himself to, so the pain in his lungs returned.

“A more, specifically medicinal herb? Interesting.” Daniil mumbled, suddenly so uncomfortable under the warmth of Burakh, suddenly so aware of the rapidly ticking clock, he had to move, had to be somewhere, had to do something. Daniil simply didn’t have the time to linger on these feelings, couldn’t let them keep blooming if he were to hope for the ability to take another breath. So he ripped himself from the Ripper’s focus, taking a step back as he offered a weak, meticulously boring smile. “I’m afraid I must take my leave, and you shouldn’t keep the Inquisitor waiting Burakh.” He assumed that’s why he was there, of course, they both had their duties, and Daniil had to turn to his, so he turned around, and headed off in the direction of the train station.

As he made his way, all the unspoken words which lay in his throat made their way out as stalk and stem, and horrible, delicate blooms.

The twelfth day, the last day, was the worst so far, and Daniil was so damn lucky he no longer had the crawl of the pest in his lungs along with the flowers, and now the blood which he coughed. He took a painkiller before he left, hiding his face in a fresh cloth mask, and went to speak to the Haruspex, he seemed worried for Daniil, once again reaching for him, gentle hands placed squarely on his shoulders, grounding him, it didn’t help, not with what he simply could not say, not for the terrible fear of how he would be looked at if he admitted to that warmth.

“Oynon, you are not well, you need rest.” It was stupid to hope that that worry, that care, was anything other than a manipulation, than a ploy to get Daniil away from making a choice, but Burakh had never done any of that, he was just honest, and that was such a precious thing in the town Daniil felt as though he would cry.

“I’m fine, and your bound needs healing, I haven’t decided yet, I don’t think I will be able to until the time comes, but having another opinion, at the very least, having that possibility will help me much more than you assume.”  Because I need you there, to ground me as you do now, Daniil left unsaid, a cautious hand moving to gently touch Artemy’s arm, and luckily, he hadn’t mistaken the motion for a sign to leave, Daniil didn’t understand the emotions in his cold eyes.

“I will be there, the future of the town depends on this, the future of my town.” And Daniil was released, snapped back to the reality of the situation, the truth of the matter, this wasn’t about him the Haruspex didn’t care about him, no this was about the town, this was about a way to heal the place where he grew up. That feeling of cold, impersonal rejection brought the cough in his lungs back with a kick. Daniil took a step back, hand over his mouth as he coughed, quickly tucking away the bloom of white whip with wide eyes.

“I will see you in the cathedral.” Daniil said, words clipped and uncomfortable as they slipped past white whip crawling through his throat as he turned away from the warehouse, the moment he left he was caught up to by that deep, gnawing fear, he curled in on himself, coughing out a flower with its stalk again, his throat hurt, he was tired, and yet there was too much work to be done, and only enough time for Daniil to pick up the herb, and to hope that the rain would wash away the blood.

The children Daniil healed told him of their hope in the new town, and he saw himself within it, fragile, timid hope too hurt to burst into flames of spiteful optimism, he knew it from himself, but he saw something else, a sort of devotion to the town, to what it is they intended to one day build, a reminder that no matter how much he could relate to a thing or another, they were still the bound of the Haruspex.

By the time the letter from the Powers That Be had arrived Daniil was too hurt, the painkiller’s effects had run out, his throat was scratched from the inside and every breath felt as though he was swallowing glass, he sat on the bed in the Stillwater, there were still a few hours until he was to go to the Cathedral, and his head hit the wall, with a dull thrum of pain rising in the back of Daniil’s head, a welcome distraction from the clawing sting of flowers that have not finished growing, he closed his eyes, trying to imagine what he would say after he would choose the ending of the Termites, after the Polyhedron would fall, would he be quiet, so only the stars and the wind would hear him? Or would he make sure Burakh heard him, spiteful and explosive so that the inevitable rejection would hurt less? If only there was an easy way out, one that didn’t mean he had to lay out his heart, either by will or by the flowers which tore out of his throat. But for now there was only the gentle tuck of sleep, the uneasily cold quietness of the Stillwater and the anxiety which ran quick through the Bachelor’s mind as he knew of how much he was going to throw away.

