Archive of Our Own

“Congratulations,” says Odette, when Mitya walks into the greenroom.

Mitya blinks. Her voice is so dry that he almost wonders if she’s being sarcastic. “Uh, thanks? I mean, I don’t think the latest development in my research was that impressive, haha. But if a star like yourself wants to congratulate me…”

“Not about that, silly!” Vodyanitsa flounces into the room and flops delightedly onto the greenroom couch. “Hey, it looks way better in here, Odette. Have you been redecorating?”

“As a matter of fact, I have,” Odette says evenly. “I’m particularly fond of the new carpet. The round decals are quite appealing.”

“Right? The pattern is so charming! Makes me feel like I’m spinning around!” Vodyanitsa giggles, kicking her feet up in the air and flashing the blood-red bottoms of her theater heels. Her skirt falls down to her thighs, but she doesn’t appear to care. Mitya politely averts his eyes.

“Pardon,” says Mitya, valiantly not looking at her. “But—congratulations for what, exactly? I don’t think I’ve done anything noteworthy lately.”

Vodyanitsa puts her feet back down and gives him a look. “Huh. Really?”

“Well, no,” Mitya says, feeling nervous all of a sudden. “Did I hit a new milestone of theater attendance?”

“Noooo,” says Vodyanitsa suspiciously. She squints at him. “Are you messing with me?”

“I would never,” says Mitya, who absolutely would at the first given opportunity.

Vodyanitsa squints harder.

“I’m really not messing with you this time,” Mitya says, just in case. “It’s been uneventful lately, in fact. Even more so than usual. What could you possibly be congratulating me about?”

Odette chucks something at his head. It’s a magazine.

“Your relationship with Mister Valeriy, of course!” Vodyanitsa says, beaming.

Mitya stares at her. “Sorry, my what?”

Odette looks at him judgmentally. She points one manicured finger at the cover image—and this article is the cover of the magazine; it must be truly uneventful for this to be the biggest news story of the week. “Explain this, then.”

Mitya looks down at the cover image. It’s a photo of him and Valeriy, captured in a crystalline moment by themselves. They’re… in his lab, maybe? The photo has been taken through the window, giving the whole image a frosted, dreamlike quality. The lighting is warm. Mitya’s laughing at something, his head thrown back, and Valeriy’s looking at him with a strange fondness in his eyes, almost sickening.

It really does look like they’re—like they’re…

“Oh, I remember that day,” Mitya says, peering at the image closer. “So I was working late in the lab one night, and…”

***

Valeriy had been pacing a hole in the floor for the past hour when he finally opened his mouth. “Mister Mitya—”

“Don’t start,” Mitya interrupted, before he could even say anything. He stared at the spinning model: a miniature weapon with the energy of his own stellar linchpin distilled into it. Or it was supposed to possess the energy of his own stellar linchpin, but something wasn’t working, something hadn’t been working for the last three months, and he was supposed to be a genius; why hadn’t he figured this out yet?

“You haven’t eaten,” Valeriy said, because he had no goddamn respect for his superiors. (Mitya wasn’t actually sure that he outranked Valeriy in the Fatui diplomatic standings, but surely he did, right? Right?) “In, by my count, forty-nine hours.”

“So?” said Mitya, sharper than he meant. “How is that your problem?”

Valeriy sighed like he was trying to carry the weight of the world. “You are only human. You need to eat.”

“You spend all your time chasing me down when I skip work. Then, when I’m actually working, you just want to get me to stop. Make up your damn mind, why don’t you?”

“I want you to work effectively. That requires taking care of you.”

Somehow Valeriy’s calm demeanor only pissed him off more. “I don’t need you to take care of me,” he snapped. “Can’t you leave me alone for two minutes? I was fine before you came into my life. And I’ll be fine after you’re gone.”

Valeriy flinched, just minutely.

All the fight abruptly drained out of Mitya’s body. “Sarge,” he said, quieter. Maybe an apology would have been appropriate, but he couldn't get the words out. He could hardly see straight. “I—well, I’m frustrated with myself, not with you. Don’t let it get to you.”

“You are frustrated because you need food,” Valeriy corrected.

Mitya finally looked up from the stupid scale model, spinning around and around. “I haven’t been hungry in, like, thirty-six hours. I’m probably fine.”

“That is what happens when your body is entering a trauma response,” he said flatly. “You have deprived yourself to such an extent that you can no longer even—”

“Okay, okay,” Mitya interrupted, embarrassed. “I see how that sounds bad. But I ate, like.” He counted on his fingers. “Eight hours ago. So there.”

“Ate what?”

“…Coffee.”

Valeriy gave him the world’s most disappointed look.

“With milk!” Mitya protested, sounding pathetic. “There was milk in it!”

Valeriy sighed through his nose. When he reached out and grabbed Mitya’s arm, it was much less harsh than usual. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go out and have dinner.”

Mitya hesitated. “I shouldn’t leave,” he said, casting a glance back at the model. “I really think if I work on it for a while longer, it’ll just… click. Every time I think I’m about to make sense of it, it’s like everything just stops.” He exhaled, long and heavy. “I think there’s something wrong with me,” he confessed.

“There is,” Valeriy agreed.

Mitya was so shocked that all he could do was gape at him. “Sarge! You’re supposed to support me!”

“There is something deeply wrong with you. You didn’t eat for forty-nine hours.”

“It’s about to be fifty,” Mitya added, which was probably a terrible idea, but no one ever said he was smart.

Valeriy looked at him for a long, long moment.

“Just let me keep working,” Mitya begged. “Please? I look like shit. I can’t go out like this.”

It was impolite of Valeriy not to immediately reassure him that he looked beautiful, because he always looked beautiful—but at least Valeriy said, “I am going to have dinner delivered to us. You are going to eat it. All of it. I’ll feed it to you myself if I have to.”

