Chapter Text
“Oh, my bloody fucking Christ on a ruddy bicycle! Ivan! Ivan!” Ivan Braginsky shut his eyes tightly, stopped his rapid typing, and turned to face the frantic man who worked two cubicles away on his right.
Ivan was a simple man. He didn’t expect much from life. He’d arrived from Moscow, Russia three years ago, courted by several Fortune 500 companies because he had been considered a translation prodigy. In fact, at the tender age of 25, he already spoke ten languages fluently, and was in the process of modestly picking up Swedish. Though there were several opportunities for him in Moscow, he’d nevertheless decided to pack his bags and begin working for a major corporation in Los Angeles, California, a city he’d always been curious about (especially because it never snowed and rarely ever rained - Ivan hated the cold). He’d watched enough movies about LA, and could practically imitate a West-Coast accent when he spoke English, so he figured he could move with minimum adjustment and live out his life in a nice sunny place doing what he loved most - translating.
This idea of ‘minimum adjustment’ did not work out quite as he’d planned, however. For one, every single one of his coworkers was just a shade beyond ‘quirky’, which meant they got on Ivan’s nerves 24/7. He himself had developed a strange and “creepy” personality just to ward off the worst of them. He had never muttered to himself or grinned like an unhinged maniac in Russia, but he found himself doing it in America, so at least Feliks would stop telling him “Omigod, Ivan, you’re so cute despite your big-ass nose, I could eat you up!”
Still, even his newfound personality didn’t ward off everybody. In fact, he somehow became close to several of the nutjobs who worked in the company, both in his department and others. For instance, he was friends with Natalyia from HR, Alfred from IT, Yong Soo from accounting, and several others who made it their business to disturb and annoy him every single day. But his best friend, and he had no idea how this happened, was Arthur Kirkland, a young man who worked alongside Ivan in the translation department, and who was the stereotypical stiff-upper-lip-Brit with a twist.
Arthur was by all accounts intelligent, which is perhaps how he managed to trick Ivan into friendship in the first place. He had immigrated from Great Britain when he was only nineteen, and although he wasn’t quite as talented as Ivan when it came to languages, he was also considered ‘not too shabby’, especially when, at twenty-three years old, he had already mastered six languages himself. He also knew one language, Japanese, which Ivan did not, and had promised Ivan that they could practice conversational Japanese together, especially if Ivan helped Arthur get the hang of Russian. It sounded like a good deal, and Arthur had seemed like a pleasant young man with similar interests. As it turned out, he was anything but.
First of all, Arthur once had an on-again-off-again French boyfriend who he could barely tolerate, and together they used to make Ivan’s life hell. Ivan would somehow be pulled into the role of mediator in their fights, even though he’d known Arthur for a grand total of one month and probably wouldn’t be able to recognize Francis on the street without someone pointing him out. And yet, he got surprisingly invested in Arthur’s well-being, feeling genuine remorse for the Brit when Arthur cried over something Francis did. When Arthur finally ended it for good with Francis seven months ago, Ivan felt such jubilation that he let Arthur take him to a gay club to celebrate his newfound freedom.
That led to the second thing Arthur had done to him - subconsciously turning him gay. Or at the very least, bisexual. Back in Russia, Ivan had not had a single gay thought, ever, in his whole life. True, Russia wasn’t exactly the type of environment to foster those feelings, and Ivan had never really dated many women either, but he nevertheless would have felt something for men if he’d always been gay, right? Therefore, it had to be Arthur’s fault when Ivan found himself making out with a young Chinese ex-pat who’d been dancing with him all night.
At the very least, Arthur had taken responsibility for the obvious gay-ification of Ivan’s character. He had also helped Ivan navigate through the perilous world that was dating in America - Ivan was now seeing his young Chinese ex-pat, Yao Wang, though he had yet to make that news public to his family in Russia. He would cross that bridge when he got there.
In any case, after their experience with Francis, Yao, and Ivan’s gay crisis, Ivan found himself very close with Arthur. Which meant that Ivan found out, unfortunately, a lot more about him. Including the fact that there was no “stiff-upper lip” on the Brit to speak of, and that he was, in fact, an insatiable drama queen.
Which brung Ivan back to the present.
“Look what I got in the fucking mail this morning!” Arthur cried, pushing Ivan’s cubicle-mate out of his way in his frenzy. Elizaveta glared at them both, and Ivan shot her an apologetic look. “Tell me I’m dreaming, or bloody insane!”
“Arthur, please, don’t make a scene,” Ivan said. He did stand up in an attempt to calm down his friend, “Whatever it is, it cannot be as bad as that time with that dog, hm? Как бы я знал, что ты так сильно любишь собаки?”
Arthur waved his hand dismissively, though Elizaveta was now looking up at them in bewilderment, “Now is not the time for a Russian lesson. Look at the paper!”
So Ivan did. And he immediately understood why Arthur was freaking out.
“It’s...a wedding invitation,” he said slowly, looking at Arthur for confirmation, “For Francis’ wedding?” Arthur, already dangerously fuming, turned scarlet.
