Chapter Text
Dima couldn’t really hear the music anymore. Maybe that was a good thing, with the words that kept repeating into his ears. He couldn’t tell anymore if it was the rain, or if those were tears running down his cheeks.
He didn’t want to think about it anymore. He didn’t want to let go of his last hope. He didn’t want him to be gone.
But there was nothing he could do about it now.
He felt stupid for thinking he could fix this, why would he think this could work? It didn’t even make any sense. Nothing made sense anymore.
Dima finally tucked the notebook back into his jacket; it was practically soaked now, and the rainwater bled through his sweater and left an uncomfortable wet spot to his side. He shivered.
Trying to get away from the crowd was hard enough on these crutches. The trembling wasn’t helping. Dima shuddered as the wind chilled his damp clothes.
Sounds were muffled and he was beginning to feel quite numb - everything was just a bit surreal. His brain buzzed with silence and he stopped paying attention to what was ahead of him.
He felt himself hit the ground before he even registered the sound of his crutch catching on the crack in the pavement. Spitting out a few curses, he wondered if it would even be worth it to get back up. Rain continued to hit his crumpled body, soaking into his coat as he lay on the wet sidewalk. He hugged the notebook to his chest and reminded himself not to cry.
The steady rumble of a car engine made its presence known beside him. Dima finally managed to force his head up from the ground. He squinted at the red SUV that had stopped beside his place on the sidewalk.
“Dmitry!” a familiar voice called through the rolled-down window of the car. Dima didn’t even have the strength to be upset.
He heard a door slam shut and let his face fall back to the pavement. Footsteps approached and his grip tightened around the notebook.
“Dmitry,” he heard again before he felt hands pulling him up. He was pretty sure he heard the start of something else too before his savior hesitated and went quiet. Probably thought better of asking if Dima was okay.
Dima growled and jerked away, but put little effort into resisting as Anton helped him up. It was all just out of habit at this point, making a show of it to coddle his pride. Anton didn’t flinch or snap back this time.
A pit of rage burned in Dima’s stomach at the thought of Anton. Were he in a better state right now, he’d-
Anton had already managed to get him into the car. Disoriented, Dima’s head spun around the lapse in time as his hands mechanically took the crutches from Anton.
He stared forward, tension held in the subtle crease of his brow. Anton was saying something to him as he got into the driver’s seat, but Dima wasn’t listening.
“Dmitry,” Anton tried again. Dima’s head snapped around to face him, expression guarded. Golden-eyes caught his gaze and just shut his mouth, frowning as he looked back forward and pulled the car back onto the road.
Silence filled the space for a while, besides the dulled sounds of the Moscow streets. Dima’s mind twisted again as it cruelly went back over the past few hours.
“It’s late. Are you hungry?” Anton’s question broke Dima away from his thoughts.
“Wh- What?” Dima croaked. Anton paused.
“I’m… sorry about earlier. We.. we were both just a little worked up. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
Dima seethed at the audacity Anton had to talk like that. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to deny him, so he just gave him a look instead. Anton met his gaze from the corner of his eyes, and frowned.
“So do you want something to eat or not?”
“I’m not hungry.”
Anton let out a strained sigh and gripped the steering wheel a little harder. His sharp eyes went back to the road.
Dima was getting tired of Anton trying to meet him halfway.
“Why can’t you ever leave me alone?”
Anton almost choked for a second- “You called me!”
“Yeah, earlier! Not for this!” Dima’s brow twitched, hands gesturing wildly.
“What, so you just wanted to stay there on the sidewalk then?” Anton shot back, his irritation breaking through.
“I don’t need your help.”
Anton just sighed again. Harsh, from his nose. He stopped the car, pulling over next to the sidewalk again.
“Get out.”
Dima suddenly turned to him, offended.
“What, why?” he blurted, hand clutching the side of his seat. Anton just turned his head to him slightly and stared disapprovingly.
“I thought you didn’t want my help,” Anton deadpanned. Dima gave an infuriated glare and opened his mouth to shoot back, but suddenly stopped himself.
“Uh, well…” He sat back in his seat, bristles smoothing down a bit.
Anton watched as Dima hesitated, his movements stalling. “What?”