Mitya grinned. He leaned forward on his elbows. “Really?”

“No,” Valeriy said. “I only said that to get you to pay attention. Evidently, it worked.”

“You sick bastard,” Mitya muttered. But it was true—he was distracted from his work now, and he could even feel the beginnings of hunger returning to his stomach. And fuck was he hungry. “I want spicy biang biang noodles.”

“Absolutely not,” Valeriy said immediately. “If you eat that on an empty stomach, you’ll feel terrible.”

Mitya groaned. “You hate me. You want to steal all the fun from the whole universe forever.”

“I’ll order you crystal shrimp. Easy to digest, filling, and catering to your flavor preferences.”

Maybe it was the two days of no sleep talking, but Mitya looked up at Valeriy standing over his desk and thought he must have been an angel sent down to watch over him. “Yeah,” he said vaguely. Then, before he lost his nerve: “Thank you.”

Valeriy looked baffled.

“I mean it,” Mitya insisted. “You’re looking out for me. So—thank you, Valeriy.”

Valeriy blushed.

Mitya threw his head back and cackled. “Sarge! Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed to hear your own name.”

“When it’s you saying it,” Valeriy said faintly, like he didn’t even know the words were coming out of his mouth.

This made no sense at all, but Mitya was sleep-deprived and hungry and dehydrated and his eyes hurt, and everything was suddenly very funny to him. He leaned in closer, peering at Valeriy’s pink cheeks, and laughed at him.

Valeriy looked back at him with his deep eyes, and suddenly Mitya was in over his head.

“You’re—you look nice. You’re nice-looking,” Mitya said, apropos of nothing. “Have I told you that before?”

Valeriy, seeming amused, said, “Yes, I suppose you have.”

“Well, it warrants repeating,” Mitya said. “You look nice.”

Valeriy’s mouth turned up into a fraction of a smile. “Rest, Mitya,” he said gently, leading him into the break room outside the lab. “I’ll be back with dinner. I’ll buy a grass jelly pudding as well, to help replenish your blood sugar.”

It was hardly his own fault, Mitya thought, that he fell a little in love with him right then. Because really—who wouldn’t?

***

“Anyway, he was just making sure I didn’t pass out from hunger,” Mitya explains. He slaps the cover image like he can debunk it through physical contact. “Totally normal for a mad scientist like me.”

Vodyanitsa gives him a thoughtful, albeit disappointed, look. “Oh. I suppose that makes sense.”

Relieved, Mitya hands the article back to her. “So if you’ll just put that away, we can talk about the show. I was paying such close attention this time, too! Vodyanitsa, your performance of Across the Night-Wind Skyline was simply marvelous today. I could hear the Natlanese influences, even though you—”

“Nuh-uh,” Vodyanitsa says, planting her hands on her hips. “You’re not getting out of this one that easily!” She flips open the magazine. “That was only the cover image. You know there’s a whole article about it, right? An eight-page article?”

Mitya starts sweating.

“It really is an evocative piece,” Odette adds. She stands at Vodyanitsa’s side and flips through the pages. “For example, this page contains testimony from a barista at Torchlight Books, and he gave a very convincing anecdote.”

Vodyanitsa giggles. “Yeah, the one about the romance novel reading! That was a hell of an opener. I could hardly believe it.”

Mitya feels the blood drain from his face. “The what?”

“Reading of a romance novel,” Odette repeats. “I believe it was…”

“Heart’s Golden Threshold,” Vodyanitsa fills in, grinning. “Wow, spicy! You’re a real authentic freak, huh? Sooo? Does that jog your memory, Mister Energy Scientist?”

“Don’t call me that,” Mitya mutters, embarrassed. It’s bad enough that Valeriy tells everyone they meet that he’s some kind of genius; can’t a guy want to be known for being an idiot and spending a lot of money on theater tickets, instead of for his Ph.D. in electrical engineering and his award-winning energy research? “Please, you should just call me Mitya. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Nope,” Vodyanitsa says delightfully.

“What?” Mitya says pitifully. And here he thought he had finally made up for the times he started scribbling in his notebook mid-singing…

Vodyanitsa sticks her tongue out at him. “Friendship revoked until you tell me the story.”

“Damn. You drive a hard bargain, Miss Vodyanitsa.” He sits back down and braces himself. “This was a couple years ago, back when Valeriy had just been assigned as my guard. He found me enjoying my afternoon coffee…”

***

When Mitya saw him coming, he yelped and hid behind a bookshelf. This would have been much more effective if he’d seen him earlier, rather than when he was about four feet away from his face.

Valeriy inhaled patiently. “Doctor Dmitry,” he said coldly. “I’ve already seen you. Stop hiding. I am here to accompany you back to work.”

Mitya groaned and came out of hiding. “Sarge, really?”

“This can be painless, if we both cooperate.”

He obviously meant if Mitya cooperated, but was too polite to phrase it that way. Mitya crossed his arms. “How did you even find me? I could have been anywhere.”

“I looked at your bank reimbursement information,” Valeriy said, completely shameless. “Your spending records indicate that you often come to this bookstore in the afternoon on Wednesdays and Fridays.”

Mitya gaped at him, too shocked to remember to be offended. “How did you get my bank information? That’s—that has to be illegal!”

“The bank receptionist was more than happy to provide your receipts after I explained my position.”

Damn. If only the bank weren’t affiliated with the Fatui, and if only Valeriy weren’t so highly ranked within the organization. Why did they send him someone so decorated, anyway? Shouldn’t taking care of Mitya be a punishment, not a promotion?

“I do find myself surprised that you didn’t detect my approach,” Valeriy continued. “Usually you’re quite good at evading your supervisors, or so I’m told.”

Mitya wasn’t sure if he should feel flattered or not. He settled for raising his eyebrows. “What, have you never read a good book?”

“Of course I have.”

