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Mitya hates his new dublenka. It’s an unappealing dark brown, with buttons trailing down the left hand side, hugging his waist and chest tight. It’s heavy, the fabric is stiff and scratchy, and worst of all, there is a tag that is jabbing into his back like a piece of broken glass. It shifts every time he moves, and the thick material makes a horrible noise that grates on his ears as it slides over itself.
He knows that Valeriy means well, offering him his own outwear (being a scientist who rarely ventured outside for prolonged periods, he had practically none) since he’d be spending the entire day outside. And the coat looks nice, sure, but it’s doing the opposite of making him comfortable.
In fact, it feels like someone is attempting to murder him with a piece of glass; he's in so much pain.
But it’s fine. He’s fine. He’s used to wearing formal clothes with awful textures and sitting in loud and chaotic environments that destroy his eardrums.
And more than that, he’s used to hiding the part of him that rocks back and forth and flaps his hands and buries himself in science and formulas and logic and things that make sense for six hours straight, and plays off the hyperfocus as his enthusiasm to serve His Majesty.
So surviving a day in the loud and crowded marketplace, wearing a dublenka that’s trying to kill him, and with his favourite people in the whole world? Easily done.
Keep up the performance and act like a likeable, humorous human being so they wouldn’t write him off as high maintenance or too odd? No problem.
He’s likely died hundreds of times within the past few months. He’s more than confident that he can handle this.
After all, Vodyanitsa and Odette don’t have a vacation, like he’s so selfishly requested. Alyosha is constantly working to keep the lights on. Their schedules rarely ever line up so neatly. To reject the fae’s invite to a day out shopping would be beyond rude, especially considering the fact that it took her so long to plan.
Plus, after causing them all to die and trapping them in a liminal space for what would have been an infinite amount of time until all their souls were swallowed by defective ley lines, it’s the least he can do to give them his time.
Mitya likes these humans. They like him back. He would much rather keep it that way.
~~~~~
Odette inhales the glorious morning air, feeling the frigid wind rush down her throat and settle coolly in her lungs.
Beside her, Vodyanitsa is mumbling something under her breath and pacing back and forth, a telltale sign of her apprehension, and Alyosha stands solidly and comfortably on her other side, rocking side to side, shifting his weight.
The cold has whipped Odette’s cheeks raw, and she nestles further into her shawl, relishing the warmth her thick shuba gives her.
Alyosha still favours his blue zipun with its attached fur-lined hood, paired with the usual black trousers and thick leather boots. His freckles stand out against his cheeks, tinged pink from the cold as well.
Vodyanitsa, meanwhile, dons her usual frilly dress and open-toed shoes, exposing her bare legs to the merciless winds. Oh, to be a Water Imp, with enough cold tolerance to wear whatever they wished, no matter the temperature.
And said fae was still agitatedly pacing, her delicate heels poking holes in the permafrost below.
“Vodyanista,” she sighs, reaching out to grab her slender wrist. “It’s fine. We all planned for this, and he’ll definitely show up.”
“Hmmph,” Vodyanitsa turns to face the other woman, tugging her wrist out of the dancer’s grip. Odette tries to mask her disappointment as the fae pouts, “I know he will; he wouldn’t dare show ME up! But we’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes already; what if he got lost or something?”
All the movement has mussed Vodyanitsa’s carefully designed hair, some longer strands falling into her face. Odette fights the sudden urge to brush it out of the way and cup her heart-shaped face between her palms.
Alyosha pipes up, “I’ve never seen you this agitated before, Vodyanitsa. If you’re so worried about Mitya, I can give you a hand massage to calm you down until he arrives.” His voice is calm and grounded as always, but it seems to have the opposite effect on Vodyanitsa.
The Water Imp gasps and stutters, “I am not worried about that—that thick-headed scientist! Not at all! I just don’t want him to ruin our plans, is all… it wouldn’t be the same without him.” Vodyanitsa pauses before tilting her head and adds on, “But, you know…I won’t say no to that massage.”
