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After getting home from the armory palace, Mitya threw his coat and scarf haphazardly onto a hanger before retreating to his room. At his desk, he buried his head in his arms, watching the Snezhnayan snowfall outside. Gentle.
After the Tsarista had defeated the monster in the tundra causing it the worst of the storms, Snezhnograd and many other towns had then only known gentle snowfall. Nothing like the blizzard that had seemed to rage for days outside the Korolevskiy Theatre.
He didn’t just ask The Jester to place him on leave just for a rest. Frankly at this current moment, Mitya needed to stay away. From others, from friends, from family...
A passing thought equated to innocent people subject to a slow game of death. An experiment, an entire laboratory taken out of commission. He knew now that his mind could easily trigger the Curse of Death- understood this better than most researchers. By the Tsarista’s name, he remembered this better than most researchers by now.
“Everyone wake up now!”
“...Life will be all the duller for not having to run away from you, my friend.”
Valeriy. Mitya’s shoulders tensed, pushing himself further into his own arms.
Mitya had smaller fears. Losing his free time, getting dragged back to the armory palace early… He never thought he had any large fears, being able to explain away most encounters he could be met with.
Yet despite that, seeing the sergeant so still in that moment, Mitya came to the conclusion he indeed did have a large, overwhelming fear. Walking the world alone. Losing him. Losing the one thing that had kept his days lively ever since the weight of the world was pressed upon his overturned palms.
How long was the entirety of Project Mistilteinn at risk for his foolishness? It had been months since the project begun. How long had they been hitting a brick wall?
He didn’t even dare look into it, too invested in his own research beforehand.. It’s not just yourselves anymore, the fate of the nation lies in your hands. He remembered The Jester saying to the new researchers they had brought onto the project.
He hadn’t even taken the advice for himself. They’d been running in circles for months, because of him. Mitya wanted to cry. Out of fear, guilt– frustration…
If he did, would it be justified? For all that he couldn’t do, did he really deserve that luxury?
Something stung behind his eyes anyway, so Mitya shoved his head into his arms, subjecting his sight to the void and the heavy thundering of his own heart. He knew what he wanted to do. A piece of Snezhnaya’s fate rested in his hands, it was high time he made up for the time given that he had taken for granted.
…
He’ll visit Korolevskiy Theatre one last time tomorrow. At least, for the foreseeable future. I’ll have to apologize to Vodyanista though. Maybe they’ll have something to properly talk about over it after he listens to her singing for real this time.
The dazzling lustre of the theatre hadn’t changed a single bit since their ‘week-long’ stay.
As if to say it didn’t happen. To say it wasn’t real.
Maybe it was a message from the Ruler of Death, to say that whatever they could’ve done was meaningless, but if that was the case, it was no longer where her jurisdiction could lie. Who was she, to dictate what was real and what was not?
The feeling it left behind remained nonetheless, slithering into their chests to remind him what would happen if he crossed the line again. No, Mitya didn’t necessarily care what would happen to him. Rather, the squirming parasite took the form of what would happen to everyone else, if he crossed the line again.
The ballerina, whom had inspired so many of his ideas through her performances.
The prima donna, whom he had the privilege to discuss the meaning behind her singing with once before, even if he’d been distracted, she was the main reason he’d even visit the theatre in the first place.
The hunter boy, who wasn’t afraid to approach him for such a menial task as weapons servicing, even then he was someone Mitya could have some riveting conversation with which– didn’t involve his work, but turned him into a chatterbox all the same.
And then there was Valeriy. The one could find him no matter where in Snezhnaya he could run. What did it matter if it was only his job? The concern lacing his voice each time Mitya strayed too far– hell the concept of Operation Showtime sent his heart into a fluttering frenzy. So much care and effort, could it really be set aside for someone like him?
It had only been a few months ago since Mitya had been an unremarkable researcher, someone who could fly under the radar. He didn’t care if it was the sergeant’s job, it was more work than most would ever show for him in his life. Maybe it was sad, but at least it wasn’t fake.
If I think, therefore I am living.
If I feel, then I know I’m real.
And if I fled, would you follow? How far then? To the ends of the earth? What length could I go to which you follow no longer? I wonder if something like that exists for you. A distance too far.