Ivan understood his friend’s reaction. One of the main issues Arthur and Francis’ relationship faced was that the Brit was looking forward to getting married, while the Frenchman actively avoided talking about commitment. He’d always told Arthur that it wasn’t personal, and that he just couldn’t see himself ever settling down. And yet, not even a full year later…
“This must be joke!” Arthur bristled, snatching the wedding invitation back from Ivan. Elizaveta, finally understanding that their conversation would not end anytime soon, sighed loudly and stomped out of her own cubicle. “Six months ago he refused to buy a pet together, and now he’s getting married?! It’s mad! And why bother inviting me, if not to rub it in my face?”
Unfortunately, Ivan had to agree with Arthur. It was just like Francis to invite a recent ex to a wedding. “The adult thing would be to let it go Arthur…” Ivan said, knowing full well his friend would not.
“Well, old Artie here isn’t known for his adult behavior!” A familiar voice interrupted. Ivan cringed inwardly. Alfred Jones’ annoying teasing was not what Arthur needed at the moment, “What are you guys yelling about, anyway? We could hear you two-floors down.”
“Bugger off, Jones,” Arthur hissed, looking furious. Ivan, who’d recently started becoming close with Alfred as well, knew that his American friend reveled in any chaos he could cause around the office. And he was looking very happy at the prospect of winding Arthur up even further. As hilarious as that could be sometimes, Ivan needed Arthur to calm down sometime soon, for Ivan’s own sanity at least.
“Alfred, aren’t you needed in the CEO’s office?” Ivan questioned, interrupting whatever asinine thing Alfred was going to say next. Fortunately, it worked - Alfred’s face paled, and he fled from their office without another word.
“Cheeky bugger...” Arthur said before turning back to Ivan, “You don’t know Francis like I do, Ivan. He won’t stop pestering me unless I go. And I refuse to lose. I need to show him that I’m better in every conceivable way, even if he’d getting married first.”
“Maybe he’s getting married to someone unattractive, or old?” Ivan suggested, hoping to placate the irate Brit.
Twenty minutes of Google-searching the second name printed on the invitation - Ludwig Beilschmidt - disproved that theory rather handily.
“He’s beautiful…” Arthur said in awe, rather forgetting himself. Ivan punched his arm.
Eventually, Ivan and Arthur’s sleuthing was interrupted by Elizaveta, who had grown tired of eviction from her own cubicle. She’d threatened Arthur rather effectively, and the Brit stomped back to his desk, while Ivan remained shame-faced at his desk, trying his best not to piss of his co-worker any further. He’d buy Elizaveta an apology sunflower tomorrow. Everyone loved apology sunflowers, right?
The rest of his day passed by very slowly. Though he had a lot of work, he couldn’t concentrate on it, his attention being drawn to Arthur every twenty minutes on the dot. He wasn’t usually so distracted by his friend, but today was different. It seemed the wedding invitation had shaken Arthur up more fundamentally than the Brit had wanted to admit. He looked upset, and it was breaking Ivan’s heart a little bit. Arthur was always some variant of pissed off or unpleasant, but the unsure movements and slight shaking of his hands brought out a protective streak in Ivan he hadn’t felt for anyone in a while. When Alfred came back, looking to tease Arthur a bit more, Ivan quickly distracted the bespectacled man by offending America and its obesity rate (it was a sore subject for Alfred, Ivan had found out at a bar one night - one he didn’t normally exploit, but for Arthur’s sake, he made an exception).
By the end of the work-day, Ivan had seen enough. He hurried after Arthur, who seemed to be frog-marching past the exit determinedly.
“Arthur,” Ivan called, halting the Brit’s advance towards the elevator. He grabbed Arthur by the elbow. “Come to my house tonight, hm? Yao is out with relatives, we can talk together...about this, yes?”
And that’s how, several hours later, he found himself on the carpeted floor of his bedroom, sharing a bottle of dusty rum with Arthur, and cursing Francis’ existence to holy hell. Loudly.
“He is very - very, ugly? Stupid. Ugly man. In the heart.” Ivan’s English tended to fluctuate when he was drunk. Right now, it was in the ‘barely comprehensible’ stage. “Hair like horse, heart like goat! Disgusting.”
“Hmm,” Arthur replied to Ivan’s thought-out criticism, “Thas’ right, innit? Goat bastard.”
“И еще!” Ivan said, now on a roll, “He smells like rose which has putrefied. Eyes like weasel. No, not weasel...how you say выдра? Small pony?”
“And yet, that small pony is getting married before I am,” Arthur said with a tone of finality. And with that, Ivan could not argue. “And to a gorgeous half-man, half-tank like Ludwig Beilschmidt. I didn’t know that was Francis’ type. I could have gone to the gym more!”
“I think not, comrade,” Ivan said, closing his eyes. Arthur simply did not have the build or muscle mass to challenge Francis’ new fiance. Still, Arthur looked nice, in his own way. It upset Ivan to think that Arthur was negatively comparing himself to another man. “Anyway, you have dated since Francis as well, haven’t you?”
Arthur harrumphed. “If you count that ridiculous date with that Spanish lawyer, I suppose I have.”