Daniil awoke a few minutes before the final meeting, still exhausted, but now with deep vertigo through his veins, Daniil didn’t bother cleaning the blood and flowers which covered the pillow, nothing would anyway matter, not when it all ends, he was likely not going to survive the day.

The height of the Cathedral didn’t help with the unfocused feeling clouding Daniil’s head, he stepped in, his world narrowed to the path ahead, to the Haruspex, who stood there, solid and stable and there, unlike his own feeling of falling,

“You’ve arrived, like I asked.” Daniil whispered, the s rolling off his tongue, “Thank you.” Even to his own ears Daniil felt relieved, thankful, desperate, he felt pathetic.

“I wouldn’t be here without you.” He responded, his voice low and rattling the flowers in his lungs like wind chimes, "Before you make the choice, I need you to listen to me, there is a future here,” even, “You could have a future here, please Oynon, the town must stand.” And Daniil nodded, shaking softly, he wanted that grounding touch of a hand, to force him down into his body, but the Haruspex didn’t move, simply smiled. Daniil made his way to the Commander, ignoring the Inquisitor, the Changeling, even Maria, the Scarlet Mistress with all her glory, glaring at him, and after he spoke to the Commander, telling him of the Haruspex’s plan, giving his choice away to gentler hands, he didn’t stop walking until he was out of the Cathedral, until he has staring out at the Polyhedron, waiting for something, for anything.

He stood there, his head slowly clearing of that awful buzz of nothing, for what felt like hours, the sun hadn’t set yet, but it would. Those in the meeting began to leave the arachnid structure, and Daniil’s heart foolishly picked up as he saw the Haruspex walking out of the Cathedral, a sort of pride in his step, confidence in that where he stood was right, that Daniil could only be envious of. Behind him followed the Inquisitor, he didn’t seem to notice Daniil, and it stung. Because he wasn’t seen like how she was seen, with a gaze proud and powerful and piercing, a gaze that was turned even farther away from him, towards the inquisitor.

And Daniil snapped.

He couldn’t think.

He couldn’t focus.

He couldn’t stay grounded.

He couldn’t breathe.

Daniil began coughing in full, trying to forcefully shove white whip out of his throat, trying to force that burning, aching feeling of not being enough, of being turned away, out of him, but it kept going, and the white whip kept growing and there was just too much.

The Inquisitor didn’t even look at his way as she walked off in the direction of the trains, but the Haruspex did, muttering a curse under his breath as he hurried to Daniil’s side, he was holding something, the panacea he used to convince the Commander, Daniil assumed, and yet he pushed the cure away, finally looking up, a bloom of white whip having pushed its way out. Artemy squinted in confusion for a moment before the spark of realisation shone there, Daniil didn’t understand why that spark seemed to make him more hesitant in reaching out to Daniil, in grounding him again, in motions Artemy couldn’t even begin to understand.

“Who is it?” He asked quietly, cutting away the long stalks of the flowers which seemed to be stuck deep in Daniil’s throat, and even that care, that show of simple dedication, to at least healing, helping, was enough breath for Daniil to answer him.

“I can’t tell him, he’ll hate me.” Daniil mumbled, trying to admit to as much while not admitting anything at all, “I’m terrified of how he’ll react, at how he would look at me.” Daniil let his head fall, chuckling as the white whip curled through his lips, less painful but painful still, but Artemy reached a hand, gently lifting Daniil’s cheek up again to look at him.

“Why?” Of course it was easy for him, to speak as he felt and truly understand what it was he felt, unlike the mess in Daniil’s head, of course for Artemy it would all make sense, defined by solid walls of category and position, by things that were obvious to him, but Daniil was always blind to structures imperceptible and incomprehensible, he could never fit inside them, not really.

