Work Text:
"Do you ever take a break?"
Valeriy blinks down at Mitya. The shorter man stands up on his toes, staring up at the sergeant almost indignantly.
"All you do is work, work, work," Mitya barrels on, whining. He shrinks back down to his normal height and folds his hands behind his back, rocking back and forth on his feet. "And I mean, sure, not everyone can be as free-spirited as your's truly," He bows with a dramatic flourish at those words, but sobers quickly. "But do you even sleep?"
Valeriy blinks again. "I acquire sufficient sleep, yes." He answers, "Sleep-deprivation does not make for high quality work."
Mitya lets out a 'tsk', scrunching his nose up as he does so. Valeriy ignores the entirely nonsensical reaction that is his heart flip-flopping around in his rib cage. He's too young to be developing heart disease- but considering the substances that he's regularly exposed to as he trails around after Mitya, combined with the, albeit light, exertion that is chasing after Mitya…
"So?" Mitya chirps out. Valeriy lets out a surprised puff of air; he'd tuned out everything that Mitya had been saying in his musings. Unsurprising- the scientist had likely gone on a long winded ramble on the importance of theater or fresh air for one's continued health.
"So." Valeriy parrots back as a statement.
Mitya pouts. "So," He drawls out, "Do you want to come with me? Project Mistilteinn's on pause until we get the whole-" He flaps a hand vaguely in the air "thing, figured out, and I'm kind of waiting for the director and the traveler to get back to me on that whole thing, so don't tell me that I should be working now." Mitya lets out a dramatic sigh. "I actually have free time now."
"I still have my own duties." Valeriy replies back, unphased. Mitya visibly droops in front of him, and Valeriy looks away. He chews on his next works for a short moment, then, almost begrudingly, admits, "But I can accompany you." It'd still be work; his assignment as Mitya's guard hasn't ceased now that Project Mistilteinn has been put on pause, only his role as a warden.
He'd have to return to that position one day, but it'd be nice, Valeriy muses, to enjoy whatever positive reactions Mitya offers him in the meantime. Constant chasing and coraling don't make for a particularly favorable relationship, after all. Mitya's a nice person to begin with, not to mention fiercely loyal to his nation; those are likely the only reasons he hasn't fought back against Valeriy's constant hounding beyond pitiful complaints and ceaseless whining.
Still, it'd be nice to hear nice things from him.
Mitya lets out a bark of delighted laughter. Clapping Valeriy on the forearm, the shorter man leans forward. "The Traveler gave me a tip." Mitya's eyes sparkle as he rambles on. "There's apparently a herd of iridescent Fluffahogs out on the outskirts of Flamefeather valley." Valeriy shifts slightly under Mitya's grip, but the other man keeps on blabbering. "It's a rare variant. Who knows? Maybe I'll be able to find myself some of the legendary herbs that they tend to root up too." info on location of Fluffahogs. Rare variety; might even be able to find some rare plants to mess with."
Most of the terms mean little to Valeriy; he's a soldier and commander, and his knowledge of Snezhnaya's flora and fauna is unfortunately limited to the things that may be of use, and the things that may prove a threat. Flamefeather Valley, however, that, he can recognize.
"That's quite a ways out of the city." Valeriy points out.
"We'll be fine," Mitya laughs dismissively. He stares up at Valeriy through long lashes, and Valeriy fights ther urge to shiver. "You're here, after all."
Valeriy swallows. Something in his chest trembles at those words. Mitya is far too close for comfort; Valeriy swears he can feel the other man's warm breath on his skin, even through the layers of furs that shield him from Snezhnaya's bitter cold.
"That way," Mitya finally steps out of Valeriy's space, hands folded behind his back. "Even on the off chance that we run into something that I can't handle, I'm sure you can." He winks teasingly.
That trembling thing in Valeriy's chest slips feathers between his lungs, a sudden rush of pleasant warmth that reaches all the way down to his bones. Clearing his throat, Valeriy averts his gaze. He can feel the tips of his ears heating up. From the corner of his eye, Valeriy catches Mitya's expression; the scientist's smile has softened into some thing soft. Like it could be fondness, or affection.
Valeriy squashes that thought before it can form the rest of the way. Mitya's already made his opinions of Valeriy's presence in his life quite clear. There's not point in trying to read something where there isn't anything.
"Let me know when you plan to leave." Valeriy pulls his shoulders back. "We can make adequate-"
Mitya snorts, "We're leaving now, sarge. I even packed both of our bags already, see?" His sarf appears out from underneath Mitya's clothes, dangling two leather bags in its grip.
"Now?" Valeriy can't help but frown. "What would you have done if I had refused? It is certainly not safe to go out that far with conditions as they are now."
"I know you, Valeriy." Mitya just laughs. "You wouldn't have refused."
That warm thing bubbles up in Valeriy's chest again.
