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    Summary

    "Just... plant them? Without asking anyone's permission?" The last words snap him out of the spell of Daniil's presence, the inviting promise of his words, and he forces himself upright. Clears his throat, shakes his head, as if to dispel the twyrelike bloom of Daniil's words. "There have to be rules about that."

    And Daniil laughs, wild and delighted and just a little manic—a sound unlike anything Artemy has ever heard. He reaches forward, and those black leather gloves come to rest, chill as night-cooled skin, on Artemy's cheeks.

    "Artemy," he says very seriously, his eyes boring into Artemy's own, their faces so close Artemy can practically feel his lip ring whispering against his own skin. "Fuck the rules."

    Modern/University AU, written for 2026 Burakhovsky Week (one prompt per chapter).

    Language:
    English
    Words:
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    Chapters:
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