Dima shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“Fine, I’ll take you back to your dorm,” Anton sighed, his hand moving back to the steering wheel and gaze landing back on the road.
Dima suddenly felt very much like he did not want to go back to that room.
“Ngh- wait!” he choked out, jolting up in his seat. Anton snapped his attention back to his passenger, brows furrowed in confusion.
“Okay, what then?!” Anton raised his hands in irritated resignation.
Dima sat back down normally again, fidgeting with his sleeve. He could feel that Anton did not stop looking at him.
Anton sighed, his face softening. “What’s going on, Dmitry?”
His tone was something closer to genuine concern now, and Dima tried not to flinch at the prospect. He frowned, turning away. His eyes focused on whatever he could look at outside the passenger window.
Anton hesitated.
“Where would you like to go?” he asked carefully, making another attempt. Dima just tensed for a moment, tentatively peeking back over. The look on his face was something sorry - Anton felt it was out of place on him.
“I… I don’t care. Just not back to the dorms. I don’t want to go back there right now.” Dima tugged at his own sleeves and refused to make eye contact, but he’d managed a more steady voice now. He sounded bitter.
Anton was about to ask why not, but stopped himself. He just nodded instead. “Okay.”
He thought for a long moment, but eventually pulled the car back onto the street. They were quiet for the rest of the ride, save Dima’s occasional flinching when he moved wrong.
He felt a little sick to the stomach. He didn’t really know where Anton was taking him, but he could only guess it was his apartment as they got closer to that area. Besides, it was the most logical option. Other than, maybe, the police or something...
As if finally noticing his cold and damp clothing, Dima shivered and tucked his chin to his chest, arms hugging his body loosely. The hot air started blowing a little harder.
He was hesitant to get out when they finally parked in front of the complex. But Anton waited, holding the passenger door open for him like he was a respected guest. Dima gingerly climbed out of the car, clumsily pulling out his crutches and wedging them under his arms. Anton shut the door for him after he started moving towards the building.
They took the elevator - of course there was an elevator. Anton held the door for him again when he let him in. Dima could practically smell the guilt and sympathy like Anton’s expensive cologne. It didn’t help his stomach.
Unsteady on his crutches, Dima quickly went for the couch. He felt overwhelmed, out of place surrounded by Anton’s nice things. At least he was a little bit warmer and a little bit drier.
Anton brought him a blanket, setting it on the other end of the couch. “Do you need anything?”
Dima shook his head.
“Are…” Anton hesitated, “..you sure?”
Biting the inside of his cheek, Dima nodded stiffly. He didn’t look up at Anton, preferring to keep his gaze to the floor. Anton just watched, stifling another sigh.
He walked away after that. Dima couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not.
The lights flicked off while Dima was busying himself with trying to lay down comfortably on the couch - his injured leg was certainly making it difficult. He shrugged off his coat and threw it down on the floor not too far away, kicking off his shoe beside it. Anton’s footsteps retreated down the hall and Dima didn’t hear from him for the rest of the night.
The blanket Anton had given him was surprisingly warm. Had Dima not still been damp, perhaps he could have been comfortable. Instead, though, he shifted miserably on the couch until his clothes eventually dried and stiffened.
Dima slept poorly and unpleasantly. The next morning, Anton drove him back to the university, and the ride was just as poor and unpleasant. He sat through classes with nothing but the notebook, lost in his own mind. He wasn't concerned with paying attention anyway.
By that afternoon, he'd managed to get nothing done, not eat anything, and ignore his phone messages entirely. He'd almost forgotten to actually leave his last class when it ended, too.
Limbs heavy, Dima managed to drag himself out of the building and walk over to a bench - it had gotten too stuffy for him inside. His fingers tapped clumsily at his screen as he finally decided to check his notifications.
He had a few missed messages from Olya. Chewing his cheek, he typed out some excuse about how he 'hadn't been feeling well' and apologized for not getting back to her sooner.
He watched the screen for a drawn-out moment, anticipating. It felt like ages before he actually got a response.
okay, no worries! do you need anything? i can come over
Dima swallowed hesitantly, tapping out a reply.
im not at the dorm, just left class, i can meet up with you?
