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꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂
The theatre smelled like dust and memory.
Mitya sat on the edge of the stage, eyes fixed on the worn curtains ahead. Pale morning light bled through the grime-streaked windows, casting the empty theatre in soft greys and golds.
He should have been at the Commission. Reports, debriefings, questions—all of it waiting for him. But he couldn't make himself leave.
The door pushed open, and footsteps trailed in after it. He'd recognize that sound anywhere.
"I thought I'd find you here."
Mitya didn't turn around. He knew that voice better than he knew his own heartbeat.
"The Commission can wait," he said.
Valeriy let out a familiar sigh, the one he always did when Mitya was being Mitya.
"Always with the excuses," Valeriy said, his voice carrying the barest hint of amusement. "You're going to get yourself demoted one of these days."
"Promoted, you mean. I'm too brilliant to demote."
"Brilliant enough to sit on a dusty stage for hours instead of filing reports?"
"Brilliant enough to know the reports can wait." Mitya finally turned, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "Unlike some people, I don't live for paperwork."
Valeriy crossed his arms, his expression unimpressed. "Someone has to make sure the Commission runs smoothly. Clearly, that someone isn't you."
"I'm the ideas man. You're the—" Mitya gestured vaguely. "—the grumpy one who makes sure my ideas don't burn the building down."
"Your ideas have almost burned the building down. Three times."
"Four, actually. But the fourth one was a controlled experiment."
Valeriy pinched the bridge of his nose. "Mitya."
"Valeriy."
"Stop being impossible."
"Stop being so easy to annoy."
Valeriy's eye twitched, and Mitya bit back a grin. He'd seen that look a hundred times. The expression of someone who'd reached their limit and was still putting up with him anyway.
Mitya loved it. He'd never admit it out loud, but he loved it.
"You're supposed to be under my watch," Valeriy said, stepping closer. "Not wandering off to sit in empty theatres."
"Technically, I'm not wandering. I'm sitting. Very stationary. Very easy to watch."
"That's not—" Valeriy stopped, rubbing his temples. "You know what I mean."
"I always know what you mean, Mr. Valeriy." Mitya's grin widened. "You mean: 'Mitya, please stop making my job harder than it already is.'"
"Then why don't you listen?"
"Where's the fun in that?"
Valeriy stared, and the look in his eyes made Mitya's grin falter, just slightly.
"You never listen," Valeriy said quietly. "You never stay where I put you. You're always running off somewhere, always finding ways to escape."
"Escape is a strong word. I prefer 'strategic repositioning.'"
"I prefer 'insufferable.'"
"That's not very professional, Mr. Valeriy."
"Stop calling me that."
"Why? It's respectful. It's—"
"It's not you."
Mitya blinked. He'd never heard Valeriy sound quite like that. But before he could process it, Valeriy shook his head and climbed onto the stage. He settled beside Mitya, close enough that their shoulders almost brushed, and stared out at the empty seats.
"You died," Mitya said flatly.
"You died too."
"Not first."
Mitya held his gaze, the silence between them growing heavier by the second.
And without warning, he was back there.
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Mitya remembered the night before with painful clarity.
"We should probably discuss arrangements for tonight. Now that the deceased has left our midst, there shouldn't be any more incidents."
"However, out of an abundance of caution, I'll keep watch."
He remembered Odette speaking up, and Valeriy brushing her aside.
"Shouldn't we take shifts? I can take one if needed."
"No need. I managed to get a nap earlier, so I have plenty of energy right now. After all the tension of the past few days, everyone else should just focus on getting a good night's sleep."
Liar. Mitya had known he was lying. He could see it in his shoulders, the shadows under his eyes, the careful way he spoke.
He should have argued. Should have insisted. Should have—
But he hadn't. Because arguing with Valeriy was like arguing with a brick wall. The man was immovable when he set his mind to something. Stubborn to the point of self-destruction.
So Mitya had let him go. Had watched him take his position on the stage, standing guard like the loyal soldier he was. And Mitya had gone to sleep, trusting that Valeriy would keep them safe.
He'd woken up to noise.
He remembered standing up, heart racing, mind still catching up as he shoved through countless bodies. He needed to see. He needed to know why everything had gone so wrong.
And then he'd seen him.
Valeriy, still sitting. Exactly where he'd been when Mitya had fallen asleep.