Her voice took on a different texture then; slow and smooth and silky. Odette found heat crawling up her neck, her heart skipping a beat.
Alyosha, meanwhile, has turned completely red, and is looking anywhere but the mischievous fae, whose sly smile lets Odette know that she knows exactly what she is doing.
There is a beat of silence, and the air around them seems like it’s been charged with a strange tension.
Luckily, Mitya chose that moment to draw near, giving Alyosha a way out. “I see him,” the hunter announces, nodding at the scientist’s rapidly approaching form bundled in a coat similar to Alyosha and Odette, his scarf flapping wildly in the wind.
The strange tension of the previous moment dissipates just as quickly as it came. The young man is received with an enthusiastic greeting from a clearly very relieved Vodyanitsa. She runs up and hugs him tightly, and if she didn’t know any better, Odette would have thought that Mitya looked in pain before returning the hug with an amused laugh, patting the Water Imp on her back.
Alyosha and Odette are a little more reserved in their hellos, and Mitya seems fine with this too.
“Well then,” he grins and rubs his hands together. “Let the shopping begin!”
~~~~~
The first stall features traditional Snezhnayan clothing, with the proud old woman manning it claiming that she has made them all herself. Odette marvels at the variety of what’s on display; wool dublenkas with suns embroidered on the cuffs, bright Krasny shawls and scarves, sturdy felt valenki that look thick enough to keep one’s feet warm through an avalanche, cosy-looking sarafans, and so much more.
But even so, she finds the expressions on the others’ faces even more captivating than even the warmest-looking armiak.
Alyosha is thoughtful as he looks through each article of clothing carefully, as if staring hard enough at the clothing would discern if its price was worth the value.
Carefree Vodyanitsa is chatting it up with the merchant lady (something she wrongly assumed that Mitya would do) and trying on anything that catches her eye.
Mitya himself…looks absentminded. Uncomfortable, almost. He’s gripping a scarf so tightly it looks ready to tear, staring at nothing.
Odette frowns, a cold worry dousing the little embers in her chest. Was something bothering him?
Just as she was building up the courage to go up and ask, Vodyanitsa waltzed up with an exaggerated gasp. “Oooohhhhh, Mitya, are you going to replace your poor old Scarfy with this shiny new one?”
The clouded look in his eyes seems to vanish as he defends, “My Scarfy?! I could never!”
A pensive hum draws her away from the scene, and she turns around to find Alyosha staring at a row of patterned povoinik.
Odette curiously sidles up to him, asking, “Why are you looking at those?” She tries to keep the jealousy out of her voice, but the question is dripping with ice nonetheless. “Is there someone you’re looking to gift it to?”
Alyosha jumps at her voice, looking almost guilty at being caught looking at the headdresses.
Odette isn’t sure why the idea that Alyosha likes someone else who isn’t in their little group was so bothersome. She tries picturing Mitya or Vodyanitsa looking at the povoiniks and only finds the jealous flames simmering in her gut leaping higher.
Alyosha begins to squirm uncomfortably, and Odette realises that she is staring rather intensely. She looks away and clears her throat, the embers giving way to a pink shame.
“I, uh…” A pause. “If you really wanna know, I was thinking that might look good on you, or Vodyanitsa…”
Odette whips her head back to stare at him, unable to keep her eyes from widening in shock. Alyosha’s face is red again (why did he seem to be doing that so much recently?) and he coughs into his fist, before mumbling something about checking out the ushankas in the back and scurrying away.
Odette lays her hand over her chest, feeling the troublesome organ underneath her palm pounding away faster than a volkodlak caught stealing.
And yet, even through the mess of the emotions she refuses to untangle, a small voice in the back of her head points out that she didn’t feel jealous in the slightest when Alyosha mentioned Vodyanitsa.
