Work Text:
A man walked into a shop.
Pinched betwixt two bony fingers: A handwritten list, orderly numerated advice.
The heading, as opposed to its own significance, was elaborate and fine, the penmanship delicate yet confident.
“A Snezhnayan Travel Guide – Die or Thrive”
Below it, in compressed bullet points, the author had written.
1. Wear thick clothes and boots, layers save lives.
2. Have a map and compass.
3. Carry a knife for protection.
4. Keep your essentials dry.
5. Never travel alone.
Slipping it back into his coat pocket after a quick look, the man approached the shopkeeper who bowed in greeting.
He pointed to some wares behind the counter and grabbed his money pouch.
“Two of those jackets, please. One larger than the other. I’ll take those shoes, and a map if you have them.
You sell bags too, yes? Would you happen to know where I can find traveling company?”
The man completed his purchase and swiftly hurried to the next tea house where he was told an assembly of adventurers rested.
There, he hired an older couple, the woman a skilled navigator, the other man a seasoned fighter, to accompany him on his way as they shared a destination.
No three hours later after meeting, the small group set off with their provisions packed, their gear ready, and each wrapped in warm clothes from head to toe. Choosing to travel over the mountain pass from Liyue to Snezhnaya, all of them were expecting it to be a tough journey.
Nevertheless, it was the quickest way to get there, and the adventurer couple assured their new member they had often mastered it safely before.
But if there was one thing no one could predict, it was monsters.
Finally reaching the highest point – the hardest part of the trail behind them – their relief was too quickly overshadowed by fear.
Cornering them on a ledge, a Frostarm Lawachurl had set its sight on them, swinging madly for the adventurer jumping to defend.
The other two could not do anything except for watching with bated breaths how the monster kept missing yet getting closer and closer to hitting the man. Alas, the inevitable could not be avoided.
The Frostarm Lawachurl grabbed the adventurer with its giant fist, blades useless on its hardened skin, and with a roar threw him to the ground.
It lifted its knee, and the pair witnessing the scene held each other’s arms for comfort.
The man covered the woman’s eyes just when the monster ended her lover’s life with a heavy stomp. And with ever growing horror, the man took notice of their platform shaking, cracking and, before he could call out, it collapsed beneath their feet.
Blindly, they reached for anything to hold on to or soften the fall, and through some great miracle the man managed to entangle his hands in some climbing thorn vines.
Mercilessly, they shredded through his gloves and skin, but he held on tight, even more when he heard the sound of cracking ice beneath him.
He dared a look back, finding the woman had crashed into a frozen river and was struggling to wade out.
Loosening his grip on the thorns, the Liyuean kicked off the mountain wall and ran to her aid, pulling her out and underneath an awning of rock and snow. She thanked him for his help, mentioning her having injured her leg in the fall, which gave the man a new problem to worry about.
This woman was his navigator, his only chance at making it through the pass, but she was injured and would freeze in her wet clothes. If she froze, he would, too.
Determined not to give up at this point, the man took off his cloak, scarf and what was left of his gloves and gave them to her, if not a little reluctant to be exposed to the elements himself.
While she dressed and studied her map and compass to figure out their position, the other looked down at his hands, red with blood and cold, delicate skin torn open everywhere and stinging at the faintest breeze.
This was a problem, he thought. A very big one. But the ocean was deep, and there was always a bigger fish.
And compared to the rock awning breaking down at a monster’s echo, crushing the navigator ruthlessly in its rubble- The man thought himself quite lucky.
Lucky, but most unfortunate.
Now, with neither cloak nor knife, no compass and no guide, it was truly up to the gods whether he’d make it out alive. Ah, truly, he should have gone by ship. What the consequences of his actions demanded of him now was tricky guesswork.
He could barely see past two arm lengths what lay in front of him and had to pick one direction and stick with it. Orientating himself by the mountain side the monster had knocked them from, he chose to go straight from there.
The wind picked up, so he pulled every bit of cloth tighter around himself. He attempted to save some warmth that way, yet gradually he lost feeling in one finger after another.