I hope you’ll never stop chasing. I will tire one day and fall to my knees. Find me. That will be the day you can catch me. The day I can flee no longer. I’ll be waiting. I’m tired.
[...]
As much as Mitya had initially wanted to keep returning to Korolevskiy Theatre, his throat had closed up and his hands started feeling clammy the moment he reached the doors to the theatre. Had Odette and Vodyanista felt this way too? Just how consuming could have been for them, to be entirely swallowed up by the fear of one of their homes like this? He pushed through, they deserved that, at least. For Vodyanista, for Odette, for all they’d been through they at least deserved a proper goodbye.
The show was good, excellent even. Everything was pushed to the highest quality. Though, Mitya couldn't quite seem to start digging into what really made the show so amazing. Not over the roaring of his heart. Like oil on water, the surface impenetrable.
Odette and Vodyanista both exchanged a glance when he went to approach them after the show. The latter looked like she had something to say before being shushed by the former. Mitya felt a pang in his chest. He couldn’t focus on Vodyanista’s singing. Again. Though, it seemed like Odette had said something to make the prima donna suddenly match the same expression he had on his face at the time. Concern. Resignment.
“Hey, hey! It’s nice to see you two performing again.” Mitya greeted with a wave of his scarf, “How're you feeling, after everything? For me, I got all sweaty seeing the theatre building again haha…” He tried to laugh off. Downplaying the situation was always a talent of his. He could make his death seem insignificant back then, could keep the atmosphere lighter in meetings where the situation had been thrice as dire. It didn’t seem to convince the pair though. What had Odette told Vodyanista?
“I experienced something similar, yes.” Odette nodded, eyes closing and hands folding over each other on her skirt. “Vodyanista is the only reason I was able reenter the building again at first.”
“Aw! You helped me step foot back in too, Odette!” Vodyanista turned from Mitya, shaking Odette by the shoulders with a pout on her face. She cranes her neck to look back at him “We held hands and everything! Then suddenly– it felt a hundred times easier to get inside, tell him Odette!” The ballerina had only cleared her throat after being rattled around so much, and simply nodded again.
“..I see.” He responded. It seemed like they had everything under control, that was good. Great, even. “I’m happy for you two, though with changes ongoing with Project Stuzha, I wanted to swing by and say that this might be the last show I’ll be seeing from you both in a while. I truly enjoyed all the performances you two had, and…” He swallowed. I don’t want to let this go, but I don’t want to put you in danger either. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll see you two again someday.”
“Mitya…” Vodyanista didn’t seem hurt, only concerned, and that only made him feel worse.
“Mr. Mitya.” Odette sighed, “I don’t say this lightly, but it’s alright if you need to take a break after all that has occurred. So if you ever want to talk about it, all of us will still be around. I encourage it, even.”
“Thanks.” Mitya said, looking away. So much for keeping the situation light, the air them felt so awkward now.. But how they looked at him.. It made him want to get out of there as soon as possible. So that’s what he did. “Weeell... It was great seeing you two again. I should be heading off now, next project and all that…”
“I thought you’d be here.” Valeriy’s voice cut through the trailing silence of his attempted exit. He whirled around– Oh archons. Why was he here? Surely he received the memo that Project Mistilteinn was placed on hold for the time being?
“Sarge… here to see the stars of the show?” He spoke sheepishly, making way for– huh? The two theatre celebrities had suddenly disappeared, not a peep resounding from where they once were. He sighed. ...Really? Leaving him out to dry like this.. “Ah. You know Valeriy, you don’t have to keep an eye on me anymore… my work’s been suspended for the time being and as such, so Operation Showtime is unnecessary–”
“I know.” Valeriy’s eyes furrowed, as he crossed his arms. “I’m off duty right now too while Glupov figures out how to redistribute their forces. For that, I’m not here as the Major searching for Mr. Energy Scientist.” He looked amused. “I’m here as Valeriy, looking for Mr. Mitya.”
It’d felt like his brain short-circuited for a moment before he could finally pick back up on his words.
“I– Uh–? Well I’m flattered!” He stammered, feeling heat rush up to the back of his neck. “I did always say how much I wanted to properly watch the show with you, didn’t I? We should go together again next time,” He continued, an excited thrill in his chest as a laugh bubbled out. How long had he waited for this? “Never thought you’d actually have a day off! On the regular, I would invite you out to Podvorye but…”
“Wait, I’m the dead person?”