His fingers tapped nervously on his thigh as he pressed send. Olya's answer came quickly.
alright, im at home
Dima bit his cheek again and sent a quick 'ok' with a few heart emojis. He allowed himself to sit for a few more minutes before he picked his crutches back up and rose. He was glad Olya didn't live too far.
He was about ready to die by the time he made it up to Olya's apartment. Practically slumping onto the door, he knocked clumsily and waited. He had to catch himself as the door unlatched and opened, rebalancing. Olya let out a quiet laugh, pulling him inside.
"You do look tired, everything okay?" she noted, voice light. Dima shrugged away from her a little, then went to sit down.
"Just have a lot going on," he muttered, leaning the crutches against the table.
"Aha.." Olya nodded, eyes narrowing a little. "Well, do you... want to talk about it?"
Dima traced circles on the surface of the table with a finger. He looked away. "No..."
Olya crossed her arms. "Don't lie to me, Dima. Why did you want to come here if you won't talk to me?"
Dima stayed quiet, now seeming much more interested in looking at the circles he traced.
"Is this about last night?" she pressed on, voice flattening. She uncrossed her arms, stepping closer.
Dima could tell she was not pleased. He forced himself to finally speak up.
"Well, I don't know, maybe..."
Olya sat down at the table and looked at him, leveling them. Her eyes showed impatience. "You do know."
Dima flinched away subtly, drawing in a breath. His finger now tapped anxiously on the table.
"Dima."
Dima winced, hand curling into a fist. "I just... don't know what to think anymore."
"Think about what?" Olya's lip twitched into a frown.
“…us?”
Olya scoffed, now showing her irritation fully. “I already told you, it’s not like that. Stop getting so hung up on things that don’t matter.”
“Things that don’t matter?!” Dima sat up sharply, leaning forward with a sudden offense in his eyes. “Things that don’t matter, huh?”
Olya paused, her own movements stuttering back as Dima continued.
“I don’t understand you! Why do you act like this is nothing!” Dima’s voice was louder now, bolder.
“It’s not a big deal, Dima,” Olya rebutted sternly, folding her arms over her chest. Her brows furrowed defensively.
Dima’s eye twitched. “Not a big deal,” he echoed coldly.
“Clearly it’s a big deal,” he scoffed.
Olya stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“Why are you so touchy about it? I just don’t get why you pretend not to care when you clearly do.”
“I don’t care. I’m fine.”
“Then why are you acting all upset about it?”
Olya inhaled sharply. “I’m upset that you won’t leave me alone about something we already talked through and agreed to leave behind.”
“I never agreed to that! I never even had a chance to ask anything!” Dima gestured up sharply with a hand.
“You stayed quiet on your own.”
Dima frowned, putting his fist back on the table. They were quiet for a few tense moments.
“So you really don’t care then,” Dima remarked, looking off to the side.
With a sharp scoff, Olya rolled her eyes. “What does this matter to you. It’s my business, I decide how I think about it.”
Dima kept his gaze directed away from her. “I don’t understand how you could just… be like this.”
“It’s not something for you to worry about.”
“Well I’m worried!” Dima turned to her, eyes betraying emotion.
Olya just looked at him, a displeased frown on her face - almost like one would look at a child who’d gone out of line.
Dima bit his cheek to keep himself from stammering. He huffed, leaning back in his chair. Maybe Olezha had been right, miserably.
“…I guess I didn’t know you as well as I thought I did,” he commented coldly. Olya tensed again, face tightening.
She glared back just as offensively. “Maybe you’re right about that.”
Dima stood up abruptly, snatching up his crutches as the chair screeched back. Olya didn’t stop him. He would have slammed the door on his way out had he had the strength, but instead he just hobbled out and let it swing shut behind him.
He sat down at the top of the stairs for a while, head in his hands. He tried to calm his heavy breathing, but frustration tasted like bile in his throat. It was only now that his hunger caught up to him.
It was a bit of a blur after that. He didn’t quite know how he ended up outside Anton’s apartment complex again, but as he stared up at the looming building the sky seemed to get a little darker. Dima swallowed thickly, his body carrying him forward.