“Then you should know why I didn’t notice you coming.”

Valeriy looked puzzled.

“Ever heard of literary immersion?” Mitya said incredulously. “It’s a bookstore. I was reading when you got here, so I didn’t notice. This novel is super engaging.”

Valeriy glanced down at his table. For the first time, he appeared to register that there were items on it. Was he so focused on Mitya that he didn’t even notice anything else? “You were drinking coffee,” he observed.

How was that what he noticed? “Uh, yeah. I was.” He thought Valeriy would have taken more notice of the book he was reading, but to each their own, he supposed. “This place gets imported beans from southern Sumeru. They’ve been my favorite ever since I was in university.”

Valeriy looked at him strangely. “I didn’t know that about you.”

“Well, yeah,” Mitya said, because he couldn’t help himself. “We’re work colleagues. You don’t need to know how I take my coffee. That’s a personal thing. It doesn’t matter to you, right?” He laughed, because the idea was so ridiculous.

Valeriy went quiet.

A strange, awkward atmosphere fell between them. Mitya wondered if he had said something wrong.

The silence was shattered by their waiter, a young man with bright eyes. He leaned in and smiled at them. “Oh! Are you done reading, Mister Mitya?”

“He is quite done,” Valeriy answered for him. “Thank you.”

“I am not,” Mitya said, offended. “That’s my book! I was reading that!”

The waiter looked extremely conflicted. He set the book back down on the table and cleared the coffee cup instead.

Mitya groaned and flopped down on the table dramatically. “And I was in the middle of such a good scene, too,” he lamented. “Hey—can you let me finish reading it, at least?”

Valeriy paused, just briefly.

“You can read it too, even,” Mitya said, handing the book to him. A devious idea had just struck, and he had to put on his best act of innocence. “That way you can guarantee I won’t stay longer than necessary. Researcher’s honor.” He put a hand over his heart.

Skeptically, Valeriy took the book. He opened it to the page Mitya had bookmarked, and set it on the table between them.

Mitya suppressed his grin and waited.

It took three seconds.

Valeriy looked at the page. Then he looked at Mitya. Then back at the page. Then at Mitya.

“So?” Mitya said lightheartedly. “What do you think? Exciting, right?”

“Doctor Dmitry,” Valeriy gritted out. He slammed the book closed and kept his hand over the cover, like this could prevent the concepts from emerging. “Please tell me you did not leave work to go read this—this—”

“It’s called romance.”

“This sexually explicit text,” Valeriy said, like he was delivering a verdict in court.

Truthfully, Mitya was mostly reading this romance for its element of mystery. He was already far past the sex scene—in fact, he had just found out that the female lead was seducing the detective to keep him from finding out about her lover, who had actually committed the murder—but he remembered roughly what page it was on, and had taken a guess. From the look on Valeriy’s face, he must have been right on the money.

“Shouldn’t you call me Mitya? I mean, we’ve already read porn together,” said Mitya, because he had a death wish.

Valeriy inhaled very deeply. “I suggest you start running now,” he said, lower than before. “You have thirty seconds.”

Mitya’s easygoing mood evaporated. “What?”

“Twenty-six,” said Valeriy darkly.

Mitya started running.

They terrorized half the city on their way back to the Armory Palace. Mitya wasn’t faster than him, but he was more devious; he was willing to dodge and weave through crowds where Valeriy would have politely gone the other way. He ran for almost half an hour before Valeriy finally caught him, chest heaving and eyes dark and both of their hearts racing in their ears.

“Hi, Sarge,” Mitya said breathlessly, looking up at him. He felt a little starry-eyed, for some reason. “Nice of you to drop by.”

“Dmitry,” said Valeriy. He extended his hand, helping him back up. “We are going back to work, so help me god.”

“Mitya.”

Valeriy looked at him oddly.

Mitya suddenly felt awkward about it. “I mean—everyone else calls me that. You should, too.”

“Hm,” said Valeriy, which seemed like a decisive no. “Let us return.”

At the time, Mitya thought he had lost that battle, through and through. But the next day Valeriy showed up and said, “Good morning, Mister Mitya.” And he was holding a cup of coffee made from southern Sumerian beans.

Mitya drank his coffee—made just the way he liked it, even down to the amount of milk—and decided that it was a good day.

***

“The wording was totally misleading,” Mitya says, leaning back again. “I was just trying to piss him off. You just said it yourself: I love messing with people, right?”

Vodyanitsa’s mouth scrunches up. “I guess. But you’ve never tried to make me read porn.”

Mitya supposes he hasn’t. Usually when he’s messing with Vodyanitsa, it’s less that he’s trying to pull a prank, and more that he’s a bumbling idiot trying to make up for his many, many failures. “Well—what about the time we went to the furniture store and pretended to be an unhappily married couple?” he says weakly. “That’s basically the same thing.”

Vodyanitsa raises her eyebrows pointedly. “That’s not the same at all!”

“You did what,” says Odette darkly.

Vodyanitsa giggles and slings her arm around Odette’s shoulder, unbothered by the murderous vibe hanging around her like a fog. “Aww, you’re so cute! Don’t worry. We got divorced right afterwards. And it was really funny to yell at him. I got a lot of stuff off my chest.”

Odette doesn’t look appeased.

“Come on,” Vodyanitsa says, looking at her sadly with her big round eyes. “Obviously I didn’t want to do it with you! I would never yell at you. You’re perfect.”

“Hmmm,” says Odette, finally sounding satisfied. For all that she claims not to be a prima donna, she sure is hard to please sometimes. “This is true. Our marriage would never be problematic enough to yell at each other in a furniture store.”

“But imagine if I married him,” Vodyanitsa says with relish. She points at Mitya the same way she might point at a particularly unripe banana in the grocery store. “He sucks! I mean, look at his ugly ass!”

“Hey,” Mitya says, offended.

