Chapter Text
They didn’t know how it happened. But it did.
The two held each other, swinging through Mephistopheles’ halls. Cheeks flushed, sloppy movements, and their laughter vibrating through the walls. Rodion had her arm slipped around his waist, guiding them through their pirouettes, with Gregor almost forgetting about the cigarette in his mouth. Gregor’s shaky hand gripped her left shoulder. The air as they spun brushed against the backsides of their necks.
It was an evening in H Corp, where the excitement of the celebrations had become as diluted as colour bleeding from a dyed shirt. A low, minimal music hummed across the place, the stars and moons showing themselves in the inky sky. People were dancing to a slow rhythm, gentle smiles worn on their faces, the lights giving a warm hue. Gregor hid against concrete, the smoke from his cigarette curling around the adjacent wall. He stayed away from the clink of glass, the occasional break of laughter, and the dreamy eyes that almost hardened when he walked by. He was alone with his thoughts. Rodion, on the other hand, gave herself to a mountain of beer, drowning herself in the bitter liquid. She made bets with the other party members and with five bottles in, no one wanted to outdrink her anymore. She wasn’t drunk, but still enough for the walls of her tall castle to erode a little.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Gregor squished in the gap of a building like a small bug. She couldn’t help but laugh a little when she made the comparison. Then she remembered he was that bug. Gregor, by the tilt of his head (and the silent pressure of someone’s gaze upon him), met eye contact with Rodya. The lights gave a hazy glow to her, emphasising the sharp edges of her soft face, giving life to her sparkling eyes. He couldn’t help but part his lips, the cigarette almost falling as he did. To Rodya, his usual tense demeanour was replaced by a gentler stance, his face returning to his youth. Away from the light, shadows engulfed him except for the flame from his sooty cigarette, reflecting the gleam of his awkward smile. They stared at each other for a moment.
The song changed into something more energetic, the robust beats of the song powering Rodion’s stride towards him. It was a song that popped pleasantly in the canal of her ears, smoothing her brain to a distant memory. She always heard it mumbled behind a foggy window, where welcoming orange reflected on the cobblestone footpath trapped inside a dance studio. People in quality clothing would visit the studio and dance to this song, spinning as they did. Little Rodion would watch until the cold numbed her fingers and her breath created misty circles on the window. Until she was shooed away. She would always try to replicate it under their shadows, giving her a temporary warmth for her effort.
As if imprinted on her memory, she extended her hand to Gregor, who shrank with his shoulders in response. Rodion reassured him with a cordial smile. His palm hovered over hers for a bit, his throat tight. They joined hands and in the shadows once more; they swung forward and backward, slower to the rhythm. He stepped on her shoes a few times. Gregor loosened his grip, cheeks flushed, but Rodion laughed every single time and dragged him closer. Their waltz soon matched the speed of the rhythm, whirling like the eye of a storm on the horizon. They spun across the dance room, bumping into other people and gaffawing like mad lads. They eventually got onto the empty bus, their vision a blur of their surroundings, yellows and blues mixing – except each other. When Rodion was going to compliment Gregor for not stepping on her shoes for a while, her foot pressed down against his. It caused them to wobble, losing balance and a sudden haul to the left. With a loud thud, Rodion was pressed against the wall with Gregor still holding her. Their chests were pressed together, their raspy breaths mixed together – a calm heat against their faces – his unlit cigarette pressing against her cheek. He shrank again, and she tried to pull out a forced smirk to control this situation.
Two heartbeats passed. The mumbled music outside changed again.
“Greg…” she whispered, breathier than intended. But what she said came out as smoke to him – his mind too focused on her and the silent twitching of his bug arm behind him. Gregor blinked like someone waking up from a dream; his glasses began to slide off. Then he remembered who was pinning that tall woman. He wiggled his leg to move but froze in the next beat, his eyes avoiding contact. A nasty red flush crawls up Rodion’s face when she realises where that same leg is between hers. Her hands shuffle against the wall in an attempt to escape. Her palm feels the familiar material and sighs in relief.
She leans on the door; it clicks, and the cold wind escapes through the gap as it opens. Goosebumps appear on both of them as she does. They both separate as Rodion follows the motion of the opening door and Gregor remains outside. The man seemed to be trapped in a trance, looking at anything but her. This is where Rodion usually wishes him a goodnight and slams the door, trying to forget that this happened. That’s what she should’ve done.
But a sudden jolt bloomed in her stomach. Something akin to a craving, but not wanting to eat the full meal. Something that wanted more than just a first bite. Maybe she is drunk. She grabs him by his arm, which startles Gregor, his glasses almost falling off again.
She knows that if she does it, she won’t be able to go back.
Rodya lets out a small snort as she drags the strands of his oily hair away from his face.
It’s a gamble she’s willing to take.
He looks to the ground, but she lifts his chin with her other hand. Gregor’s cheeks were a dusty pink, his forehead sticky as her fingertips brushed against it. Then, Rodion pulled him toward her and, like revving up an old car, they began their dance again. It started like before, the simple notion of going back and forth, except now avoiding the wooden dolls on the floor. Then their movements grew quicker, with Gregor moving with less confidence than before, whirling into Rodion, who quite literally dragged him to her bed. And before he could protest, they were on top of each other, him underneath Rodion’s shadow.
Their lips were atoms apart. It was the only thing that they were looking at. He could’ve easily pushed her downwards. Same with Rodion; she could’ve leaned forward. Yet they didn’t. Because one of them would rather be enclosed in ice than melt. Even the heat shared between them was unbearable now. Gregor sees himself as nothing more than vermin, believing he was a pest when near. He would only degrade her, he thought. But together, their hearts beat like they remembered how to live.
Their faces stayed close.
Neither of them had to guess what they wanted.
Gregor’s hand remained at her waist, Rodion’s at his shoulder.
They could’ve convinced themselves to run away from this one too. To convince themselves they were not what they wanted. Though…
All they want now is to be close but never grasp it.
Asymptotic.
They stayed like this, unmoving as time passed, the ice preserving them.
They didn’t know what it was or where it would take them.