In fact, the mental image of the dainty Water Imp donning the embroidered povoinik only made her face flush even more.
Perhaps allowing herself a moment of vulnerability at her mentor’s grave had opened the floodgates for strange, unwanted feelings to occur. Odette would have to train harder once their outing was finished.
~~~~~
The next stall is one that sells jewellery, and if Vodyanitsa was content at the last stall, here she is absolutely ecstatic.
She can feel both Alyosha’s and Mitya’s eyes curiously lingering on her for a moment, as if the young men believe that just because she is a girl and a dancer, she should be excited about jewellery.
Odette had never had a “pretty princess” sort of phase, even as a child. All her passion had been channelled into the art of ballet itself (and, later, hating the Fatui and shutting down project Stuzha).
She is brought back to the present by the sound of jangling metal and Vodyanitsa shoving a pearl necklace into her face.
Odette gives the Water Imp a flat, unimpressed stare, but Vodyanitsa is undeterred.
“C’monnnnn, please, Odette? Just try it on for a split second, I know it’ll look great on you!” She wheedles.
“We’ve been over this, Vodyanitsa,” Odette deflects, exasperated. They both know that she hates heavy jewellery; it gets in the way of proper dancing form, and the thick rope of pearls would most definitely throw off her balance.
She expects Alyosha, who has seen this kind of scene play out many times before, to try to cut in and dissuade Vodyanitsa, but when he does not step in, Odette shoots a curious glance at him.
Alyosha is openly staring at something, concern etched into his brow.
Odette follows his gaze and finds the subject of his worry is Mitya.
The young man has his eyes squeezed tightly shut, and his willowy frame seems to tremble each time the gaudy jewellery hanging from the stall clanks together in the wind, as if each sound is piercing his soul.
Odette feels a pang of sympathy for the man; seeing him now, so tightly wound, was such a stark contrast to how he usually was: chipper and talkative and bright.
She wonders what could be bothering him this much.
Alyosha meets her eyes, and they give subtle nods to each other.
Odette asked Vodyanitsa, trying her best to sound offhanded, “Would those earrings look good on me?” She points to a random pair that is teal and far too gaudy for her standards.
Vodyanitsa seems to think so too, and she wrinkles her nose and shakes her head vehemently. “No, no, certainly not those. Maybe…” Vodyanitsa draws closer to inspect her options, and Odette glances over to see that Alyosha has made his way over to Mitya, and that the two are now conversing.
“Oooh, these would look much better,” Vodyanitsa’s voice forces her to return to what’s in front of her.
Trying to appear interested in the conversation, she says, “Ohh, yeah?”
“Mhmm!” She tugs on Odette’s arm, leading her to a case that held a case of small amethyst earrings that twinkle like stars.
“They would go great with your eyes, too,” Vodyanitsa giggles, and she brushes the hair out of the ballerina’s eyes, and she would have been completely flustered Mitya hadn’t chosen that moment to flinch away from Alyosha.
Worry claws its way into her chest, and she mumbles to the unsuspecting fae, “...Why don’t we move onto the next stall, Vodyanitsa?”
“Oh…” She frowns, and Odette feels a tug in her chest upon seeing that smile vanish so quickly.
But then she spots something in the distance, and it’s back just as quickly. “Ooh, look, I see plushies, come on!”
Odette allows herself to be pulled away by the forearm, hoping that Alyosha has made some progress with their friend.
~~~~~
Alyosha feels like he is going to be sick with worry. What was supposed to be a fun and relaxing outing was turning into something that was only serving to amplify his already existing stress.
He trails between Odette and Vodyanitsa, who are rushing ahead, and Mitya, who is trudging through the snow with his head down.
The other man has been exhibiting signs of stress and overstimulation that Alyosha does not like at all: social withdrawal, flinching at loud noises, and a tension in his shoulders that reminded the hunter of what a prey animal might look like upon realising they are in a hostile environment with no escape.