The elevator ride was almost unbearable alone. The short walk down the hall felt leagues away. It took every ounce of Dima’s energy to raise his finger to the doorbell and press the button.
Quiet shuffling from inside the apartment. Dima stood weakly in the hall, chewing his lip. The door cracked open slowly, Anton peering out from across the threshold. He looked uncertain, withdrawn.
“Hello, Dmitry. Do you need something?” His voice was sterile and far too formal for Dima’s muddled brain.
Anton seemed to understand something when he caught the look in his eyes. He let his shoulders relax and stepped aside, allowing the wounded one in. Dima drifted melancholically to a kitchen chair. His head hung as he sat down, hands clasped on the tabletop.
Anton cleared his throat, approaching him.
“You look tired. Can I get you anything? Tea?” he asked, seeming much less sharp than usual.
Dima let out a humorless laugh, something bright and strained. Anton averted his gaze.
Dutifully, he walked into the kitchen with a sigh and opened a cabinet, pulling out a bottle and two glasses. Sitting down across from Dima, he gave him a very intentional look and set the glasses down in front of them. Dima looked down at it and said nothing.
Anton poured a shot into each, then set the bottle to the side. He nudged Dima’s glass towards him; he took it tentatively. Raising the glass to his lips, he threw it back and let the taste fill his mouth. Something rich, strong. He had a nagging thought that just that shot had enough worth in it to feed him for a week.
Anton took his own shot shortly after Dima, setting his glass down firmly.
“So,” he started, “care to tell me what’s going on?”
Dima pursed his lips, snatching the bottle up and pouring himself another shot. Anton did not stop him.
“Ghh.” He gulped down his second shot.
“I don’t know,” he drawled, planting his elbow on the table and resting his cheek against his hand. Anton sighed and stared at him across the table.
Dima didn’t last very long under that gaze - he sighed, head falling, and held the back of his neck.
“A lot. You wouldn’t understand…”
Anton scoffed, though not unkindly. “Okay.”
Dima sat up again and gave him a pointed glare. Keeping eye contact, he stiffly poured himself another shot. Anton glanced down at it briefly, something unreadable flickering in his expression before a stony gaze returned.
Watching Dima take the shot, Anton rested his hands on the table in front of him. “You’ve been acting really strange,” he remarked, voice even.
“Oh, wow, really?! Have I?” Dima quipped sarcastically, rolling his eyes. The alcohol had clearly done wonders on loosening his disposition.
Anton sat back, still regarding him with measured countenance. His sharp eyes, like some hawk, darted observantly over Dima’s face.
“So what is it then?” Anton prompted yet again.
“What’s it to you?” Dima snarled. Anton stared calmly back.
“You came to me.”
Dima gave a very offended glare when he pointed that out. He reached again for the bottle, but this time Anton’s hand darted out and grasped it first, sliding it back towards himself. Dima swung his hand clumsily towards it, but it was out of his reach too quickly for him.
“You’ve had enough,” Anton decreed, his steady voice starting to feel more grating to Dima’s ears.
“I want more,” he demanded childishly. Anton just stared at him with mild reproach.
Dima sighed pointedly and slammed his shot glass back onto the table in frustration. Anton continued to watch him quietly - the observed one was beginning to feel increasingly uncomfortable under his gaze.
Anton finally broke the silence, taking his time with the words. “Why did you come here?”
Dima stiffened. “That’s… none of your concern.”
“In fact, it is my concern.”
“Is not.” Dima hiccuped.
Anton held a hand to his face and sighed, shaking his head. “Come on, talk to me! You have no reason to be here but for that!” He gestured at Dima with his hand, looking at him again. Dima just stared in offense.
“You’re acting foolish,” Anton chastised. Dima’s face scrunched in aggravation.
“Yes, and you’re sooo smart,” he drawled, rolling his eyes.
Anton’s resolve finally began to crack, his brow twitching down in irritation. “I’d be careful with the attitude, Dmitry.”
Dima scowled, seething. “What, is that a threat?”
“If you’re just going to be difficult then you can get out of my home,” Anton warned, back straightening as he pointed towards the door.
Dima refused him by sitting firmly in his place, glaring at him truculently.
“Why won’t you just talk to me normally like a reasonable person!” Anton snapped, waving a hand at Dima aggressively.