But his chest didn't rise, his eyes didn't open, and Mitya knew.
He remembered walking forward, each step heavier than the last. He knelt beside Valeriy, hands hovering over his chest. Afraid to confirm what he already knew.
"Just like the last two nights... No clear cause of death."
His own voice came out distant, like it belonged to someone else.
"I've been a real thorn in your side, haven't I, Mr. Valeriy. Now you can rest in peace."
The words of a researcher, not a man who had just lost—
He broke off, swallowing hard, feeling the walls begin to crumble.
"But for me..."
His voice cracked, the confession escaping in a whisper meant only for his own ears. Meant for the dead man who couldn't hear him anyway.
"Life will be all the duller for not having to run away from you, my friend."
That was all he managed. All he let himself say.
Inside, though, he was falling apart.
But there was no room for grief. His thoughts were spinning, clawing for explanations, pushing him to move before he could fall apart.
Valeriy died. Just like the others. No clear cause of death. But I'm still here. I'm still alive. Why am I still alive?
The thought was relentless, carving through the fog of grief, refusing to let him rest.
Then he remembered the time he got amnesia. Everyone who ‘died’ was from the Royal Energy Commission. And every single one had been working on the same project, the same theory, the same—
Me.
It was me. I was the link.
His hands had started shaking.
I'm the one who should be dead.
He'd stood up. His legs felt like they didn't belong to him.
I need to test this. I need to prove it. If I leave the theatre, if I walk out into the snowstorm, if I die—then I'm right. And everyone else will be safe.
It made sense. It was the only explanation that fit.
If I'm the dead person, then I'm the one causing the deaths. The curse is following me.
If I leave, everyone else lives.
He'd explained his theory to the others, piecing it together as he went. Odette had confirmed it. She'd seen him die before. So he walked and said goodbye, pushing past the others, heading for the exit. His legs carried him forward, but his thoughts were already lost.
I took him for granted.
And now he's gone.
But I can fix it. I can leave. I can save everyone else.
I can—
The snowstorm had hit him like a wall.
He stumbled out into the white void, wind howling in his ears and cold cutting through his coat like knives. He couldn't see anything, couldn't feel anything except the snow and the relentless cold pressing in from all sides. His legs shook, his vision blurred, and all he could see was Valeriy's face pale and lifeless.
Valeriy.
Valeriy is dead, and I never told him—
No. Don't think about that. Don't think about him. Focus on the theory. Focus on the evidence. Focus on—
Focus on anything except the fact that the man you love is dead and you never said a single word.
His chest had constricted. His knees had buckled. He'd fallen into the snow, gasping, the cold burning his lungs with every breath.
Get up. Get up and keep walking. You have to—
You have to—
What if Valeriy comes back? What if he wakes up and you're not there? What if—
He's not coming back. He's dead. You saw him. You held his hand. You—
You said those words to a corpse. You said them to a corpse, and you thought that was enough.
It wasn't enough. It will never be enough. And now he's gone forever.
The snow had fallen around him, utterly indifferent to his pain. His limbs had grown heavy. The cold had started to feel warm.
He could feel himself slipping. And then he saw something. A shape, a symbol, something he couldn't name. What was it? What had he seen?
His fingers moved before he could think, scraping against his palm. He didn't know what he was drawing, but something in him kept going, kept carving into his own palm. He had to remember.
He collapsed into the snow, the white swallowing him whole.
But somehow, he forced himself to his feet. His body was screaming, his mind was spinning, but he took another step.
Keep going. Keep going.
Valeriy.
Valeriy.
Valeriy.
Valeriy's name fell from his lips like a mantra, even though he knew no one was listening. He'd walked for what felt like hours. Time had lost all meaning in the white void.
And then, finally, everything began to blur.
Is this it?
Am I... really dead? This doesn't feel real to me at all…
No, that's impossible. This cannot be how it all ends.
Then he heard it.
A voice. Singing through the wind.
Mitya had frozen, his heart stuttering in his chest.
What is that? Who is—
"May those we have lost watch over us and follow this song back home in the night, so that we might be reunited once more."
Mitya had followed the voice. It was the only thing he could do. His legs had moved without his permission, carrying him toward the sound.
Suddenly, the theatre entrance appeared in front of him.