The nausea curls tighter in his gut, and he speeds up to a trot to catch up with the girls, ignoring the overpowering urge to backtrack and steal Mitya away to someplace that is quiet and soft.
The next stall is stuffed to the gills with plushies, and the only way that Alyosha can piece this together through the iron bands squeezing his heart is because Vodyanitsa squeals delightedly,
“Oh my goodness! Odette, look at this penguin, it’s so cute!”
A familiar fluttering bubbles up in his chest, mixing curiously with the already-existing nausea. His eyes trail to Odette, whose eyes are soft and warm as she stares at Vodyanitsa with something that can only be called affection.
And perhaps it is her Fatui training or something else that alerts her to Alyosha’s eyes on her, but she finds another plushie as an excuse to call Alyosha over.
It’s a cute dog plush that looks a little like Tugarin; it is Alyosha’s minute observation before Odette asks urgently, “How’s Mitya?”
Alyosha’s heart sinks as he explains, “Not good. He saw me coming and said that everything was fine, but when I reached out to him, he flinched away from the touch.”
“Hmmm,” Odette’s eyes grow clouded as she glances back, presumably to check on the man in question, only for her eyes to widen like Mora coins as she fully turns away, her head whipping frantically back and forth.
“Where is he?”
~~~~~
Mitya is going to implode, and the only thing that is keeping his body from falling into a million pieces is rocking back and forth while his hands tear at his hair until he feels the strands rip away from his scalp.
He hates everything right now, and he wishes that he could leave his body behind but the ground is cold cold beneath him and his dublenka is heavy and scratchy and the little tag is trying to kill him and the wind stings on his cheeks and his skin is gone and his flesh is ripped raw and red and he can hear everything the couple next to him arguing about the price of a necklace and a group of children screaming as they run by and the wooden charms that hang in the air from a nearby stall clack clack together and one million million boots crunching on frozen ground and he’s going to explode so he squeezes his eyes shut and claws at his scalp and wishes with all his power that he can just leave forever and he will leave his body behind because everything is too loud to bright too cold too much and he would die again and again and again if only there was silence—
And then there is silence, and Mitya opens his eyes because he isn’t sure that the silence is real and maybe he’s dreaming—
“Hey, buddy,”
a voice soft and deep and gentle and he latches onto it because it’s familiar and it’s—
Alyosha.
And suddenly he can breathe because he is back in his body but he’s back in his body and the dublenka is heavy and scratchy and the tag is broken glass breaking his skin and there’s sweat under his armpits and he’s cold but he’s hot—
“How can I help?”
And the voice is warm and soft and grounding but then Mitya realises that he will have to speak and he can’t speak because his throat has closed up and he will explode again—
And then his scarf shifts from the space between his back and the wall and breaks free to tug on the lapels of his prison and Alyosha breathes,
“Okay, so the coat is bothering you, huh?”
And if Mitya could speak or move he would scream yes yes yes free me from this prison or I will vanish forever—
“Alright, I’m going to have to touch you.”
And Mitya’s heart seizes because he doesn’t want to be touched but it’s too late and he can feel warmth that is unwelcome but he cannot move and Alyosha peels his arms away from his body and his hands are so warm and he is so so gentle but it’s like he’s burning but his bottom is still cold cold cold—
And then he blinks and the dublenka is gone somehow and the tag that is made of broken glass is gone and Mitya can breathe but he still can’t talk so he just cries while his body tries to piece itself back together and he can feel Alyosha’s warmth as he sits down right next to Mitya and says,
“It’s okay. I’ll wait.”
And suddenly he needs warmth because now he’s free but he’s cold all over so he leans to his left and soaks in warmth that is like the sun and Alyosha lets him rest and he can leave his body.
When Mitya comes back to the world, he is staring up at a sky that looks like it’s painted.
Wispy white clouds reflect a shrimp-pink and violet sky, streaked with a deep blue that the setting sun has yet to reach with its last rays of dusk.