The temperatures outside of the city are biting. Valeriy isn't terribly phased by them; he'd been sent on expeditions beyond the city walls quite frequently, before his assignment to Mitya's side. But the scientist clearly hadn't expected such a chill, and has already dug out a thick overcoat. Mitya's wrapped himself up in the coat, his scarf wound tightly around his body as well. He's not shivering anymore, but Valeriy still frowns at the image.
"Are you still cold?" He asks.
"Ah, I'm fine," Mitya smiles, waving off Valeriy's concerns. "I wouldn't be a Snezhnayan if I couldn't handle at least a little bit of a chill."
This is not just 'a little bit of a chill', Valeriy does not say. The snowstorms may have died down for the time being, but the entire land is still covered with a thick layer of snow. Prime ice is scattered along the countryside, no doubt plummeting the already freezing temperatures even further. In the distance, the sheer blue walls surrounding Flamefeather valley loom.
"There have been reports of alchemical creations wandering this area." Valeriy warns, warily glancing towards the aforementioned cliffs. "I would caution against proceeding further in this direction."
"The traveler said that they already took care of that problem." Mitya shrugs. Squinting, he raises a hand up to his forehead, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun and snow.
Valeriy hums dubiously, but acquiesces. He's yet to see the traveler in active combat, but considering what Mitya's told him regarding the aftermath of the theater incident, and the fact that the traveler was handpicked by the director himself, he's willing to spare some faith. Worst comes to worst, he's confident in his ability to pick up Mitya and run, at least. All those years of dragging him back to his workshop has given Valeriy plenty of experience in that regard.
"Now, shush," Mitya grins, raising a finger to his lips. "Fluffahogs are rather sensitive creatures, you know? If we go barreling in they'll curl up and roll off and we'll never get to see anything." Obligingly, Valeriy hums quietly.
They creep through the snow, towards a patch of wooded area. The trees are canopied with snow, and the wilds are still. The silence seems infectious, as even Mitya falls quiet. The blue-haired man is focused on the brush around him, completely oblivious to the way Valeriy's gaze falls on him. Would it be better, Valeriy muses, if the other man turned around and caught him staring.
Mitya's silence is something of a rare sight. Valeriy's never seen the other man ever fully quiet; when he's slacking off and running away, there's always a constant stream of chatter spilling from his mouth. Even when Mitya's fully focused on his work, he's still mumbling nonsensical notes to himself as he tinkers with whatever project it is that he has in his hands.
Still, it isn't exactly surprising. Mitya has, after all, demonstrated himself capable of stealth enough to evade Valeriy's own tracking efforts.
A vice grip clamps down on Valeriy's forearm as Mitya makes a hissing noise. The shorter man waves wildly towards a patch of brush with his free arm, and Valeriy traces the motion.
A group of fluffahogs nose around through the snowy underbrush a short distance away. The Traveler hadn't lied about this group being a rare variant; they're coats are a bright shade of white, with ice-blue highlights streaking through the fur. Ironically enough, compared to their golden-furred counterparts, this herd of fluffahogs seems even better suited for the snowy tundras of their homeland.
Mitya whips out a kamera from his bag and rapidly snaps several photos photos. In the same instant, he darts forward with far more grace than Valeriy had expected. Mitya kneels down into the snow by some disturbed snowbanks- probably a region the fluffahogs had just passed through, and begins digging down through the ice and dirt.
Valeriy squints. He hadn't taken Mitya for an ecologist, but the other man had always been a rather spontaneous figure. That he's willing to get his hands dirty for fur or other biological samples, well, Valeriy can say that he'd expected that much, at least.
He'd assumed that this trip had been just another spontaneous decision, but looking at Mitya, who's digging around in the snow with a concentrated frown on his face, Valeriy can't help but doubt that. It looks like this trip really was planned ahead, for once.
Valeriy really is here only as a guard.
Something deflates in his chest; he hadn't even noticed that small bubble of hope until it had popped. Not that there should've been hope to being with- Mitya had even said so himself; Valeriy is an imposing fighter.
A fluffahog squeaks as it draws away from its herd. It's a juvenile, judging by its size, and the curious thing cautiously approaches Mitya.
Valeriy watches as the scientist offers a hand out to the creature in a fist. The hog snuffles warily at Mitya's hand, then takes another slow step forward. Mitya, wide-eyed, splays his hand open, palm up. The movement startles the juvenile, though, and with a squeal, the creature curls up into its signature spiky ball.
Mitya yelps, scrambling out of the way. His arms pinwheel around him as he goes tumbling straight into the snowbank behind him, a shower of snow raining down over his figure.
Valeriy's already moving toward the smaller man, but he can't help the small laugh that escapes him as mirth bubbles up in his chest.
"Mitya," Valeriy calls out. He swiftly dodges the small fluffahog as it rolls back towards its herd in a rush.
Mitya splutters, shaking himself off like a wet dog as he pushes himself up out of the snowbank into a sitting position. There's snow caught in his hair, the crystals already melting from the heat of his body and sticking strands of blue hair to his face.