Ivan remembered that particular disaster, and wisely did not bring it up again. “My thought was...maybe you do not go alone? Take man, a man, who make Bonnefoy feel like he should never let you go!”
Arthur snorted. “My, my, Ivan, you sound like a Nicholas Sparks novel,” Ivan squinted, clearly not getting the reference. “Nicholas Sparks? You know, the romance auth--you know what, nevermind. The point is, I doubt that’s what’ll happen.”
“Well, bring someone anyway, to save face,” Arthur glared at him, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the rum he started chugging, “Do not look at me like that! I am helping. Showing up alone is just pathetic.”
“But I am alone,” Arthur whined, rather...pathetically.
“But he does not know this, yes?” Ivan’s accent was getting thicker, as was Arthur’s. They really should lay off the rum, though Ivan decided one more sip wouldn’t hurt. “You cannot get boyfriend quickly?”
“Not quickly ‘nuff to invite him ter a ruddy wedding in a few weeks!” Ivan supposed that was a fair point. There was no quicker way to make a gay man in Los Angeles run away screaming than to invite him to a wedding. Arthur knew this quite well. However, perhaps he didn’t need to get a real boyfriend…
“I could invite someone else though…” Arthur finally said, eyeing Ivan with more interest.
And Ivan decided to nip that thought right in the bud. “Definitely not going to happen, comrade,” he said confidently. It wasn’t hard to guess what Arthur was implying. It would royally piss Francis off if Arthur and Ivan started ‘dating’, and Arthur brought Ivan along as a ‘boyfriend’. However, though Ivan had never read a Nicholas Sparks novel, he’d read enough romance novels to know what happened when two friends ‘pretended’ to be dating at a wedding. And though he loved Arthur, he had no wish to fall in love with him. Ever.
However, the idea of a pretend date had some merit.
“Who are your other male friends? Preferably ones that Francis has not met?”
It turned out that, while Arthur had several friends (“I’m not the hermit you pretend I am, you know!), most of them had either met Francis, were already in a relationship, or were not attractive enough to make Francis jealous (“Ivan, you’re a shallow monster,” Arthur had protested when Ivan had labeled yet another close friend an “uggo”). When Ivan suggested that Arthur go with one of his own four brothers - surely Francis had not met them all? - they had to briefly pause the conversation because Arthur quite literally threw up at the thought.
“They’re attractive, da? Why not?” Ivan said, holding a Kirkland family picture in one hand, and holding Arthur’s blonde hair back while he vomited with the other.
They swiftly moved on from Arthur’s friends (and family) to his coworkers. Of course, it was not a very professional conversation, but the two were a tad too wasted to comply with professional standards at that point.
“Yong Soo is good-looking,” Arthur was saying, now rummaging through Ivan and Yao’s cabinets in search of more alcohol, “D’you think ‘e’d go fer it?”
“He does not like you,” Ivan grunted from his new spot on the kitchen floor. He had lost all ability to be nuanced in English. “He thinks you are crazy-pants. Next?”
Arthur didn’t even bat an eye. “Elizaveta?”
“She is beautiful, but you are very homosexual, and Francis knows that. This works only if you can be attracted to the person.”
“Bloody hell, why is this so ‘ard…” Arthur bitched, having already named at least ten other people, “Miguel?”
“He’s on sabbatical in Cuba.”
“Michelle?”
“Moved back to Seychelles. Jesus, comrade, do you never read those farewell emails HR sends out? And what did we just say about your homosexuality?”
“...Vash?”
Both friends looked at each other, then started guffawing very loudly.
“I’m sorry, sorry!” Arthur managed to say in between bouts of laughter, “I must be getting desperate!”
“Truly you are,” Ivan agreed, wiping tears from his eyes, “Vash...you can be true comedian when you want, Arthur!”
The joke was that Vash Zwingli was a man obsessed with his sister. Nobody really talked about it. Especially since his sister happened to be their CEO.
...In any case, nobody talked about it.
“What about Alfred?” Ivan suggested, thinking of his relatively new American friend, “He’s single, and he’s good-looking.”
“Ugh, Jones? No,” Arthur said, “I’d rather not hang out with that wanker, thanks very much.”
“Are you still mad about today? He barely teased you.”
“That’s because you intervened!” Arthur said, which was true enough. “Besides, he always bothers me like that, and I barely know him.” Which was also true enough. Alfred liked teasing people, especially people like Arthur, who were rather easily wound up. Still Alfred had never been particularly nasty. And he really was attractive. He could definitely give Francis’ new boyfriend a run for his money.
“D’you even know if he’s gay?” Arthur asked, interrupting Ivan’s thought process.
Ivan shrugged, sheepishly, “I believe he’s straight...do not give me that look, that doesn’t matter!” He staggered to his feet, determined to wipe Arthur’s smug smirk off his face, “It doesn’t matter! He’s attractive and he owes me a favor, and you can pay him, like prostitute.”
“Whatever,” Arthur said dismissively, and the two gave up on the topic for the night.
Which was why, the next morning, Ivan was surprised and horrified to see Arthur march up to Alfred in the breakroom and brusquely say, “Good morning, Jones. How much can I pay you to accompany me to a wedding?”