But by tilting his head slightly to the right, he finds another, even better view.
Alyosha’s head has tipped forward in his sleep, pale mint fringe hanging in front of his eyes. His cheeks are tinged pink in the early dusk light, each freckle standing out like a fleck of pepper on a bread bun. He looks so…relaxed, in sleep. Nothing like the Alyosha that he knows, perhaps not always in constant motion, but stalwart and alert, never pausing to rest before scanning his surroundings, shoulders squared as if something might pop out.
But now, every muscle in his face is relaxed, his mouth slightly open, eyes not squeezed tightly shut, but only resting in tranquillity.
Somehow, such a view of his friend sends his heart racing, and a kind of warmth that he has never felt before burns in his gut.
The feeling comes on so fast and so strong that he gasps, and Alyosha, ever the light sleeper, jolts awake, and Mitya feels disappointment roil in his gut for some strange reason.
Still, feeling well energised and perhaps a little giddy due to that strange feeling, Mitya feels himself grin and whisper teasingly, “Good morning, sleepyhead.”
Alyosha exhales, a short, quick puff of air that might have been a chuckle, and Mitya’s heart seizes. He tilts his head up towards the sky, and Mitya can feel his legs stiffen beneath his head as Alyosha mumbles a curse.
“Oh, shit. It’s probably been a few hours. We’d better go find the girls.”
Mitya sighs, a little wistfully, as he’s forced to rise from his friend’s lap, and lets out a yawn as he stretches and wiggles out of the little nook into the frigid air—
—only to get a face full of extremely angry Water Imp.
Mitya cringes, his fear and social fatigue returning in full force as he braces for screaming, trumping the fluttering in his chest upon seeing her face.
But instead, Vodyanitsa stalks past him to grab Alyosha by the collar (who suddenly looks terrified) to whisper-shout, “What the hell, Alyosha!? You just decide to vanish on us for six hours with little-to-no explanation, leaving me and Odette with a near-impossible task? And then after frantic searching, we find you and the stupid scarf-scientist curled up between two stalls taking a nap? You’re lucky that you guys looked so adorable together or I would have killed you in your—!”
Just as Mitya was beginning to wince from her gradually rising volume, Odette hooks her arms underneath Vodyanitsa’s armpit and bodily hauls her away from the shaken young man with surprising strength.
Arms full of raging Water Imp, Odette turns to Mitya, who tries not to stiffen under her eye contact, and asks, “More importantly, are you feeling better now, Mitya?”
Mitya, who has rehearsed a reply in his head to this very question, forces himself to meet Odette’s eyes and reply in a loud, chipper tone, “Yeah, I’m—”
His scarf wraps around his wrist, squeezing tight, and somehow, Mitya can tell that’s a warning.
Don’t you dare.
Gulping, Mitya lets the mask slip a little as he stares down at the ground and admits softly, “I was struggling before. But now I’m doing a little better now, thanks.”
“I’m glad you’re okay, Mitya,” Vodyanitsa pads closer and smiles at him.
Mitya feels the embers in his stomach flicker to life when she asks, “May I hug you?”
How strange. Vodyanitsa has never before asked permission before becoming physically affectionate with someone, whether it was a hug, a friendly punch, or a headpat. Mitya had long learned how to mask his discomfort with her physical intimacy, for he’d never been fond of it before.
But now, for some reason, he finds that he craves it. He wants nothing more than for her to embrace him tightly.
However, a strong urge to use a snide rehearsed phrase bubbles up as well. It would trigger reassuring sarcastic banter and embarrass Vodyanitsa, creating emotional distance in the process. That would be the safer option.
But somehow, as if reading his mind, his scarf tightens around his rest, and he can feel his pulse beneath the sentient cloth. I’m warning you.
“Yeah,” it comes out as a whisper, something breathy and small but laced with so much vulnerability and want that Mitya thinks he might explode if he doesn't get warmth and feel of her body pressing into his.