“Because I don’t love like I’m supposed to, because it’s not at all like what it’s meant to be, and yet it’s love. In a way I do not have the words to describe, it’s love without romance and yet I find myself a helpless romantic.” Daniil placed a hand on Artemy’s, unsure of where to move or what to do, what steps were there to be taken? Where did he need to go?

“Love is, a complicated thing, but it’s either you do this, or you die Oynon.” The words weren’t said with a mournful sadness, no, Daniil didn’t expect any of that, especially not from Artemy, but what he did not expect was what was there instead of it, an urgency, it was the same sort of emotion he’d recognised in himself as he battled the pest. But these were not comparable situations, he would die either way, either by the herb tearing him apart from the inside, or by the Ripper who would despise him, maybe if he- “At least tell me, please.” Artemy cut through his thoughts, rude, but there was something else there, something Daniil also clearly saw in himself, the deep desperation that had always driven him towards the impossible. They were one and the same, Daniil thought, smiling, right hand moving to trace Artemy’s cheek. What a noble concept that was, a beautiful one, shame he had not spoken on it earlier.

“This must be a joke then, mustn’t it?” Daniil spoke, before he took a step back from Artemy, he was going to do it, there was no way around it, but there was no reason for the man himself to hear it, not with how badly this could go, because even the most gentle, the most sweet way of dismissal would feel worse than the plague itself, burning him with deep shame and inadequacy, “I never thought I could ever catch something like this, but of course I have, do you hate me, Artemy?” It had gotten dark, and was only getting darker, he simply had to wait, to wait until midnight, then he would be able to do it. It felt as though this admittance, whatever it might lead to, was a death all on its own, a death of not only the flowers he was coughing up, but also a small part of himself he could simply tuck away, simply push to the side and not acknowledge, he just needed a bit more time.

“No” The statement was little more than a breath, and yet Daniil could hear it clearly, still far too quiet for him to speak, “Daniil, you’ve given me the choice, why?” Of course, this was the reason he was not hated, the simple fact that Daniil sacrificed everything, and this was the least he was owed, especially with how Burakh thought he was going to die, what can you offer a dying man such as himself? Other than the promise that at least one person would not despise him.

The bells began to ring, the ground beneath Daniil’s feet shook as the cannons fired, and a terrible, horribly loud noise filled the Stone Yard, a horrible shattering, a terrible shriek, Daniil felt a part of his heart die with it, the victory of humanity, of people, gone, and yet even the Polyhedron’s death helped him, the creation which had kept him safe, whether that was intended or not.

“Artemy Burakh, I love you.” Daniil said, swallowed up by the noise, not staying to see if the other man heard at all what he said, but comforted by the sudden lack of anything in his lungs, in his throat, even if anxiety still boiled in his heart.

Chapter Text

Those who could not speak their love would choke on it.

Artemy remembered the exact day he heard the statement, a patient he helped his father with, one of the last ones before he had left for his studies. She was a young woman, only a few years older than Artemy himself at the time, and she did not cry as the bundles of crocus flowers left her throat, she didn’t cry when they were removed either. Artemy remembered how in comparison to her tired resignation, how sharp his anxiety felt. But oh how the curiosity burned intwined with it.

There are many reasons for the blooming, the most common being simple anxiety, one form or another of repression, or conflicting circumstance.

The capital probably had some fancy term for it, or maybe they didn’t, kept the flowers as taboo or a secret, something to be kept within until it stopped growing, the heart wilting with it.

However some were more, sensitive, than others, they would bloom at the simple prospect of rejection.

Artemy himself never bloomed, if the emotions were strong enough, he expressed them. Though he quickly learnt not to do so through words, those weren’t especially easy for him to work, intangible and flimsy, never holding the real meaning he was intending. Instead, Artemy resigned himself to action, to changes in tone and movement, because that was real, that was something he could physically and personally affect, rather than something lofty or poetic.