He'd stumbled through the doors, gasping, collapsing onto the floor of the lobby. The Traveler, Odette, Chugunov and Alyosha were there. Everyone was staring at him like they saw a ghost.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊⊱·✶·⊰₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
Mitya blinked, the memory fading like frost in the morning sun.
Valeriy didn't move, just watched him with that familiar calm.
Mitya swallowed. There was so much he had wanted to say to a dead man. He wasn’t going to waste the chance to say it to a living one.
"I should have argued with you," Mitya said suddenly.
"What?"
"That night. When you volunteered to keep watch." Mitya's jaw tightened. "I should have argued. I should have insisted on taking shifts. I should have—"
“Mitya, you couldn’t have known.”
“That’s the problem.” His fingers curled against his knees. “I should have known.”
He stopped, shaking his head. "But I didn't. Because I was too busy assuming you'd be fine. Assuming you'd always be fine."
"Mitya—"
"I always assumed." Mitya's voice cracked. "That you'd catch me when I ran, find me when I hid, be there when I needed you.”
He looked down at his hands. "And you never let me down."
"That was my job."
"No." Mitya turned to look at him. "No, it wasn't. Your job was to watch me. Not to—" He stopped, his throat tight. "Not to be the reason I felt safe."
Valeriy's eyes softened.
"You felt safe with me?"
"I felt everything with you." Mitya laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Safe, terrified, I felt like I was constantly on the verge of doing something stupid. And I never—" His voice breaking. "I never told you—"
Valeriy reached for him.
"Don't." Mitya pulled back. "Don't touch me. Not yet. I need to—" He took a shaky breath. "I need to say this."
Valeriy's hand dropped. "Okay."
"You keep sighing at me," Mitya said. "Every time I run, hide, or do something stupid—you sigh. And I used to think it meant you were annoyed. That you couldn't stand me."
"That's not—" Valeriy started, but Mitya kept going.
"But I realized something when I was kneeling beside your body." His voice was barely holding it together. "I realized that you only sigh like that with me. You don't sigh at anyone else."
He looked at Valeriy.
"Just me."
"You noticed that?"
"Of course I noticed." Mitya laughed, broken and bitter. He stopped, shaking his head. "I notice everything. And I never said a word because I thought—"
"Thought what?"
Mitya met his eyes. "Thought you'd never feel the same way."
Valeriy held his gaze for a moment longer, then reached out. This time, Mitya didn't pull away.
"You want to know what I thought?" Valeriy asked.
"What?"
"I thought you were the most infuriating person I'd ever met."
Valeriy's thumb brushed across his cheek.
"You're reckless and chaotic and you never listen to a word I say. You hide in ridiculous places. I once found you behind a potted plant half your size."
A small smile tugged at Mitya’s lips.
"You purposely get under my skin every single day, and I've had to explain to my superiors more times than I can count why I was chasing you through the Commission halls again."
A laugh escaped Mitya's lips before he could stop it. "That's not very romantic."
"I'm not finished." Valeriy's voice cracked. "You were the only person who made me feel alive. I thought about you off duty, when I should have been sleeping—so much that I started looking forward to chasing you."
"You looked forward to it?"
"I lived for it." Valeriy's voice was stripped bare. "I lived for the moment you'd run and I'd follow. For the way you'd glance back at me and grin when I caught you."
His eyes softened.
"Like you'd been waiting for me."
"I was waiting for you."
"I know." Valeriy pulled him closer. "I knew and I never said anything because I thought the chase was all we had."
Mitya laughed. "You're an idiot."
"Probably."
"You're insufferable and stubborn."
"Also true."
The playfulness slipped away. Mitya looked at him, voice barely above a whisper.
"I ran because I wanted you to catch me." Mitya's voice broke. "I didn't know how to stay. And every time you caught me, I felt like I mattered..."
Valeriy's grip on him tightened. "You always mattered."
"Then why didn't you tell me?"
"I was afraid that one day I’d finally catch you, only for you to realize you never wanted to be caught by me."
Mitya stared at him. Then, slowly, a familiar grin spread across his face that Valeriy had seen a thousand times.
"You know," Mitya said his voice was lighter now, "for someone who's supposed to be the responsible one, you're really bad at this."
Valeriy blinked. "Bad at what?"