The scientist smiles, and he glances up towards Valeriy. As soon as his gaze lands on Valeriy's face, though, Mitya freezes, jaw hanging open. If Valeriy were more of a fool, he'd think that Mitya looked starstruck.
Suddenly, Valeriy feels as if he's been knocked afoot. "Do you need something?" He questions, in lieu of anything else to say. It feels as if something in the air has changed, or as if the ground beneath his feet has shifted two paces to the left. It's unbecoming of someone of his stature to fidget, but he finds himself wanting to anyway.
"I don't think I've ever seen you smile like that." Mitya blurts out. He goes pink as soon as the words are out of his mouth.
Valeriy makes a questioning 'bwuh', noise. His entire body feels warm, far too warm for someone standing out in the Snezhnayan tundra to be. He stares at Mitya for a few seconds, gobsmacked, and ends up gaping unattractively like a beached fish.
Maybe Mitya takes his reaction for anger, or thinks Valeriy's mistaken Mitya to be making fun of him. Or maybe Mitya doesn't think at all, because the next words out of Mitya's mouth are, "It's really cute."
Valeriy's jaw snaps shut. He can feel the heat spreading up all through his face now. Mitya looks equally as red as Valeriy must be. The shorter man let's out a high pitched noise, then abruptly turns his gaze away, hiding his face in his hand.
"Sorry," Mitya says in a rush. "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that- not saying that it's not- I mean. You are cute. Your smile-" Mitya's scarf comes up to muffle his words, and Mitya breaks off into a high-pitched whine. For once, Mitya looks glad for the censure.
"It's fine." Valeriy clears his throat. His face is still aflame. "I… appreciate the compliment." He does, truly. The words are a pleasant warmth, nestled around his throat and chest, blanketing all the soft spots between his ribs. He tucks them away, like a precious gift, because surely, surely, surely-
His expression must shift- and Mitya's always been the best at reading even the slightest of his cues, because the Mitya rips his scarf away from his face and next words out of the scientist's mouth-
"This is a date, by the way," Mitya states, with all the flourish that one would use to proclaim the sky is blue. Like it's a well-known fact.
Valeriy stares at him. His heart feels like it's going to beat out of his chest. He can feel his own pulse pressing against his ribs, and surely his face is as red as he thinks it is. Perhaps he'd spent far too long out in the tundra, ended up sick, and this is all just some crazy fever dream.
"I mean," Mitya breaks out into rambling again, all previous confidence vanished. "I didn't really intend for this to be a date? But it can be, if you want it to be." He pauses, averting his gaze, and says, quieter, "I'd certainly like it to be."
Valeriy's mind feels like a machine with rusted gears; all the thoughts inside have ground to a halt. Be a date. Mitya's words run circles in his head. Mitya awkwardly clears his throat, fidgeting with the segmenet of his scarf that's looped around his next. The ends of the scarf, however, keep pushing Mitya insistingly from behind, as if trying to pick the scientist back up on his feet and shove him towards Valeriy.
"I-" Valeriy's voice cracks in a rather undignified manner. Raising a hand, he coughs into his fist to clear his throat. "I wouldn't be opposed." The words sound far too formal for everything that he wants to say, even to Valeriy's own ears.
Mitya, sharp as ever, jerks up anyway. For a second, he just stares. Then, his face splits into a toothy grin. He laughs, bright and loud, scrambling to his feet and closing the distance between them in an instant.
"Really?" Mitya breathes.
Valeriy nods stiffly. His face feels warm. It's surprisingly nice, that the other man is able to read him so well.
"I'm glad," Mitya laughs. He reaches forward to take Valeriy's gloved hand in his own. Valeriy watches, transfixed, as Mitya lifts their joined hands up towards his lips, pressing a chaste kiss on Valeriy's finger tips. Even through the layers of thick fabric, the soft pressure burns. Mitya doesn't break eye contact the entire time, only smiling at Valeriy with an expression bordering on smug. This is bold, even for him. For all spontaneity, Mitya isn't the type to act without reason backing him. That Valeriy's affections had been so obvious- he flushes even further at the thought.
"I really like you," Mitya proclaims. "I enjoy your company. I respect you, and your tactical brilliance is something I don't even need to mention." He laughs, standing back upright and squeezing Valeriy's hand. Lilac eyes sparkle, and Valeriy fights the urge to squint at the blinding light.
The taller man finally manages to unhinge his own jaw. "Thank you." He says. He doesn't have the words for everything else that swirling through his head, and a measly, "I like you too." Is all he manages to get out in the end.
Mitya smiles again. It's smaller this time, but no less fond. "Well," He chirps, stepping back and tugging Valeriy along with him. "I've got us a reservation at Podvorye, so we better hurry back to the city." He ends the comment with a wink.
Valeriy lets himself be dragged along.