The flowers which bloomed were representative of the person for whom the feelings were intended.

Artemy never thought anyone would bloom for him.

He was quite sure of what he heard, despite the shattering bellow of the glass tower, it’s dying shriek so malicious he was sure it was intending to rob him to the knowledge, of that last willing revelation. But it had failed to steal the Bachelor from him, and it had failed this. But that was far from his focus as he tried to grasp what had just happened.

The Bachelor had been blooming for at least a few days now, with how rapid the growth was, but even if Artemy were to account the twyre’s bloom, it still seemed like it had progressed faster than expected. If full flowers were already growing by that stage, just how much was the Bachelor consistently keeping in? It was baffling, almost, that he could live that closed off. If that was the case then- Artemy’s breath caught in his throat as pulled out the delicate flower, it was sharper than it was meant to be, clean of the blood it was splattered with was when he was given it. Before Artemy had assumed the blood was, well, not Daniil’s, but he was apparently so wrong. He had saved the flower, before, because of its rarity, because he wanted to use it for something meaningful, now he had another reason to keep the flower safe.

He never truly learnt what to do with a gifted bloom. They weren’t the same as the real flower, for one they wouldn’t die, unless the emotion behind them died itself. He turned the flower in his hands over, it was still blooming, still alive, it didn’t die with the Polyhedron. Despite the terror of the last days, he felt hope, quiet yet still there, and that hope was dangerous. So after a moment consideration Artemy carefully twisted the white whip into a circlet, and placed it back into his pocket, close to heart, and went off in search of Daniil.

First place he checked was the Stillwater, which was empty, though the Bachelor’s bed was concerning, covered in blood and even more stems of white whip, all fully grown, Artemy collected all of them, he’d have to clean them in his workshop later. They were beautiful in his hands, and he was careful with them. Twyre didn’t care how it was treated but this wasn’t just twyre, it was of Daniil.

Stepping outside the Stillwater, Artemy didn’t know where he was supposed to go next, he could have gone anywhere, the Broken Heart or the Trammel were most likely, but there was also the chance he’d gone to the theatre, luckily for Artemy the three were easily route in between.

He arrived at the theatre first, it was empty, all of the corpses which littered it cleared out, Mark clearly not there, Artemy sighed and closed the door, it was unlikely anyway. Still there was a chance, that he’d have come here after having gone to the theatre nightly. Artemy kept walking, but as he did he knew he would not find the Bachelor in either location, he felt it in his lines, in the network of roots and veins and nerves which only he knew. The Bachelor was waiting for him. Artemy began to walk.

The lines pulled him to the stairway below Vlad the younger’s house, not too far away from the theatre at least. Daniil was standing on one of the pathways, a dark blot against the grey skies, they’d start to darken in the coming months, as winter were to slowly creep upon them, Daniil’s coat was far too thin for that. He didn’t seem to notice Artemy as he climbed up the steps of it, too engrossed in whatever it was he was thinking about. The Haruspex stood behind him, and then stepped forward, placing a hand on the Bachelor’s back, he flinched, but Artemy could feel the lines beneath his hands, could feel the tension bleed out when the Bachelor realised it was him.

“Oynon, it’s a cold day, it’ll only get colder tonight.” Artemy follows the Bachelor’s gaze where it trails off into the wider steppe. Then he shivered, and Artemy moved his hand to Daniil’s back, rubbing slow circles. He looked tired, had he not slept after his confession to the Haruspex? Had he just stood here all day? “Come on, your body can’t handle this much stress.” He could feel it in knots where it was woven deep into the Bachelor’s body, he could see it in the strange tightness of his lungs and where the plague left it’s mark, dried lips and hollow cheeks. Daniil didn’t look healthy, and Artemy wanted to fix that.

“I’m sorry.” The Bachelor said, and Artemy felt then where the roots still took place in his heart, he may have confessed but he hasn’t allowed himself to feel, or to hope Artemy might have returned such affections. Maybe under other circumstances, Artemy would have been the one to bloom for him.