"This." Mitya gestured between them. "The whole... feelings thing. You're terrible at it."
Valeriy's eyes twitched. "I'm not terrible."
"You're absolutely terrible." Mitya leaned back, crossing his arms. "You spent years chasing me and never once said a word. Years sighing at me and never once telling me why. You—"
"And you?" Valeriy interrupted, his voice sharp. "You spent years running and never once told me why. Hiding and never once told me you wanted to be found. You spent years—" He clenched his jaw. "You spent years not saying anything either."
His grin faltered.
"That's—" Mitya started.
"True." Valeriy's voice was firm. "It's true, and you know it. You said you noticed everything about me but you never said a word. You just kept running."
Mitya wanted to retaliate, but the words died before they could leave his mouth.
"You're right," he said quietly. "I didn't say anything either. I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize." Valeriy pressed their foreheads together. "Just stop all of it and tell me."
"Tell you what?"
Valeriy pulled back, meeting his eyes. "Tell me you want me to catch you and that want me to find you. Tell me—" His voice faltered. "Tell me you want me."
Mitya felt the weight of those words settle deep in his chest. He reached out, hand finding Valeriy's, holding on like he might slip away.
"I want you," he said, his voice fierce. "I've always wanted you."
Valeriy went still, his eyes searching Mitya's face. Mitya let him look, then scoffed softly, shaking his head.
“What?”
“I’m just wondering where this Mitya was all those years.”
Mitya frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“You could have just told me.”
“And you would have believed me?”
Valeriy’s mouth twitched.
“Probably not.”
“Exactly.”
“You enjoyed making me work for it.”
“Maybe I did.”
“Maybe?”
“Don’t push your luck.”
Mitya laughed softly, shaking his head. Then, as though a thought had just occurred to him, a smile spread across his face. "By the way, I always wondered why every guard who got assigned to watch me suddenly requested a transfer after a week."
He raised an eyebrow. "Care to explain that, Mr. Valeriy?"
Valeriy's expression went carefully blank. "I wouldn't know anything about that."
"You wouldn't?" Mitya's smile widened. "Captain Petrov? Lieutenant Fedorov? Sergeant Kozlov? They all left. Every single one."
Valeriy looked away. "They weren't suited for the position."
"Uh-huh." Mitya leaned closer. "And you had nothing to do with it?"
"I was thorough." Valeriy's jaw tightened. "I made sure they were doing their job properly."
"By following them everywhere? By 'checking in' on them constantly?" Mitya's voice was warm with amusement. "By making them so uncomfortable they couldn't wait to leave?"
Valeriy was still for a moment, then looked at him.
"I didn't like anyone else watching you." His voice was low "I didn't like anyone else chasing you. I didn't like anyone else catching you."
Mitya's breath caught.
"I wanted to be the only one." Valeriy reached out and gently took his chin, tilting his face up. "The one chasing you, catching you, sighing at you. No one else."
Mitya stared at him. He didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything at all.
Valeriy shifted, pulling Mitya onto his lap and wrapping his arms around him.
Mitya pressed into him, voice muffled against his neck. "You're the only one who's ever let me be myself."
Valeriy's hand cradled the back of his head. "That's because I don't want you to be anyone else."
Mitya's fingers tightened in his coat. "I tried to do the same. To let you be more than just your job."
Valeriy held him tighter, chin resting on his hair. "I know. And I should have said it sooner. Thank you."
“You’re welcome.”
Valeriy looked at him.
“That’s all you have to say?”
“What? I’m still getting used to you saying thank you.”
Valeriy let out a laugh, his arms tightening around him for just a moment.
Mitya stayed there for a moment longer, letting himself breathe. He allowed himself to believe that Valeriy was really there. He pulled back at last, his eyes still warm as he looked at the man he’d once thought he’d lost.
"So... does this mean you'll stop yelling at me for skipping meetings?"
"Absolutely not."
"Worth a try."
Valeriy sighed but his lips were curved into a smile.
"I wonder if you do it just to hear me sigh,"
"I do," Mitya admitted. "It's my favorite sound."
Valeriy laughed, "That's the strangest thing you've ever told me."
"I know." Mitya grinned, leaning into him. "But you love it anyway."
Valeriy pressed a kiss to his hair. "I do."
꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂
The End.