He was shivering, his legs numb from the icy dip into the river, and the longer he treaded through the deep snow, the less he had faith in ever warming up again.
It was only a matter of time until he tripped down another ledge.
And another.
And another.
Each time, the snow saved him. Each time, the snow made it worse.
All he could see was white, it was impossible to tell sky and ground apart. Knowing his clock was ticking, and his strength waning, he forgot about his legs. Instead, he got up on his elbows and, as best he could, used his wounded hands to crawl forward. Ever forward, he couldn’t die like this, not yet.
He dragged himself, another bit. And under him, the ground shook. Again.
Tumble after tumble, the man landed on a thinner layer of snow this time, debating with blurry mind if he should just rest there.
There was nothing left for him to run on, the cold having drained every bit of energy the trek hadn’t sucked out of him beforehand.
Accepting his defeat, he did not get back up, tired and disappointed with himself.
What the man did not know, however, was that he had fallen on a road.
By no means a busy one, but by another stroke of luck today, somebody happened to walk it at the right time in the right place.
Discovering the odd figure lying on the middle of the road, right below a steep drop, the new arrival hurried to check for signs of life.
It was another man, short of stature, dressed quite comically, and the look was not improved by elongated ears and nose.
When this person shook the other out of his trance, the latter blinked weakly.
This was it, he thought. He was dead. He was a dead man or well on his way to becoming one, because what he was seeing could only be a hallucination of the cold, a last courtesy of his brain shutting off.
Only roughly aware of what the elf-like old man did, the Liyuean was under the first impression he’d be left to die, too heavy to lift or not worth the effort, maybe he was even being robbed.
Except, he was suddenly lifted and turned on his stomach, his arm being held around the other’s shoulder in support, as something warm covered his own. The stranger had given him his coat, and silly though it looked, the one injured was thankful for the warmth.
“It isn’t every day people rain from the mountains, you’re quite lucky to have made it this far on your own.”
He hadn’t been, but he couldn’t control his chattering teeth to stop.
Remaining silent lest he bit off his tongue, he tried to keep his attention on the lulling voice that sounded next to him.
“Stay awake, my boy. You’re freezing. Close your eyes now and they’ll never open again. I can get you help, but you must work with me to get there.
A couple of steps, come on.”
With another arm steadying him at his midriff, the traveler managed to find his feet again, but not his balance.
Leaning heavily on his savior, he marched one more step after the other, each seeming to drag on forever.
He nearly fell asleep a couple times, too tired to keep his focus on walking, then the other would slap his face, apologize, and tell him to keep going, they were almost there. He didn’t see where “there” was when they reached it, his vision swimming in black.
No sooner was he finally given the okay that he passed out completely.
~
An elf walked into a shop quaint and aged, arms laden with a bundle of clothes.
All wet and torn and altered to nature’s whim. He approached the counter, dropping off the items and ringing a small bell. From a backroom, a comely woman emerged, whom he addressed.
“Good morning, Jolie.”
“Hello, Mayor.”
Patting the clothes, the elder inquired, “Would you have any sets of this size available? Two will be just fine. One presentable and one casual.”
She took a look through everything, got some measurements, and disappeared into another room for a while. A couple minutes later, she returned with a bag stuffed full.
“These’re just a tad smaller, but they should do. What you brought were travel clothes, those never fit quite right.”
“Perfectly alright, Jolie,” said her customer, reaching in his pockets for some coin.
Before he could grab some, however, the tailor downright dropped the bag on him, so he had to catch it.
“For what you’ve done for us here, Mayor, I’ll take no coin from you,” she insisted.
The older man knew better than to refuse, and nodded in thanks.
“Good day, Jolie.”
“Be well, Mayor.”
If she had known somebody else needed those well wishes much more than he did.
In the house that he returned to, small and wooded like the rest that made up a little village by the mountain’s base, rested a foreign young man in a simple guest bed.
Alive and breathing, yet inarguably exhausted to his core, he’d been asleep for a whole day almost, not even stirring when being undressed or having his wounds treated.