“Sorry,” Vodyanitsa says, patting his shoulder reassuringly. “Your ass is great.”

Mitya snorts.

“Oh, speaking of which,” Odette says, smiling slightly. And that’s dangerous. She never smiles at him unless there’s some diabolical plan brewing in her evil, evil mind. She picks up the magazine again. “You’ve still got quite a few interview testimonies to explain.”

“Really?” He thought he was finally free of it. It’s not like he likes reading someone dissect his own life and tell him all the ways he’s grown stupidly infatuated with the captain of his security detail over the years. He’s well aware of that already, thanks.

“It’s a lengthy article.” There’s a sadistic sort of happiness in Odette’s voice, like she’s enjoying watching him struggle.

Mitya groans. He flips through the articles, skimming each interview. “Well, this one’s just about us going to the theater together. And you know the truth about that! He’s just chasing me down after I skip work. And this one—of course I took him to my personal tailor to get new clothes made for him. I can’t be seen with a guard who doesn’t match my style, can I? I have a reputation.” He’s grasping at straws here, but he’s on a roll, so he presses on. “And—wait, who gave this testimony? An anonymous source from the Energy Commission?”

“One of your research assistants, probably,” Odette says, peering at the article. “Which one is this? Oh. Oh.”

Vodyanitsa lights up like a bonfire. She cackles. “Oh my god, did you get there? Did you get to the mid-article photo spread?”

“The what,” Mitya says faintly.

Odette flips the page for him. He’s greeted with a full-color spread of his own self, gathered up gently in Valeriy’s arms in a princess carry. He’s peaceful, eyes closed, maybe asleep. His lips are parted just slightly, and Valeriy’s face is artistically blurred by the late-night lighting, leaving his expression vague enough that if the reader really squints, they can imagine that maybe he’s looking at Mitya’s face longingly.

Oh, no. Oh, this is bad.

At least he knows precisely when the other articles took place. This, on the other hand, could have been any one of about twelve different nights. In fact, this is almost a regular occurrence with them. He’s pretty sure Valeriy carried him like this maybe two weeks ago, after he got drunk one evening. Given how frequently this happens, he has no idea when this photo was taken.

But if he says that, then he has to admit that this is normal for them. And then…

“Wellllll?” says Vodyanitsa eagerly, grinning at him. “Go for it, loverboy!”

Mitya gives her his best pathetic eyes. “Can we please skip this one?”

Vodyanitsa gives him a skeptical look. “Come on, Mitya. I invented the wide-eyed begging stare, and that was four hundred years before you were even born. You can’t use my own tricks against me.”

Point taken. The curse of being friends with a fae, he supposes.

“You’re not getting out of this one,” Odette says. “In fact, I think I’ll make myself comfortable. We might be here for a while.” And she really does sit down on her favorite couch, right in the middle of the cushion, like she’s asserting dominance.

Vodyanitsa sits next to her and slings her legs across Odette’s lap. They both look at him in anticipation.

“Really? I mean, don’t you two have… rehearsals, or something?”

“Nope,” Vodyanitsa says brightly. “There is literally nothing more important in my entire life right now than listening to you fumble this.”

Mitya groans at the ceiling. “Fine,” he mumbles, thinking fast. “I can tell you the first time this happened, at least. I was in the big laboratory, you know, the one undergr—mmph!”

The scarf chokes him out immediately. He mentally heaves a sigh and shuts his big mouth.

Vodyanitsa giggles. “You really need that thing, huh?”

“You’re lucky that I’m already privy to most of the Fatui’s secrets,” Odette mutters, giving him an amused look.

Mitya wrestles with the scarf for a minute longer. When it finally deigns to release him, he gasps for breath, inhaling so fast he coughs. “Anyway,” he rasps. “I guess the specifics aren’t important. All you need to know is that I had been injured during an experiment, and Valeriy came to find me…”

***

“Mister Mitya,” Valeriy’s disembodied voice called, sounding anxious. “Mister Mitya!”

He didn’t even seem angry. That was how Mitya knew this was a dream. If this were real, Valeriy would be mad at him, like he always was. He would give him that disappointed look and drag him back to work despite his metaphorical kicking and screaming. Well—usually metaphorical.

Mitya blinked his eyes open. Valeriy’s face swam into view, close to him. “Oh,” Mitya said, and blinked a few more times for good measure. Because this was a dream, he decided to speak his mind. “You look very handsome.”

Valeriy’s brow furrowed. “Mister Mitya, did you hit your head?”

“I hit my everything,” Mitya muttered, trying to sit up. He couldn't quite remember how it happened, but he was sure he had gotten badly injured. Maybe an explosion, judging by the vague smell of smoke around him. “If you’re going to drag me back to work, can you please be gentle?”

Confusion crossed Valeriy’s handsome face, creasing it. “You are at work. I can hardly drag you where you already are.”

“Wait, I am?” Mitya rubbed his eyes and tried to look around. Sure enough, he was down in the underground laboratory, all alone except for Valeriy, and perhaps his notebook thrown somewhere across the room. “Why don’t I remember coming back…?”

Valeriy sighed heavily. “Are you drunk?”

“No.”

Valeriy gave him a look.

“I’m really not,” Mitya insisted. “I was hiding from you in the…” He rubbed the side of his head, which ached something fierce. Maybe he fell on that side; his hip was also killing him. “Ugh. The second floor of the library. Underneath the table.”

“That’s where you were,” Valeriy said incredulously, but then he snapped back to attention. “Are you quite alright?”

Mitya cringed and pressed harder against the side of his head. “I’m fine. Anyway, I think I was in the foreign fairy tales section. So I was browsing, and then…” He tried to remember. Nothing. He might have scrawled something in his notebook, maybe started running back to the lab. But why? “I ended up here. Am I bruising?”