Dima stood up abruptly, impulsively rash.
“I don’t want to talk to you!” he shouted, practically bursting forth to haul himself over the table at Anton. “I hate you-“
Anton leaned back, dodging a fist with surprise. Dima had to catch himself when he missed, which was an impressive feat as he had to accommodate his broken leg.
With Dima sliding off the table in hot pursuit, Anton scooted back in his chair to evade him. He stood up and took another step back as well, but Dima was already jumping at him in some fit of impulsive rage.
Dima growled furiously and threw a punch again, and this time it did make contact - Anton lurched sideways as he felt knuckles hit his jaw. He gritted his teeth and pointedly held back a grunt. Dima jerked towards him again, but Anton put out his hand.
“Dmitry, stop!” he snapped forcefully, his composure having broken away to a furrowed brow.
Dima panted rapidly, quickly breaking the temporary pause. An angered sound tore itself from his throat as he lunged for Anton again with all of his power - Anton was unprepared, and lost balance as Dima's body hit him full force.
They ended up in a heap on the floor with a disconcerting thud. Dima was still in a fit, his fists flying frantically for Anton's face. With every blow that hit, Anton fought back less and less. By the time Dima even realized what he was doing Anton wasn't even trying to wrestle him off anymore. Instead, he just took each hit with some sort of exhausted resignation and grunted quietly under his breath.
Dima was almost overwhelmed himself - he threw punch after desperate punch, not even trying too hard to aim. He landed a blow, and another, each one with a sickening crack, until everything got too loud and tears seared his eyes.
Anton barely noticed how the punches started to slow, and he could vaguely register the shaking breaths from above him. He cracked open his eyes again and looked up at Dima, who had suddenly stopped his onslaught.
He was crying. His hands were held awkwardly down in front of him as he looked down at Anton and sobbed. Anton stared back, wide eyed. He lifted up a hand and touched at his lip, just below his nose, and pulled it back to look at it. His fingers were red where they had touched his face.
Dima finally broke after he did that, scrambling off of Anton as if he'd been burned. He ended up sitting wearily on the floor with his back against the table leg, panting sharply and wiping his tear-stained face.
Anton sat up shakily and let out a breath. He was more surprised than anything, though obviously shaken after being suddenly assaulted in his own home...
He looked down at his hands, his blood still staining the fingers of his right. He exhaled shakily, then forced himself up, using the tabletop to steady himself. Reaching for his phone stiffly, he impulsively wiped his nose again. Still bleeding.
"I'm calling you a taxi."
Dima didn't answer, couldn't muster any protest. He just stared, looked without seeing, and it was frankly concerning. Anton tried not to look at him too much.
He felt he should be more upset. He should be mad; he should be throwing Dima out and yelling at him to never come back... and yet he didn't.
Instead, he felt some sort of melancholy. There was something so clearly wrong here, but he couldn't figure out what and Dima clearly wasn't going to tell him.
Anton walked to the kitchen while he spoke on the phone, then promptly set it down after and went to the sink to wash his face. Dima didn't move at all until Anton came back to him, and he just looked up at him with something pitiful in his eyes, ashamed. Anton helped him up, muttering some worthless encouragements that neither of them were really paying attention to.
He took him to the door, picking up his crutches as they went. He gave them back stiffly before ushering him out the door and instructing him to wait for the taxi outside.
And just like that, Dima had no choice but to go back to his dorm.
He knew he couldn't avoid it forever, but as the taxi drew nearer to the dormitory building, he felt his guts tying themselves into knots. The cold air pierced straight into his mind when he stepped out again, and he dragged himself miserably into the building. He was lucky it hadn't gotten too late, and he got into his room without a problem.
The only problem was being in the room itself.
It was cold, dark, empty... almost suffocating in its stillness. Dima threw off his coat onto the desk chair and kicked off his shoe to the side, slumping down onto his bed almost immediately and letting the crutches clatter to the floor beside it. He curled up on his side, staring at the tattered notebook he still held in his hands.
He let it slip down onto the bed beside him and went limp against the mattress, his chest tight. Biting his lip, he stared at the empty bed across the room, and the tears came.