When the elf returned, it still seemed as if he hadn’t moved an inch in the time he was gone, peacefully snoring away beneath a heap of quilts.
His black hair was braided back out of his face, its skin nearly as pale as the snow outside, which gave the elf reason to worry he might be sick.
Stepping to his bedside, he felt the other’s temperature with the back of his hand.
Fortunately, his condition didn’t seem to have worsened. Nonetheless, the older man thought it important to at least update the stranger on his whereabouts and ask if he wasn’t missing anywhere. Even if he appeared to have a very comfortable rest...
With a sigh, the elf walked out, letting the man sleep just a bit longer.
Until he had procured a fresh loaf of bread from a neighboring baker and warmed a fresh broth on the stove. And about an hour later, he returned to the room with a full tray of sustenance.
After placing it on the nightstand first, he took the other’s temperature again, noticed no change, and at last gently shook his shoulder.
It earned no reaction at first, but by the second time, movement finally occurred.
The young man batted his lashes, looking up briefly before squinting his eyes back shut against the sun pouring through the window.
Waiting patiently for him to wake fully, the elf pulled up a chair for himself and watched the man he’d saved from the brink of death slowly coming back to life.
He watched him frown, trying to turn away from the sun and go back to sleep, and prop himself up on his elbows when that didn’t work. He wanted to push the quilts down next, but halted when he looked at his hands: fully bandaged, both of them.
Finally, his dark brown eyes scanned the room, inevitably landing on the short old man. Elf.
“Good morning. You seemed to have had a good rest, I must apologize for disrupting it,” that one said.
The gears were visibly turning inside the young man’s head.
His mouth half open, and his eyes, teary from his deep sleep, flitted about trying to comprehend his situation.
Those were smart eyes, the other could tell, attentive and precise. They worked everything out fast, and with calculatedly picked words, the man responded with a tinge of an accent.
“It’s alright. You’re the one who dragged me out of the cold. Thank you, thank you so much, uhm…”
“The Rooster, though I’m often more simply referred to as Mayor. You may call me Pulcinella – whichever suits you best,” the elder offered, crow’s feet by his eyes as he smiled kindly upon the other.
He sat up straighter, stumbling over his tongue as he introduced himself as well, “Mayor, then, thank you- Ah, my name is Fu. Fu Ren. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sorry for intruding.”
He held out his hand for a proper handshake, but, remembering his condition, let it hang awkwardly in the air. Though before he could think twice about it, the Mayor smoothly reached out for a polite clasp of his forearm instead.
“Oh, you’re not intruding, young man. Not on me, anyway, this house is mine as much as it is yours,” and he didn’t let Fu Ren dwell on that detail either, “The pleasure of meeting you is quite mutual. Even if I believe it would’ve been nicer under different circumstances.”
“Yes.”
“So, I assume you must be from Liyue? Did you travel with anyone else? I could find only you on that road.”
Fu Ren’s face fell, and he cast a dejected look outside the window.
“Two adventurers came with me. We were prepared for the trip, you must understand. Just not for what met us up that mountain.”
“My condolences,” the elf expressed, voice laden with sympathy for the man who had arrived with next to nothing, having lost his companions on top of that.
“The mountain pass is difficult to navigate safely, and the monsters unpredictable. What matter could have possibly been pressing enough that you would choose that way over a boat ride?”
“I came for work,” the young man told him, when suddenly his mien looked panicked.
Eyes wide, he whipped and craned his head around, peeking over the bedside and far corners of the room. In doing so, he caught perplexed sight of his braided hair, but paid it no further attention.
“M-my things! Do you have them? Please, they’re important.”
“Of course,” Pulcinella replied, relieved it was something he could help with.
Getting off his chair, he crouched down to reach under the bed where he had temporarily put the stranger’s luggage. Out of respect, he had abstained from snooping through it, and perhaps that was the right decision if it contained something of personal value.
Fu Ren swung his legs from the side of the bed in an attempt to get up and check the bag himself. But the same way it was with his hands, he noticed his feet were wrapped up in bandage as well.