Valeriy leaned closer. He gently swept Mitya’s hair from his face, looking intently at the side of his head. “No bruising yet,” he said, brushing his thumb along Mitya’s temple.

Mitya shivered. “Check again,” he said, just to feel Valeriy’s hands for a moment longer.

Valeriy didn’t. Instead, he looked at him in concern. “I ought to take you to a doctor. If you hit your head, you might have a concussion. Especially given your memory loss…”

Although Mitya’s head was aching with dull pain, he didn’t feel like explaining that memory loss was a strangely common occurrence for him, not to a doctor, and especially not to Valeriy. “Don’t do that.” He swept Valeriy’s hands away. “Head injuries always look worse than they are. Let’s just go back to the office.”

“No.”

Mitya frowned. “Are you disobeying me? You know you’re supposed to help me out when things like this happen, right?”

“I don’t answer to you,” Valeriy said, sounding exasperated. “My real orders are to keep you safe. You got injured due to my negligence; naturally, I must make up for this.”

“It was my own fault, not yours,” Mitya said quickly. Would Valeriy have to report this? Would he get reprimanded, or even demoted? Would Mitya be assigned a new captain of his personal guard detail, one who didn’t have a rich voice and strong arms and a sweet, classic gentlemanly charm about him? “I was the one who ran away.”

“And I was meant to chase you,” Valeriy said.

His voice was intense. Mitya peered up at him and wondered if the strange pang in his chest was a sign of a concussion.

“Come with me,” Valeriy said, softer than usual. A request, not a command. “If you won’t see a doctor, at least let me ensure you get proper rest.”

He offered his hand.

Mitya took it. He tried to get to his feet, but his knees buckled, and he crashed back down to the floor, down down down and he braced for impact and—

—Valeriy broke his fall.

This had to be a hallucination. He was sure the real Valeriy wouldn’t look at him like that, not even if he was on his deathbed. He was looking at Mitya like he wanted nothing more than to wrap him up safe in his arms and protect him.

“I’m hardly helpless, you know,” Mitya told him, just to wipe that expression off his face. He wasn’t sure his heart could take it much longer.

Valeriy inhaled deeply, looking nervous. “You cannot stand.”

“Well, not right this minute,” Mitya said. “But that’s okay. You can just leave me here. Maybe get me a pillow and—”

In one smooth motion, Valeriy swept him up in his arms.

Mitya yelped. Instinctively, he looped his arms around Valeriy’s neck, holding him close for stability.

“You’re alright,” Valeriy said softly. Mitya liked that it wasn’t a question, liked that he didn’t ask before picking him up, liked that he just did it as though he knew exactly what Mitya needed; and he must have hit his head harder than he thought, to be liking those things.

Mitya sighed out the last of his breath. “Sometimes I think you’re telling me the truth when you say things like that.” He leaned further into Valeriy’s side, letting him hold his weight up.

When Valeriy breathed in, Mitya felt his chest rise. “I wish you wouldn’t worry,” Valeriy said. “Not about me.”

“I’m never worried about you.”

Valeriy adjusted his hold. He settled his arm gently behind Mitya’s head, trying to give him a soft place to rest. “What really happened tonight?”

“I don’t know,” Mitya admitted, and it scared him. He was feeling tired, so tired, now that he didn’t have to hold up his own weight. It was such a relief, having someone to lean on.

Valeriy exhaled. Instead of continuing to question him, he said, “Tell me what I can do to help.”

Mitya felt exhausted, and thinking about whatever must have happened to leave him in this state made him feel sick. “Don’t come to the lab,” he said quietly. “Just—don’t get involved in this, alright? Project Mistilteinn, I mean.”

“That is an unreasonable request.”

“Please,” Mitya begged, barely above a whisper. “Promise me you’ll do your best.”

Valeriy swallowed, and his eyes softened in the dark. “Of course, Mitya,” he said gently. “Whatever you ask.”

He hauled Mitya closer to his chest, holding him almost tenderly. Yes, Mitya was sure this was a dream now; Valeriy had never called him by name before, not even once. He surrendered his weight, and tucked his face into Valeriy’s shoulder. The exhaustion caught up with him, and he fell asleep heavily, now that he had a safe place to rest.

When he awoke, Valeriy was gone. But Mitya was in his apartment, tucked into bed safe and sound, and there was a small assortment of items on the bedside table: a glass of water, an electrolyte tablet, and two Fatui standard-issue ibuprofen pills.

It was nothing. It should have been nothing. But Mitya looked at the medicine and the water and smiled so fiercely that his face hurt.

***

“And as we all know, head injuries negate any romantic implications,” Mitya says, more assertively than he feels. In retrospect, that particular story was probably a bad choice; he forgot how sweetly Valeriy treated him back then. He coughs. “Anyway, that was a one-time thing,” he lies through his teeth. “And it never happened again.”

Vodyanitsa gives him a look.

Mitya might be sweating through his shirt. “What?”

Vodyanitsa opens her mouth, and—

The door bangs open.

“Hey,” says a new voice. “Thought I’d check in and make sure—oh.” The guy who just walked in stops in the doorway and stares at Mitya suspiciously. “I thought we didn’t like him. What’s he doing here?”

Mitya wilts. “You don’t?” he asks pathetically, looking at Odette and Vodyanitsa.

“Nonono, you’re fine,” Vodyanitsa says, waving her hand. She looks back at the new guy. “He made it up to me! He spends enough money on the theater that I’d probably forgive him even if he still sucked. Anyway, this is Alyosha. Alyosha, this is Mitya.”

“I know,” Alyosha says, raising his eyebrows. He invites himself in and sits on the couch with them both. He throws his legs over Odette’s lap, on top of Vodyanitsa’s. They make a weird little pile.

Mitya watches in baffled silence. He’s sure Odette will be bothered by this development any minute now; doesn’t she only allow Vodyanitsa to do that because they’re dating? And now this guy gets girlfriend privileges too? What the hell is Mitya missing??