“You have nothing to apologise for, all you need to do now is rest Oynon.” Artemy helps Daniil off of the stairway, the other man felt cold whenever Artemy touched him, the glint in his eyes was missing, that maddening instinct of his to do whatever was probably the most unsafe in the moment. Artemy had, if not loved him, but become infatuated since the moment the Bachelor drank the offered panacea right in front of Artemy, declaring it successful. He was a proud man if nothing else, and yet he had bowed his head and let Artemy take the spotlight, he had been kind to a town which did not return it. Artemy was going to make sure it’d accept him if he stayed.

“Fine, allow me at least to lead the way to the Stillwater, I’d prefer to not be helpless.” Artemy wasn’t going to bring up his confession if Daniil was not willing to do it. It wasn’t his to rip away from him, he wasn’t going to force the Bachelor’s heart out of his chest, he’d spoken when he thought Artemy wouldn’t hear him, maybe it was best to let him think it had worked, until the flowers got bad again. Artemy let Dankovsky lead him to the Stillwater, where he denied the Bachelor work, instead removing his bloody bedding himself, he had replaced it from a closet downstairs, Eva was gone, wasn’t she?

“You’d choke yourself, here.” Artemy reached forward, undoing the Bachelor’s cravat as he pulled off his coat, he saw him swallow as Artemy helped him undress, left only in his shirt, pants, and those horrible shoes. Though the moment he saw a bit of the Bachelor’s neck he had to withdraw, seeing him flesh and skin heated his face in a way he didn’t know how to deal with.

“Hmm, I’d be a bad host if I hadn’t done anything for you in turn.” Daniil murmured, as though to be unheard, but Artemy heard him, and he in all honesty, wanted the Bachelor to admit his love again, wanted to hear how it was possible, how long, wanted to hear that he would want Artemy to love him in turn. Though Artemy’s line of thinking was caught off by Dankovsky coughing, producing another bud, so soon? Were he less knowledgeable Artemy would have assumed it to be just due to the twyre in the air, but Dankovsky stared at him too helplessly for that. Artemy picked up the bud, white whip, the earth’s way of returning lost souls, a healer and a reminder of death, it eased the harmful properties of twyre, and it was growing in Daniil’s lungs. “Oh, I thought it was over.” The Bachelor spoke softly, meekly, eyes trained on where Artemy held the flower.

“You’re still afraid, Daniil.” When Artemy spoke his name the man looked up, shocked at that meagre measure of humanity, he needed to rest and eat and Artemy wanted to be there to make sure he was doing it. Artemy frowned, he was still injured, in a way that wasn’t obvious enough as a cut or a gunshot, but the Haruspex needed to help him, to heal him, after all the Bachelor has done for him, “Are you having trouble breathing?” Unable to stop himself Artemy placed the bud down, pressing his hand against the Bachelor’s chest, his pale skin flushed, and he looked away from Artemy once more, a cough running through him, “Come on, you’ll feel much better when you say it.” Artemy sat beside the Bachelor on the bed, Dankovsky was wearing something under his chest.

“I don’t suppose it’d clear up everything.” Daniil spoke bitterly, beginning to unbutton his shirt, Artemy pulled back as though he’d burnt, looking up at the ceiling, his face already warm enough from seeing Daniil without his coat or cravat, was burning. When he finally looks down his embarrassing infatuation was overcome with concern, the Bachelor’s binding his chest, and Artemy saw the deep red lines where the binder pressed into skin. Artemy winced in sympathy.

“How long have you been binding?” Even Artemy’s given up on keeping his chest bound past a certain point, had the Bachelor merely forgotten to take care of himself or was this intentional.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” Daniil huffed, hugging his chest, “I did my duty to this town to the best of my ability.” As though it wasn’t important for one of the town’s only doctors to take care of himself, Artemy frowned, still raising his hands in surrender.