The Mayor’s look was apologetic.
“The cold was harsh on you, I wouldn’t recommend standing on your own just yet.”
Fu Ren visibly blanched at the implication of those words. Still, he nodded, and with another glance at his hands asked the older man, “Could you…?”
Wordlessly, the Mayor filed through the bag’s contents, pulling everything out in order until Fu Ren told him to stop. What the elf held was a bamboo case, ominously cracked through the middle. He removed the top part, revealing a bunch of rolled-up documents.
“…”
Pulcinella took out one of them.
The script was completely illegible. Washed out of the confines of their sketched letters, the ink had been reduced to mere blotches on the paper.
Water damage.
“My résumé,” Fu Ren mumbled dispiritedly.
And when the other pulled out another, equally ruined letter, Fu Ren looked as if his whole world had just fallen apart.
“My letter of recommendation...”
Everything he’d worked so hard for, gone so easily.
A little bit of snow, and now he was in a foreign Nation like an invalid, unable to work – if he would be considered a proper working man at all. He had come with a plan, prepared, thrilled for a new life. Now he sat there, nothing to his name and basically at the mercy of the old elf.
“Cheer up, young one,” he comforted him with a squeeze of the shoulder, “You’re alive. Don’t chew on those bitter thoughts on an empty stomach. Have something warm to eat first, and then we’ll see what we can do.”
Fu Ren nodded in agreement.
Getting frustrated now would do him no good anyway, getting angry even less.
Instead, he stretched his legs back out on the bed and leaned against the pillows, allowing the elder to help him with eating and drinking.
At least it tasted of warmth and comfort.
~
In the couple days to follow, there was not much for Fu Ren to do other than rest.
Constantly, he’d have to accept the help of others if he wanted to eat or wash himself. It was humiliating – his entire presence in the first place was – but thankfully his hosts were kind.
A small family, man and husband who inhabited this house with their two bright children, always curious about the stranger sharing their roof yet getting shooed out of the room whenever the Mayor returned.
He, especially, had a constant eye out for Fu Ren, engaging in easy conversation with him, talking about his future plans, and never made him feel like a burden.
For that, Fu Ren could not be more grateful.
On one evening when Pulcinella again changed his bandages, they were talking leisurely.
“I’m not going back to Liyue,” Fu Ren told the other, “It took me years to scrape by enough Mora for a new start here. They wouldn’t promote me, despite knowing very well I had the potential to become more than a secretary.
I know my value. So, that’s why I’ve come. Northland Bank apparently has some decent standards.”
“You gave up your life in Liyue for a chance at Northland Bank?”
“Yes. The issue?”
The Mayor smiled, continuing to wrap the bandage around the man’s torn-up hand, “No issue. Someone with your ambition will surely go far in life.”
And Fu Ren smiled back.
“I’m glad you think so, too.”
Some hours later, when the elf assured himself the guest was deep asleep, he retrieved the travel bag and the case of documents.
Taking those with him, he studied each one under the lamplight in his own room. Sorting through which ones were still legible, and those that weren’t.
The résumé was ruined, utterly so. But the letter of recommendation…
Pulcinella pushed up his glasses, taking a very good look at the outlines of some remaining characters, and the signature and stamp it was signed off with.
It was tricky puzzling the right words together, but not impossible.
First, he copied what he could decipher on an empty scrap paper. Next, he cut another one to the right size, dipped his quill into the ink pot, and rewrote the letter.
An exact copy, a forgery – but how wrong could it be?
When, clearly, this young man had worked hard, and it was only through misfortune his life had been deemed ruined. No, he truly did not deserve this fate.
By the end of the night, the Mayor completed the last line of the signature with a nimble stroke, sprinkled a bit of dust over it and returned the case to the bag of its owner, just in time before he awoke.
“Good morning, Fu Ren,” he greeted, opening the window whilst the other rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.
“Good morning, Mayor.”
“Wait right there.”
Fu Ren cast him a look both incredulous and amused, for where would he go?