Valeriy had died because of him– because he couldn’t figure out he’d been the dead person all along.
He was the dead person all along.
.
The snow outside the theatre had been the coldest he’s ever felt.
Even worse than times he’d run errands without a coat on.
Worse than the most dangerous expeditions he’s researched for. The kind that would follow thereafter.
Some say that sort of feeling was the sign that you had been touched by Death,
…but others say that it could represent the feeling of heartbreak.
“...I think I need to go.” He mumbled.
“Mitya–”
“I said I need to go.” He turned to leave– before his path was blocked.
“Mitya. Something’s wrong.” The Major’s eyes shouldn’t have looked that soft looking at him like at. At someone who killed him. “Talk to me, or any of the others…? Please.”
“Just…” He clenched his fist, biting his tongue. Stay away, please. “...Enjoy your break, Sarge.” The words felt like sandpaper ripped from his throat. A turn on his heel, dodging Valeriy’s hand, before running out of the auditorium. Not stopping for a second, he heard a shout and heavy footsteps approaching, but just before his legs began to burn, they suddenly… stopped.
Did the Major finally give it up?
…
Oh.
Mitya’s house was a narrow thing, wedged between two other houses with a long staircase up to the front door. An echo of a time where he had lived more modestly. A simpler life, as another researcher in the crowd amongst many others.
Slamming the front door behind him, he slid down onto his carpet, the snow tracked in just barely seeping into his pants.
Around his torso, his scarf began to curl around him. In a way, was this him hugging himself? It didn’t help, either way. His breath rattled against his chest, and with hands shaking, he tore off his coat, tossing it onto his hanger. He stalked up to his room with unsteady steps. Mitya felt sick, dizzy.
He collapsed on the side of his bed, head and arms pressed against the mattress.
It was me.
Each time someone died, each tear shed in mourning,
My thoughts, my fault.
Odette and Vodyanista were terrified to enter the theatre again, because of me.
…
How do I even come back from that?
How,
How,
How,
.
How could I ever be forgiven?
Something stung against his eyes… Mitya lets the feeling run its course.
Let it drain his energy. Until he couldn’t breathe. Until his vision swims. Until he blacks out.
.
.
.
Mitya sent a letter to the Jester detailing how he was going to work from home until Project Stuzha was no longer suspended. Today had been.. unproductive at best. His desk cluttered with papers– crumpled, scribbled, layered… gods. What was the point?
Anytime he had an idea, he'd suddenly pass out. At least he was aware of it now– thanks to the mark he’d carved into his soul probably, but it didn’t make him feel any better.
To be reduced to being this useless…
Mitya needed to do something, and if he couldn’t see his friends at the opera then he would work. If he couldn’t work, then he would see the opera, go out to eat somewhere… take Valeriy out to someplace nice…
More than anything, he wanted to see everyone else, but he would only cause more harm than good if he went out before the Jester figured out what to do with the Ruler of Death.
“Life will be all the duller without for not having to run away from you, my friend.”
....His head hurt. How many times had it hit his desk in the last few weeks? He could imagine Valeriy looking worried for him. A sweet, but terrifying expression to see on his face.
Mitya picked up his pen again, pulling a fresh sheet of paper up to him before his vision swayed. Did… did he have breakfast this morning? Time felt like both liquid and sand slipping into molasses. Rubbing his temples, he ran a hand through his tangled hair before returning his hand to his face. Through his fingers, the sight he was met with made his heart skip a beat.
From his window, a relentless snowstorm.
When had he–? No. No. There’s no way– there’s no way he was back here. Not again.
Mitya’s chest felt tight. How many times had this happened before? Looking up from his work and seeing a sudden snowstorm? Knowing it was a matter of time before he was taken into the leylines?
No one was around to watch, so there was no need to pretend… Mitya let a sob tear his throat, pressing his head into tucked up legs. Last time even against all odds, he had the Traveler around. Doing this alone now…
What could he do alone, against a god?
His mind swam, he just wanted to be taken into the leylines and forget already.
The Ruler of Death was cruel, torturing him in this way...
Knock knock.
…
What.