“I won’t question you, but you need to take it off, I haven’t been binding since the sixth day.” The Bachelor’s gaze moved to his chest for a moment, before sticking to Artemy’s face, the same handsome flush colouring him. Had he not realised Artemy was also like him? When he’s tried to make it clear that they’ve seen one another as equals? When he sacrificed his dreams for Artemy’s? He took his shirt off in front of a man he wasn’t sure would be kind to him, no he took his shirt off in front of Artemy. Either he trusted Artemy enough even without knowing, or he felt himself doomed already. Artemy liked to think it were the first one. He turned around of course, only turning back when the Bachelor tapped him on the shoulder.

He sat intentionally slouched, dark grey shirt fully buttoned, it was funny to see him grumpy like that, forced to take the most basic care of himself, “There, happy?” Maybe Artemy could make him regret loving him, maybe that could have been easier, but at that moment he just wanted to kiss Daniil.

“You’re really lucky you didn’t break any ribs.” Artemy held back from reaching out to touch Daniil, to trace where his lines led to his heart, where the roots painted his lungs, he could have gotten them out, had Daniil asked, he could have taken the heart from his chest. “But no, not quite happy yet, you can’t just leave it unaddressed, there isn’t much I can do for you to help with that.” That wasn’t honest, he could have pulled Daniil against him, kissed his mouth bruised and told him he loved him first, but it wouldn’t have been as effective, such things could have only been cured with a direct approach anyway.

“Is there nothing you can do?” The Bachelor looked at him with such desperation, it was clear to Artemy he would have taken it to the grave where he not forced to, so Artemy placed a hand on Daniil’s shoulder, he rubbed his head against it, eyes closing. He really needed to get some rest.

“Well, if you do choose to go through with it, you won’t find yourself, unrequited.” Artemy spoke slowly, carefully, quiet as though he did not want the Stillwater to hear them. The Bachelor laughed, airy and near soundless as he took Artemy’s free hand in his own, unwilling to relinquish where Artemy had held him. He laughed again, before squeezing Artemy’s gloved hand gently, they’re both wearing gloved, a layer of separation Artemy suddenly wanted to be rid of, he wants to feel Daniil under his palms, arching into the touch, he wanted to find every knot and crook in his lines, he wanted to touch the body he knew so much better than he should have.

Instead Danko lifted his gloved hand to his lips, kissing against the roughened leather, Artemy internally cringed when he remembered just how much blood he’d gotten on them, how much viscera, but hadn’t it been Daniil who asked him for a heart? Who gave him the bloom of his heart? This would not be strange for either of them. “Artemy Burakh, I find myself helplessly enraptured by you.” He spoke, quietly, wanting the sound to disappear, but Artemy leaned in closer, he wouldn’t let Daniil become forgotten, “It began at the end of the fifth day, after I found the heart.” He paused, frowning as he thought, “It feels stupid, this is the first time I’ve felt in this specific way and I have only known you for less than two weeks.” He laughed, and Artemy could see the lightness in his chest, how the roots cleared from his heart.

“It feels as though we’ve known one another for much longer than that.” Artemy said, and then he pulled Daniil closer, cupping his face in his hands, he closed his eyes and leaned against Artemy, it was more than he could have asked for, to sit there in the Stillwater on the bed with him, to have held him close. Artemy smiled, and pulled Daniil into a kiss. He tasted like raw coffee, he tasted like blood, he tasted almost like twyrine, and oh how Artemy drank him down. When he finally pulled away Daniil opened his eyes, the look in them he’d initially been attracted to, clear when he’d gotten a room full of guards killed was back, the thrill Artemy knew in his bones. “Where will you go from now?”

“I don’t know.” Daniil responded, “I might stay for now, if you’ll have me.” He spoke, not breaking eye contact.

“I will.” Artemy responded, and Daniil smiled at him, honest and open, not calculated or smug, he was gorgeous.