Regardless, he stayed still as he was, waiting patiently on the elf who left to fetch something. And what that was – he came back rather quickly, carrying a heavy-looking device.
Upon seeing the young man’s curiosity, Pulcinella inquired, “Have you seen this before?”
“No, what is that?”
The elf put it down on the nightstand so the other could have a closer look at it.
He explained and demonstrated at the same time, “This is a typewriter. It saves you time by printing each letter you press onto the paper, which you insert here… Like this.
With it, you don’t need to worry about writing crookedly or making mistakes as much. It’s quick and orderly; Snezhnayan workplaces prefer it over tedious handwriting.”
Being offered to do so, the young man pressed down on one of the levers, watching with amazement how its letter appeared on the paper at the exact same time.
“Genius,” he praised, “And so much smaller than the large printing machines. What do you do with it?”
At this question, the Mayor pulled up his chair and switched to a new paper sheet.
“I write what you dictate.”
When he was met with a perplexed stare, “Tell me your résumé, Fu Ren.”
~
Consequently, the two spent the next two days working on restoring some of the most essential documents the foreign man had brought.
They left out a few more detailed things, but the Mayor swore it would be enough to land him a job – a good one.
Because as it turned out, the elf had only been so far in the countryside for a bit of downtime and would soon travel back to Snezhnaya’s capital city. And to catch two birds with one stone, he kindly insisted on taking the young man with him, as soon as he was better. Then, he could personally see to it that Fu Ren ended up in a place worthy of him.
In the best case, that would be Northland Bank. Yet, even being the Mayor, Pulcinella made no promises.
Very quickly after getting Fu Ren’s personalia back in order, he made progress in recovering all his motor skills.
He could gradually begin walking and standing again for longer periods of time, and his fingers were only individually bandaged in thin wrappings now, allowing for movement of each separate digit.
Still, when he and the Mayor finally bid their farewell to their host family to depart for the Capital, he wore gloves without interruption to keep up a healthy image. Something that was rather easy to do in this cold country, whose climate he was not yet used to.
For that issue, the elf gifted him warm clothes, free of cost, and another suit on top of that. So, with hardly any effort at all, he looked as serious as fine businessmen came.
On the streets, he could be mistaken for a true Snezhnayan man if it weren’t for his slight accent betraying him when in conversation.
Headed for the grand, dark building that carried the name Northland Bank in bold letters at its front, the Mayor gave the other a last rundown of the things he ought to know.
A bit of backstory, history, advice on which manners to display. Just enough that he’d be able to make a notable impression.
In the last minute, Fu Ren tried desperately to remember everything he was being told, anxiously clutching his application folder to his body.
They entered the warm lobby of the bank, a mere door away from the reception room, but it felt like the border to another world.
This was how far the Mayor had agreed to take him, and if all went well, this was where they would part ways. Possibly forever.
And, faced with the outlook on a future where this kind elf would no longer support him as he had, Fu Ren seemed even more reluctant to take the final step.
“You’ve truly been too good to me, Mayor,” he started, hand to his chest, “I owe you my life, my future now, too, I suppose. So please, when I return successful, let me repay you.”
Pulcinella, folding his hands atop his cane’s handle, dismissed the offer with a shake of his head.
“It was nothing, young man, any sensible soul would have done the same. It’s a matter of humanity, and it asks for no debt to be repaid. Not now, not ever.”
“Then… I’ll live in gratitude for the chances I’ve been given,” Fu Ren said with a sense of finality.
“Thank you, Mayor.”
At this moment, another man pushed the door by them and walked to the reception.
Looking up at Fu Ren, the elf offered one last smile.
“Welcome to Snezhnaya, my brother!”
And with a shove of his cane, he sent the young man inside.
Fu Ren stumbled into the pristine reception room, looking back in surprise as the door closed in front of his eyes.
Watching the other leaving without another glance behind him.
Now, Fu Ren knew he had to take heart and finish his journey alone.
He patted his coat down, took a deep breath, and approached a Fatuus behind the counter.