Vodyanitsa circles her arms around his waist, reaching up on her tiptoes so she can rest her head on his shoulder.
And something in Mitya’s chest explodes.
He feels like he’s melting from joy as crystal flies burst forth from his gut, tickling his sides and throat and he feels like he could burn up, he’s so happy and content and—
“I’m so happy you’re okay, Mitya,” she whispers, and Mitya feels so lightheaded that he could burst.
But then she continues, and the bubble bursts and she draws away. “But how come you didn’t tell us that the market would make you so uncomfortable? I would have chosen someplace else for a hangout if I had known!”
Odette nods beside her, adding, “You didn’t have to push yourself like that. Don’t pretend to be someone different to mask your stress."
Mitya can feel himself shrink away at the idea of explaining himself, lest the hot shame simmering in his gut rises to a boil.
Alyosha comes to save him. “Guys,” he addresses the two women. “Let’s let Mitya just rest for a little. That wasn’t exactly a small ordeal.”
Suddenly the fluttering is back as he stares in wonder at Alyosha. It’s as if he’s reading the young man’s mind (or more like his needs; Mitya was about to protest but was once more silenced with a tug on the wrist).
Clearly he isn’t the only one curious, for Odette points out, “You seem pretty confident navigating situations like these, Alyosha, and it sounded like earlier you knew what was going on.”
Vodyanitsa is nodding along. “How did you know what to do?”
Alyosha picks at a loose thread as he replies softly, “There was someone in my village who…” He considers his words. “...reminded me of Mitya, in a way. Sometimes she would get really stressed when a lot of things happened all at once, and withdraw.” He looks up at Mitya then, and his heart pounds faster, and not quite from anxiety. “But luckily I picked up some stuff from the adults who managed the fallout.”
Soft “Ohhh”s from both women, but for Mitya, of course, curiosity rises before anything else.
“How did you get the surrounding area so quiet? It’s a crowded marketplace.” Asking questions, relying on logic, Mitya feels just a little bit of himself returning.
This time, it’s Vodyanitsa who speaks up, and, puffing her little chest out with pride, says, “Well, after we noticed you were missing, before Alyosha ran off,”—she shoots a glare at the young man, who cringes just a little under her gaze—" he told us that you needed quiet. So I had the brilliant idea of putting on a little performance for the marketplace to draw the people away for a little. Odette helped, too.”
She giggles playfully, “You’re lucky my voice is so captivating and her dance so wonderful, and that we were willing to do such a thing for you on our day off.”
Mitya partially understands that the last part is a joke, but the part of him that doesn’t understand causes his cheeks to burn anyway. Looking away, he whispers, “I’m sorry…”
His scarf actually slaps his wrist that time.
A pause. And then Odette says, “Mitya, I know I already said this, but you don’t have to pretend to be someone you’re not around us.”
Through the burning embers of shame, a snide voice snickers, Words coming from Lelek herself.
But then Alyosha adds with a smile, “She’s right, Mitya. Whatever happens, we’ll stand by you. Especially after learning about the Curse of Death.”
Vodyanitsa finishes, “And so don’t you dare apologise, you hear? That would mean I put all my effort into that performance for nothing!”
For the first time that day, Mitya looks up at the faces of his friends. Truly, as himself.
And when he meets their eyes, he realises that they’re more than just his friends—they’re the most wonderful people in the world. Who care so much about him.
Because there is not an ounce of judgement in their eyes. Only determination, kindness, strength—and something else that Mitya does not recognise, but it burns so bright and so passionately that he thinks he will burn up like tinder, or melt like wax in the sun.
What is this wonderful feeling of euphoria that shines like the brightest morning winter sun reflecting off the snow, that makes him feel so right and so wrong and completely insane with want?
In the end, Mitya does not give a verbal response. He doesn’t need to.
Because the gratitude that shines forth from his eyes says it all.