And then Mitya stops thinking entirely, because there’s a dog and it’s so cute. He beams and extends his hand for the dog to sniff.

The dog skips his hand and leaps up to happily headbutt his thigh. What a sweetheart! Mitya immediately starts scratching behind its ears, and the dog eagerly leans into the touch.

“Huh,” says Alyosha, sounding vaguely impressed. “If Tugarin likes him, then he must be alright.”

“Oh, is this your dog?”

Alyosha nods. “He’s not very receptive to new people unless he likes them. So.”

“I’m honored,” Mitya says, still beaming. This sweet dog likes him! Score!!

“You said you already know Mitya?” Vodyanitsa says, looking across Odette’s lap at him.

“Yeah,” Alyosha says. He calls his dog back over with a strange whistle, and the dog trots over to him delightedly and sits at his feet. “Everyone knows him.”

“Really?” Mitya didn’t think his energy research was that famous, but if more people know about his work, all the better! “Wow! I mean, my current research is private, but I did some work on the Kristall development systems, so—”

“Not for that,” Alyosha interrupts. He nods his head at the magazine on the table. “I mean for that.”

Mitya pales.

“Oh, right! We’re going through it with him,” Vodyanitsa says eagerly. She reaches out and flips through the pages. “We went over this interview, this one, the picture with the princess carry—”

“And none of them are real indications of romance,” Mitya says loudly. Which is probably a giveaway that he’s lying out his ass, but whatever. “I mean, this is all totally circumstantial evidence. He’s my head of security! He’s supposed to do that! Everything is normal between us!”

Alyosha looks down at the article. His whole face splits into a grin. “Oh boy. You guys really dropped the ball on this one.”

Mitya’s heart drops. “What does that mean?”

“We were getting there,” Vodyanitsa complains, glaring at him. “Way to spoil the surprise!”

“It was meant to be a dramatic reveal,” Odette explains. “We were saving that piece for later, so that we could reach maximum impact. But I suppose we can ask now.”

Mitya doesn’t like where this is going. “Aren’t we almost done with the article already?” he says desperately. “I mean, we got to the picture spread; how much more could there possibly—”

Alyosha flips the picture spread over. The other side of the page is another picture.

Mitya’s jaw drops.

Because it’s a picture of him—and that’s definitely him, even though the picture is blurry with heat and the fuzz of alcohol and too many bodies pressed together—with his hands wrapped tight around someone, kissing them, really kissing them, and.

And the man in the picture looks very similar to Valeriy. In fact, with the photo’s quality and angle, it could easily be mistaken for the real deal. And Mitya is kissing him.

Oh, fuck.

“So?” says Alyosha, grinning. “I’d like to see you hit us with an explanation for that.”

Mitya buries his face in his hands.

***

“Someone’s eager,” the tall-dark-handsome stranger murmured in his ear, over the buzzing atmosphere of the bar. “Are you really that easy?”

Mitya didn’t like when he talked, because he didn’t sound quite like Valeriy. But he looked close enough, and he had strong, broad palms, so he leaned up on his tiptoes and said, “Can you put your hands—tighter—?”

He obligingly tightened his grip on Mitya’s waist.

Mitya felt his whole face go hot. “And—maybe pick me up a little,” he said, because he had a death wish or something.

He raised one eyebrow. “You have a fantasy about that?”

Mitya did, in fact, have a vivid fantasy about that. He imagined that Valeriy found him, caught him, grabbed his wrist and didn’t let go; that his grip got punishingly tight, and he leaned in too close, and his voice went husky and he said, Don’t resist, Mitya, just take it. This is your own fault, and then he leaned in and kissed him hard enough that he couldn't breathe.

“Yeah, something along those lines,” Mitya said, because he didn’t feel like explaining all that. He looked up through his eyelashes. “Can you…”

Thank god the stranger understood, and leaned back in and kissed him. Mitya liked him better when he wasn’t talking, because he could let his shameful imagination wander to someone else with similarly-sized hands, and a warm intensity to his mouth, and he leaned in closer and closed his eyes and Mitya got a little ambitious with it and wrapped his legs around Valeriy’s waist, so that Valeriy was holding his entire weight, and Valeriy kissed him harder—

***

“That wasn’t even him!” Mitya squeaks. His face might be on fire. He picks up the magazine and shakes it aggressively like it can give him the answers. “How did they even get this photo?”

“But it was you,” says Odette.

Mitya drops the magazine into his lap. “I—I didn’t say that!”

Odette leans back smugly. “You didn’t have to.”

Mitya splutters. “Maybe I just have a type! So what if I think he’s hot? Plenty of people have a taste for tall, dark, and handsome men! He’s objectively attractive!”

“You never liked tall, dark, and handsome men before he came into the picture,” Vodyanitsa points out. “I mean, you told me about your past boyfriends. And they were all over the place. No clear type at all.”

“Well,” says Mitya weakly, because this is true. “Tastes change…?”

“They changed because you’re into him,” Alyosha says. He crosses his arms like he’s won the battle decisively.

Mitya’s jaw drops. “Why are you saying that? You don’t even know him!”

“I read the article,” Alyosha says. “The story basically told me all I needed to know. He wants you so bad it’s crazy.”

Mitya frowns, offended. “Oh, come on. I mean, obviously I’m into him. We can acknowledge the obvious. But there’s no indication that Valeriy even likes me. I mean, he’s obligated to protect me! It’s his job! You know he takes his work seriously. This is just—it’s just…”

And then he trails off, because all three of them are staring at him.

Mitya blinks. “Was it something I said?”

“You’re in love with him,” Vodyanitsa says incredulously. It’s not a question. “And you think he doesn’t even like you.”

Mitya groans. “I know it’s pathetic,” he mutters, his face burning. “Just—leave me alone, okay? Let me have my stupid life in peace.”