“I’ve come for a job position, would you show me to your superior?”
~
This had marked the end of a chapter in each of their lives.
One that was more important to one man than to the other, one neither of them would have found out what it did to the other if it weren’t for a piece of paper.
That, during an interview had fallen out of Fu Ren’s folder, turning the tip of the scales in his favor at the very last second.
A letter of recommendation, signed by a trusted associate over in Liyue. It was this letter – thought to be ruined – that earned Fu Ren a handshake to his first step on the career ladder.
After a near decade, it was this letter that was responsible for Fu Ren’s presence in the great Zapolyarny Palace.
In its great and freezing halls, he stood with a bowed head, receiving a Harbinger’s title bestowed by the Tsaritsa Herself. Her right hand, the intimidating Director, being the one to attach the pin of his newly gained status to his white cloak.
On this day, Fu Ren was left behind, giving way to a man even more frightening in his ambition, who had surpassed even his own expectations and sought to surpass more still.
But no rise in power could get rid of the memories he’d made – of where his journey had begun.
There was no mandatory rule for all the Harbingers to appear when another was named, the Rooster, however, considered it common courtesy to congratulate and acquaint himself with his new colleagues. To test the waters, in a way, and it was no different on this occasion.
No wild celebrations were being held in the palace, just a few servants going around offering glasses of expensive liquors to those passing by.
Pulcinella followed one to the ballroom, which was significantly more filled with noble guests and, at a glance to the far wall, two Harbingers engaged in conversation.
Not about to waste any time, he walked up to the pair, their heads so close together they did not notice his approach at first. Only when the Mayor stopped in front of them and they heard the tapping of his cane disappear did they turn around.
One of them was the Doctor, his stance telling of his indifference to the Mayor. But it wasn’t him the latter showed interest in.
No, it was the tall man beside him, dressed in sleek blacks, sharp brown eyes behind a pair of glasses. His hair had lost some of its luster, silver streaks cascading down his shoulder in waves, yet there was no doubt about who it was.
A recognizing spark showed in those eyes, almost in disbelief that the elf would be here, too.
“Regrator. Marvelous, what a man you’ve grown into since we last met.”
The Regrator, or Pantalone now, could not help a little smile at this greeting. Traces of joy softened his features that had made him seem cold and unapproachable from afar.
“And you, Mayor. You’re still the exact same as all those years ago.”
With a wink, the older man tapped the rim of his glasses with his cane’s tip.
“Well, how looks can be deceiving.”
A flustered red spread on the cheeks behind the other’s own, window-pane glasses in reaction.
A delicate, gloved hand reached to readjust the cane hanging from his arm – clearly decorative, as opposed to the Mayor’s practical one.
The Doctor observed their exchange from the side, at last deciding he’d seen enough.
“Guess I’ll be leaving you to catch up.”
“…”
“Lovely to see you’re already forming such deep bonds with your new colleagues,” Pulcinella said, trying to keep their conversation going.
The Regrator let out a superficial chuckle, “Deep bonds? Oh, please, I think you misunderstand. There’s nothing going on between the two of us except for business.”
Almost defensively, like an attempt at sparking a specific reaction, he added, “Can’t two men simply work together without engaging in sexual activity?”
The Mayor, however, was taken aback by the other’s brazen wording.
“I wouldn’t have put it like that, do excuse my assumptions,” he apologized.
Pantalone waved his hand gently.
“No offense taken, Mayor. It’s not that I find the idea abhorrent… That, only when it’s in context with him.”
At the last words, he nodded subtly in the Doctor’s direction, then smiled again.
“It really is good to see you again.”
“You really did make it far. I simply had to confirm it with my own eyes, and congratulate you, of course. Now that our fields of work intertwine, I hope we’ll find ways to peacefully collaborate in the name of our nation.”
“You hope?” Pantalone said, “Do not think I don’t know who to thank for my title. Did you know? Without that letter you forged, I never would have made it.
They were ready to toss me out right then and there had the recommendation not fluttered out. Who would’ve expected the respected Mayor to do such an immoral thing?”