…
"Pft..." Mitya laughed. A pitched, hysterical laugh. “Haha... What kind of cruel joke is this?!” He whispered with wide eyes hands running through his hair. Scrubbing his tears away, he stumbled down his steps. A lightheaded rush washing over his mind, really, when did he last eat? Didn’t matter. If the Grim Reaper stood on the other side of his door, he might as well give her a piece of his mind before he lost it.
Gripping the knob, he flung open the door and
...Valeriy was on the other side.
His mind quieted. The sharp words on his tongue dissolved into nothing, as all the words in the world couldn’t describe how relieved he was to see the man, yet also afraid. Did he pass by my house when it happened? Did I accidentally pull someone into it after all?
“Mitya.” Valeriy greeted. His expression wasn’t much different than when he saw him back in the theatre, short before he ran away. Was he not worried about the raging snowstorm at all? Mitya took a few sudden steps back, hands in the air.
“S…Sarge.” Words tumbled in a hoarse cadence. When was the last time he used his voice? “It’s cold outside. You should come in.” He spoke stiffly, and swept his arms into the house, gesturing for him to enter.
Once they’d both been situated with a few old packets of hot chocolate Mitya had left in his pantry, they sat down on the couches by Mitya’s fireplace.
“How come you’re here? Did you get lost in the blizzard?”
Valeriy shook his head, giving him a strange conflicted look.
“...After the suspension of Project Mistilteinn, the Armoury Palace moved around their guards.” He informed, maintaining eye contact with the energy scientist. “As such. My role has been altered as well. Since you determined you will be working from home for the time being, I will be resuming my bodyguard duties within your home, as per the request of the Jester of course.”
“Of course…” Mitya rolled his eyes. “Not even removing myself from work in the most literal sense could keep you away from me. Could it?” He sighed, hiding a smile beneath his cup, yet his words were quiet, subdued.
“No. It could not.” Valeriy sighed, “Whatever is wrong, Mitya.. you don’t have to talk about it. It was my fault for bringing it up all of a sudden in the first place.” He started with, “I’m not leaving this place, however. Not until you do.” The cup was set aside in favour of the man placing his hands in his lap, sending Mitya an determined expression, to which the other responded by looking away, setting down his cup as well.
“I’d be talking a while, if I start.” Mitya pulled his legs up, idly running his fingernails up and down his upper arm. It wasn’t like Valeriy was missing the context, but if he opened Pandora’s box, he couldn’t exactly stuff his feeling back in afterwards could he? After they were spoken, once someone heard– he wouldn’t be able to take them back. They’d be real. If you fall in a forest, and no one’s around to hear…
“We have all night.” Valeriy countered. “However long you plan to stay in your house as well. I don’t mind.”
Silence, accompanied by the low crackling of embers and the snowstorm beating against the windows.
“...I saw you die.” Mitya started, “I saw you die, and I couldn’t do anything about it.” Hands began to shake against where they were clasped around his upper sleeves. The contents starting to overturn, with nothing to stop it. “If I’m so smart, and I’m meant to save Snezhnaya with this great weapon, then why, why couldn’t I save you?” A shout at the end, as he curled in around himself, shaking hands, shaking shoulders, and then– a touch on his arm.
Barely touching. Only his fingertips, yet he was still fighting back full body shivers from it. Pathetic.
“You're a fool.” Mitya looked up, he couldn’t quite see Valeriy’s eyes. Could he be irritated? Disappointed? If only he’d been given more time he could have figured it out before it was revealed to him. Then, a pair of arms fell over his shoulder, pulling him closer. A sharp inhale. Geez… now he really couldn’t tell what Valeriy’s expression was. “Why did you run from the very people who could help absolve these feelings of yours?”
“I’m a danger to them. ...To you.” Mitya mumbled into the other’s arm, the warm fabric pressing against his face. “It was easier to just. Stay away until Project Mistilteinn could restart. Until you all were a hundred-percent safe around me.”
“I’m your bodyguard, Mr. Mitya.” Valeriy’s arms only constricted tighter around him. Although uncomfortable… it wasn’t exactly an unwelcome sensation either. Though, crossing into the realm of whether this was an allowed level of closeness between the two of them? Debatable. “My job isn’t to stay safe around you.”
“I’m not talking about your job, Valeriy!” His hands clenched against the hems of his pants, raising to return the embrace, before sitting uselessly on his thighs. Leave it to him to go have a second outburst.. “I’m talking about you. The Valeriy who watched the Korolevskiy Theatre performances with me, who’d follow me all the way to the most hole-in-the-wall restaurant in all of Sneznograd, and have the guts to break protocol in order to sit and eat with me.”