Odette presses the article back into his hands.

Mitya pushes it away. “I really don’t think that’s going to help. I’m having a crisis, okay? I don’t particularly want to see my whole problem outlined for me in print.”

“Just read it,” Odette says gently. “The final interview.”

Mitya looks at her desperately.

“Trust me.”

He sighs. “Alright,” he agrees, taking the magazine again. He flips through the pages. “But I really don’t see how this is going to…”

And then the words die in his throat.

Because the final interview in the article—

—is from Valeriy.

***

But this reporter was not satisfied with testimony from outside sources. I went directly to the source, and secured an interview with the elusive bodyguard himself.

***

“He’s not really my bodyguard,” Mitya mutters, glaring at the article.

“Shh,” says Vodyanitsa, gesturing frantically at the magazine.

“I’m just saying,” Mitya points out. “His job title is a lot more complicated than that. A bodyguard wouldn’t spend half his day tracking my bank statements to figure out who I interact with and when. Or reminding me to write things legibly so that someone other than me can potentially use it in the future.”

“You’re deflecting,” Odette says flatly.

Mitya rolls his eyes and continues reading.

***

Valeriy was originally a Fatui footsoldier like any other, but worked his way up to a Major in a classic Snezhnayan soldier’s success story! Don’t be fooled by the scientist’s nickname for him—Valeriy informed this reporter that Mitya calls him “Sarge,” as an affectionate gesture, a nod to his humble origins and a sign of their long, rich past together.

They’ve been together for nearly three years. “Our third anniversary is this November,” Valeriy said. “I’m planning to attend the theater with him, as is our custom.” Although Mitya is a frequent theatergoer, Valeriy himself seldom attends alongside him. This is a special treat for his Mister Mitya; don’t spoil the surprise, everyone!

***

“This is ridiculous,” Mitya says, feeling lightheaded. “I mean, obviously he meant our working anniversary. He became the head of my security detail in November three years ago.”

All three of them look at him in stony silence. Vodyanitsa looks like she’s holding her breath.

Mitya laughs nervously. “Don’t look at me like that. This is—I mean, these are all things I already knew. It’s not like this is new information. I was there when he started working with me. Obviously.”

More silence. Vodyanitsa squeaks and slaps a hand over her mouth.

Mitya can’t take it anymore. He goes back to the article.

***

He spoke at length about Mitya’s personal habits, even corroborating some of the eyewitness accounts I collected. For example, he confirmed that Mitya enjoys visiting Torchlight Books on Wednesdays, and that he favors Sumerian coffee beans. In fact, Valeriy confessed that he orders them imported specially for Mitya so that he never runs out. He even keeps track of Mitya’s nutrition for him! “Mitya works hard to take care of our nation,” he said. “The least I can do is take care of him in return.”

This reporter, of course, raised the question on everyone’s mind: is there a ring in their future? Have they thought about getting married?

***

“You know what,” Mitya says, and his voice sounds off, like he might pass out any minute now. “I don’t think I should be reading this. Valeriy’s going to be here any minute. In fact, he might already be here. I gotta run.”

“Ohhh my god,” Vodyanitsa groans through her fingers. “Please keep reading. I am literally begging you.”

“It’s talking about marriage. I know what Valeriy always says about marriage.”

“Yeah,” says Alyosha smugly. “‘Cause you guys talk about it all the time.”

“Because he’s a hot commodity,” Mitya corrects. “He’s classically handsome and polite. Old ladies are always trying to set him up with their grandchildren, you know? And he always says the same damn thing. I know that. He always says he’s married to his work. The classic cop-out Fatui answer.”

Vodyanitsa yells in anguish. “Oh my god. Just! Fucking! Read it!!!”

Mitya fucking reads it.

***

“I am married to my work,” he said. “And my work is Mister Mitya.”

***

Mitya drops the magazine.

“…” says Odette.

“…” says Alyosha.

“…” says Vodyanitsa.

“Holy shit,” Mitya says. “He’s in love with me.”

“What the fuck else is new!” Vodyanitsa says with gusto. She takes off her shoe and throws it at him hard.

“Ow,” Mitya mutters, rubbing the side of his head. “You know I get head injuries a lot, right? One more of those might finish me off.”

“TWO YEARS OF THIS,” Vodyanitsa yells at the top of her lungs. She flings Alyosha’s feet off her legs and stands up, all terrifying four-feet-ten-inches of her towering over him. “Two years of flirting with your stupid security detail at my shows. Two years of you pining over him. And now I find out that he was in love with you the whole fucking time. And I find out—” She shoves the magazine in his face. “—FROM A FUCKING GOSSIP MAGAZINE!!!”

“I mean,” says Mitya weakly. “To be fair, this is news to me too.”

Vodyanitsa groans in pure anguish. “You are the worst,” she says, pointing at him accusatorily. “You know you could have figured this out years ago if you had talked like normal people?”

Mitya scoffs. “You can’t talk. Haven’t you noticed Alyosha stealing your usual spot? He’s gonna take your girlfriend.”

“He’s our boyfriend, you goddamn idiot!”

Mitya frowns. “What?”

Odette shrugs. “I have two hands,” she says, like this is a normal thing and makes total sense.

“She mostly likes Tugarin,” Alyosha says, unbothered. “But I’m part of the package, so they keep me around too.”

Odette gives him a small smile and ruffles his hair affectionately. He kicks his feet higher on her lap and beams.

“You know what,” Mitya says weakly. “I don’t have time to worry about that. You guys have fun and be safe. Can I go back to the part where I’m having a crisis?”

“About what?” says Vodyanitsa. “Your bodyguard liking you back?”

“About the head of my security detail,” Mitya corrects. “Being in love with me for the last two years.”

“Two and a half,” says a voice from behind him.