The elf remained unintimidated, “It was for a good cause. Besides, it hardly makes a difference who puts the ink on the paper when the words are copied as intended. Or do you intend to use this information as blackmail, hm?”
Looking the slightest bit amused, the Regrator indicated for them to continue their conversation by a standing table near the windows.
Less people lingered around it, therefore less would have an ear on them. And it was less conspicuous for Pantalone to lean closer to the other here by leaning on the table.
Still, the way he whispered seemed unnecessarily intimate.
“No, Mayor, I wasn’t alluding to that. Listen, what I want you to know… I didn’t realize how lucky I was back then, but the more I really thought about it, the clearer it became to me I did not give you enough credit where it was due.
When I arrived in Snezhnaya, I believed I had nothing when, in truth, I was given everything. By you. And to this day I can not understand your reasoning for so selflessly taking me in, but it doesn’t matter to me. Whether it was out of ulterior motives or not; In the end, it is thanks to your decisions that I’m now here.
You don’t want repayment, yes,” he interrupted when Pulcinella tried to get a word in, “All I’m saying is, I won’t forget who made my dream possible.
You, Mayor, need not hope for peaceful association between us. It is a given. And maybe, someday, we’ll have balanced out a sort of equivalent exchange.”
Any other person saying such things, the Mayor would have thought this was an attempt to get on his good side, make an ally in the ranks.
However, Pantalone clearly wasn’t in need of that – not if he already had business worked out with the Second Harbinger.
Oh, he was sincere.
Which was not something the Rooster was used to in his position, something the Regrator would also learn. Yet it was also this that made it feel all the more important to preserve the friendly terms they stood on. Ensuring that this, at least, might remain a stable point in the future for the organization to draw its power from.
Politics and economics – with just one under control, half a country could be ruled. If both found ways to work together harmoniously, a country could thrive beyond imagination.
And in truth, Pulcinella only used this logic to justify his genuine want for becoming closer with the other man, his eyes so dark and wistful, and focused only on him.
“Goodness, Regrator, I wouldn’t even know what-“
“Fu Ren,” Pantalone corrected him, his hand coming up to lie atop the elf’s, “For you, it will always be Fu Ren.”
Avoiding the other’s intense gaze to look down at their hands, Pulcinella suddenly couldn’t shake the feeling of something else being hinted at.
He had a hunch as to what it was, and was surprised when he realized it wouldn’t bother him if it were true. On the contrary. Whatever the Regrator was out for, he’d welcome it.
“If it’s not too forward, Fu Ren, perhaps we could discuss in peace and quiet over tea sometime? It could be a nice opportunity to catch up again.”
“Oh, it could be so much more than that.”
This, at last, cleared the last of his suspicions.
~
Fair enough, tea was what had started it.
Them slowly growing closer again, falling back into their old dynamics.
Talking was effortless, and it could be about the simplest or even deepest things – even when their opinions differed, they remained respectful, working out compromises and middle grounds if they got carried away.
Oh yes, they could speak and listen for days on end, were their duties not in the way. It never got boring, and the private meetings became more frequent as their affection for each other grew. For the attentiveness, the free speech, the exciting debates they held, the fun and comfort they experienced by merely being in the other’s presence.
Soon, there was no secret left to tell; everything had already been entrusted to the next, yet none of the two feared it would be turned against them.
All it did was engrave their relationship even deeper in the components of their soul – shared time, shared words, undeniable proof of a bond between them.
Unseen at first, but turning more tangible with each additional hour they locked eyes until, at one point, both knew. That what they had was everything that people would call love.
And once they had the mutual understanding they felt this word fit right, there was nothing in their way anymore.
Innocent tea meetings turned to dates, strolls through the city led to the Mayor’s house, late business dinners ended in the bedroom…
In front of a mirror, the Regrator sat with his eyes closed, feeling the elf’s nimble hands working through his hair and gently brushing along his scalp when he pulled another strand into a braid.
Though they spoke not for a while, the silence between them was more comfortable than anything, made melodious by the distant hum of a phonograph, two rooms down.