“Only because you asked.” When did such a tone begin to enter their voices while speaking to one another? He repeated it, as if the first time wasn’t enough. “Only because you asked. I’ll go anywhere.” Certainly this was no longer the words of close companionship, was it? At least, not with the light, floating feeling that surged in Mitya’s gut.
To enjoy Valeriy’s presence was surely one thing, but this was definitely something else. Something more volatile. Fragile. A momentarily bubble, reflecting himself in all the colours that could tempt him into loving himself, bursting into a thousand droplets by the time he realises he could not keep it forever.
“Valeriy…” It felt like a step forwards towards.. something, before two hands pushed him away. How he mourned the contact before then, looking into Valeriy’s eyes, his face tilted down and illuminated by the gentle cascade of lamp light, where Mitya suddenly forgot his words. A hundred presentations he’s delivered, a hundred ways of conversing his way into a web of a thousand connections, thin and superficial as they were, now set alight.
“Mitya. No matter what, I’m going to be here. I’ll remain by your side. So don’t cry so much. It’s uncharacteristic of you.” A warm hand soothed circles in the space between Mitya’s shoulder blades while the other use a thumb to wipe.. something away. Cry? What did he mean by that? With a touch to his face to confirm… wow. He was really crying. "I want to see more shows with you. Mitya. Many more."
With blurring vision, somewhere, there was an attempt to pull himself back together. Desperately scrambling together piecing before they crumbled apart further and further in front of his eyes. A frustrated shaken breath wracked through him, gripping tight against Valeriy’s sleeve before the taller man only held him tighter, Mitya pressing his head into the wool of his sweater.
“I hate you, Sarge. You know that?” He hissed, though there wasn’t any heat behind it. “Why’d you have to go and…” Make this so difficult. Make everything so complicated. I took care of everything just fine by myself before you came along. His head shifted further into the fabric, fingers clasping against it in a trembling lock.
“Of course.” Is all he said in return. Nothing even close to a scathing remark, for the ones Mitya offered him in return. “I feel the same way, don’t you know?" Then, he leaned down, and something pressed itself against the crown of his head. Valeriy’s lips? Then a whisper “You make things so unbelievably complicated.”
A stuttered breath from Mitya. For the past few months, everything. Did Valeriy feel the same? A thousand rehearsed questions raced through the floodgates in his mind, but reaching his hand into the stream, he only plucked one to ask. ...What did this make them?
“...Are you going to die again? The snow storm outside it…”
“...Mitya.” There was a look of confusion, before his expression pinched into that of sympathy. What? He wasn't mistaken right...? What else could've possibly drawn a gaze so downtrodden, full of pity? “It’s just a regular snowstorm. …When was the last time you'd slept?” To mistake a typical snowstorm for the one that occurred all those nights ago?
Just a regular snowstorm. He’d echo, a steady tension growing between his eyes, but with no longer the energy to put up any emotional spectacle for it, only groaning into Valeriy. A huff of breath carded through his hair. He didn’t quite pick Mitya up, but held him close against his side as he pulled them both up the stairs.
Dumping the smaller man down on his bed, Valeriy easily pressed him down with blankets– before sitting at the edge of the mattress. His head turned to keep watch, eyes deep with a feeling Mitya was afraid to name.
“I’ll be here until you’re ready to face the world again. Just… sleep first. I’ll watch.”
“And if I can’t face the world again?” A mumble into the covers, his eyes a threatening to slam down like weights had been tied to them.
“Then I’ll abandon the world to stay right alongside you.” When did Valeriy get so close to him? A forehead was pressed into his. “Sleep... We’ll talk again once you’ve received enough rest, Mr. Energy Scientist.”
“Don’t leave.” Is all he said, a hand latching onto the other’s shoulder to pull him down with him. An envelopment of something warm blossoming in his chest and stomach. Then, a nod as he settled beside him.
Mitya’s gaze remained long focused on Valeriy’s, then drifting to the Snezhnayan snowfall, before finally falling shut, taking the week’s worth of worries along with it, scattered to the four winds.
Maybe.
Maybe this was okay.
It was going to be okay.