Mitya shrieks loud enough to put the genre of little girl shrieks as a whole to shame. He whirls around. “You didn’t hear that!” he says loudly. “Oh my god you didn’t hear that. Holy fucking shit. Warn a guy next time. Please.”

Valeriy has the gall to look slightly amused. “Two and a half years,” he repeats. “I realized I was in love with you the day that you brought me to your tailor.”

Mitya blinks several times. He’s serious. He’s serious? “Oh. Shit. That really was a long time ago.”

“He didn’t tell us that one,” Odette says helpfully. “He glossed over it. Would you mind regaling us? I think Vodyanitsa would like to know.”

“More than anything in literally the whole world,” Vodyanitsa says all in one breath. She looks up at Valeriy hopefully.

Valeriy nods. “Ah, of course. I remember he took me to his usual clothing shop and asked to make me an outfit. At that point, I had been enlisted in the Fatui for nearly eight years, which meant I had been wearing a uniform; I always looked the part of a perfect soldier. Mitya dressed me up like something that belonged to him. This, too, was a mark of my allegiance, my rank. I remember looking at myself in the mirror and thinking I finally looked like the person I felt I had become.”

Mitya’s jaw drops. “You—you didn’t even like it! I remember that! You told me it looked like shit!”

“I said I was unused to it,” Valeriy corrects. “But I began wearing your customized version of my uniform after that every day, did I not?”

“Well,” says Mitya, feeling idiotic. “Yes. You did.”

“And now I have long grown used to it,” Valeriy says. “I enjoy looking like something of yours.”

Mitya stares at him for a long, long moment. “I’m going to die,” he says. “I’m going to die and you killed me. Why didn’t you say that?!”

“I figured you knew,” Valeriy says, shrugging. “Don’t actions speak louder than words?”

“No! Words speak! Actions don’t speak at all!!”

“Oh.” Valeriy frowns. “That phrase is rather misleading, then. I took it to mean that you understood our relationship without having to outwardly express or define it.”

Mitya stares at him, baffled. He gives up.

“No wonder you two don’t have your shit together,” Vodyanitsa says, sounding highly entertained. “World’s worst communicator and world’s second worst communicator here, reporting for duty.”

“Perhaps,” Valeriy says, sounding almost affectionate. “In any case, we ought to head back to work. I realize this article caused quite a stir, but there is still much to be done at the Armory Palace.”

“You gave an interview,” Mitya realizes, even more confused. “Why would you do that?”

“Oh. They told me it was an article about you. Naturally, I was in support. I agreed to help make it a successful article which painted you in a positive light.” He glances at the magazine and smiles slightly. “I think it was quite effective.”

“You did this?”

Valeriy nods. “There’s one part I still don’t understand, however. How did they acquire that photo of us? The one in the—intimate situation?”

“Oh, right. The kissing photo. That’s not you,” Alyosha says, motioning indistinctly. “Mitya said it was some other guy who just looked like you.”

Valeriy’s smile slips away.

Mitya laughs nervously. “Hiiii, Sarge. Uh, what’s up?”

“How long ago,” he says, very intensely.

Mitya starts sweating. “Uh. Like, a year ago? Ish? Maybe? I don’t really know. It happened multiple times. I would go out to a bar and try to find a guy who looked kinda like you, and. You know.”

Valeriy’s eyes narrow. “You tried to find men who looked like me.”

“…”

“Because you thought I wouldn’t have you.”

“Well,” says Mitya. His stomach is doing backflips or something. “Yes…?”

Valeriy grabs his wrist. “Whatever gave you the impression that I would not be amenable to satisfying you myself,” he says, lower than usual, “I am going to tear it apart with my bare hands.”

Mitya’s whole face flushes. “Okay! Okay,” he says, more squeak than actual words. “Great. Noted. I got the message.”

“Are you extremely sure,” Valeriy says, because he’s a little bit of a bastard.

“Yes! Yes. So sure,” Mitya says weakly. “Loud and fucking clear, Sarge.”

“Good.” Valeriy tugs him forward by the wrist. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we must return to the Armory Palace and get to work. Good day.” And he really does just drag Mitya out of the greenroom, back into the theater hallway.

Mitya stumbles behind him, trying to keep up. “Sarge, are you serious?!”

“There are still four hours left in the workday.”

Mitya groans. “That gossip magazine was wrong,” he mutters, twisting his wrist in Valeriy’s grip. “I’m not in love with you at all. You suck. You’re the worst.”

Valeriy turns around.

“But maybe if you’d bend the rules for me every once in a while,” Mitya says, his heart pounding in his ears. “I could be convinced to give you another chance.”

“You never gave me a first chance.”

“…Well,” says Mitya. He’s losing his train of thought, because Valeriy’s looking at him with that sweet focus in his eyes again, and who could possibly stay focused with that right in front of them. “I guess if you wanted a first chance, I could give you one. Right now.”

Valeriy grabs him by his collar, shoves him up against the wall, and kisses him with such intensity that Mitya barely remembers to breathe.

And this—this is what Mitya’s been needing. He’s been waiting for Valeriy to do something like this, to break his composure and his beloved rules and show Mitya that he’s worth it. Mitya grins against his mouth and wraps his arms around Valeriy’s neck. He’s spent a long time wanting to be wanted. A long time wondering if Valeriy would keep him waiting forever, or if one day he’d deliver on that promise Mitya’s been wanting him to make.

The promise he’s apparently been making the whole time, if Mitya had just opened his eyes and noticed.

“So,” Valeriy says, pulling back. His eyes are blown wide and his mouth is flushed red. “Would you like to give me that second chance now, or—?”

“For fuck’s sake, Valeriy,” Mitya says fondly, and drags him down to kiss him again, right there in the theater’s back hallway.

Yes: the real thing was worth the wait.

***

(Mitya is so shameless about their newly-exposed relationship that within a week, that magazine article is old news.)