With a scarred, fine hand, Pantalone repeated the soft motion of a dance on a little pillow he held, in the same pattern he and the Mayor had danced before retreating to the bedroom.
When the song gradually faded completely, Pulcinella took his hand before it stopped as well, pressing a soft kiss to its back.
“Have a look, see how you like it.”
Pantalone opened his eyes, facing his reflection.
Tilting his head this and that way to get a good look at every angle of the multiple braids woven into his hair, running his hand through it a bit.
Smiling with a pleased look, he replied.
“It looks magnificent! You have an incredible talent for this.”
“Oh, it’s less a talent than it is necessity where I’m from,” the Mayor said, combing through his own short hair, “There’s one reason I’m not there anymore.”
Laughing, Pantalone reached for the belt of the elf’s robe and pulled him in, trapping him with his legs as he lay down on the bed.
“Well, aren’t I glad you’re not? And that you’re here with me instead, right where I like you… Are you working tomorrow?”
Hands running down the beautiful man’s sides, the Mayor leaned in for a kiss before giving an answer.
“I can take half the day off, depending on how long you’d have me.”
But Pantalone held him down, “Merely half a day?”
Pulcinella attempted another, appeasing kiss, “For a whole night together. Is that not reasonable enough?”
Although he grumbled, the banker found it acceptable.
“Make it worth it,” he demanded provocatively, undressing the Mayor’s robe and feeling him up before the other could intervene.
Not that he would have – indulging in the invitation, the elf did much the same.
Their lips met softly, breaking up briefly to throw another clothing item to the side and reveal more places to caress, connect.
Legs intertwined, and the air around them became hotter than before, a fire having nothing on them.
The Mayor touched the other sweetly, showering him in affection, revering strokes over delicate skin, and Pantalone’s only reaction was to pull him closer. And, in the deepest throes of passion, he craned his head back, allowing his partner to take advantage of his exposed neck.
No further communication needed, Pulcinella did just what he knew the other enjoyed. He left trails of kisses along his throat, feeling Pantalone’s breaths becoming heavier while he pleasured him in other ways at the same time.
Then, when he bit down gently, that’s when Pantalone truly melted. Shuddered, whispering drunken words of love until no piece of sense could be retained.
Until the end, the Mayor gladly watched this man become undone, and even after, he looked with fondness at him lying down beside him.
Entirely blissed out, he hugged the other’s waist and inched closer, resting his head upon the Mayor’s shoulder.
Silence enveloped them for a time in which all they did was enjoy each other’s warmth, not even trying to fall asleep yet – just dwell.
Dwell, knowing the other was there.
Pulcinella had eventually picked up on twirling through Pantalone’s hair, his pretty braidwork still intact, when the latter asked out of the blue, “When are we getting married?”
Thinking he misheard, the Mayor played the question over in his head at least twice before he could think of an answer.
“Did I miss our engagement?”
The other’s smile was audible in his next words, “This is our engagement. So, tell me, what plans do we have?”
The Mayor huffed, clearly amused. But without taking it too lightly, he gave it some thought, twirling another lock of raven hair.
“What plans, good question. Let’s keep it small, simple. We don’t need to make a big fuss out of it, get the people too excited.”
“Like a mere business transaction?”
“Don’t say you want the fuss,” the Mayor warned mildly.
Pantalone mused, enjoying the elf’s loving touches, “No fuss, just us. Let’s sign it somewhere meaningful. What do you say, the mountain pass?”
“It’s not a bit too morbid?”
“Oh, please. The mountains bring me luck.”
Pulcinella shrugged and softly sighed, looking into his partner’s expectant eyes.
There truly was no denying those beautiful browns, a perfect reminder that no middle ground they ever found would be a middle as long as the Mayor was as infatuated as he was.
And he made it clear by pressing a kiss into the Regrator’s hair.
“Anything you wish, Fu Ren.”
Lucky or not, the elf only hoped there would be no casualties this time around.
“Thank you, Mayor.”