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      “So, who are you? Am I talking to a celebrity or something along those lines?” Daniil asked as he set the plate of plain cheesecake in front of the man, pouring him a fresh mug of coffee with it. 

     Everything had been going fine. They’d been getting ready to close, like you do when it’s getting late, when suddenly, Daniil’s manager, Georgie, had pulled Daniil into the back. At first, Daniil had been confused, especially when a plate of cheesecake had been shoved into his hands.

     “Take this to him. Be as polite and clear as you can be. The last thing we need is a bad review from the man who runs half the city.” As Georgie spoke, he pointed towards the man who’d recently come in.

     So, that’s what Daniil did. Giving his most genuine fake retail smile, he’d placed the plate in front of the man.

     It should have ended there, but Daniil was curious. This man was obviously someone noteworthy. Not only did the way his manager was acting suggest so, but the way the man carried himself. It reminded Daniil of walking in The Capital, surrounded by hedonistic airs.

Author’s Note: This ain’t a happy drabble. I wrote this as a way of venting my own struggles. Trigger Warning for Ableism, Derogatory thinking of mental health, self harm via not taking care of one’s self and suicidal ideation Description: It’s modern day, and Daniil is doing fine.     The pills fall from his hand into the bowl of the toilet. He can’t throw them in the trash, as he usually does, because Artemy is in the kitchen where the trash can is kept, reading as the television hums with life. There’s a tight knot in his throat as he watches 2 of the pills disappear down the drain. One of them bobs, as the water recedes and comes back. To Daniil’s horror, it doesn’t go down. Brief thoughts swarm his mind like an angry nest of bees or wasps, and he feels hot, uncomfortably so as he presses on the flusher with a clammy hand.    He hears footsteps nearby, which accentuates his terror. He turns his head to find Clara, glancing at him. “Is it going down or coming up?” She asks, and he feels relief at her ignorance. Ah. Of course. She must be assuming that they are having issues with the toilet again.

   “One second.” He says, pushing the door partially closed as he keeps holding the flusher down. The water burbles and the pill finally vanishes along with Daniil’s worry he will be caught. He turned back to her, giving a small nod of his head. “It’s down.” he remarks. Clara nods and starts to go towards the stairs.

   He heads towards his room, sitting at his bed and pulling his laptop towards him. He needs to finish some responses to clients before he can sleep. That seems like all he does. Work, eat, sleep. It’s not an ideal life, and Daniil can already feel the creeping sensation he normally gets late in the night, that nothing really matters and his work isn’t important, that he is easily replaceable.

   He pushes it away, fingers clacking at the keyboard rather ferociously, with more aggression than usual. Digits peck and prod, like chickens for corn.    Daniil is fine. He is fine, and the bad taste in his mouth is because of the tea he just drank in the kitchen, to give the illusion of taking his meds. The tea always has an aftertaste, after all. Artemy has been telling him to drink more water, and Daniil tries, but water is so plain, and tea is so sweet, so much more delicious. So much more adept at keeping him awake so he can work.

 Author’s note: I wrote this from 2 to 4 in the morning. This has not been proofread and I’m literally just typing things off the top of my head. Strap yourselves in, chiefs. Description:  In The Marble Nest, Artemy is dead. However, Mark, taking pity upon the other, allows him to become a Executor after making him a deal. Artemy, realizing that The Bachelor is their last hope in this timeline for finally finishing the play, follows him around. It's an uphill battle, given that Artemy can not speak in his new form as part of the deal, and his form is the one of the Plague, echoing his death.    “I told you, I’ll eat later.” Daniil waved a hand, skin brushing against the grooved beak of the Executor that had once been Artemy Burakh, renowned doctor, father, and right now? Pain in the ass.

    Artemy had been insisting he stop and eat for a good few hours now, but he of all people should know that time was of the essence.

    A part of Daniil still refused to believe it, believe that they were all actors, and that they were doomed to repeat the same actions over and over and over again until the play had been completed. It had taken 3 iterations for him to come around. 3 times of being woken up, racing to find the source of the plague, all while having the very distinct feeling something was wrong.         Daniil was snapped out of his thoughts as something dry and rough slapped against his cheek. He turned to glare at the cause, only to have brownish red completely obscure his vision.

     Artemy kept slapping the smoked meat he’d impaled on his beak against Daniil’s face. The mask obscured his expression, but Daniil could just tell the surgeon was pleased with himself for his obstruction.

    “Fine! Fine!” Daniil snagged the meat off Artemy and took a rather bitter large bite, accentuating his chewing far more than he should have. He ended up choking on the piece, scrambling for a drink of water. He could feel the air around Artemy shift to one of concern.

    “I’m fine, I’m fine.” He coughed out, clearing his throat. “You needn’t fuss over me so. I’m not a child.” 

     Practically feeling the doubt resounding from Artemy, Daniil rolled his eyes, stooping over the table to look back into the microscope to examine the cells of the infected tissue sample he’d gathered.

    After many, many, many adjustments to his collar, Daniil finally managed to answer, his face red and clearly flustered. In terms of success to get him to blush, SIa has managed to hit the astronomical mark.

   “I wouldn’t particularly object to it.” His voice is low and quiet. His eyes are very focused on his gloves, rubbing them together. It gives him something else to focus on besides the fact someone isn’t using or insulting him. they’re just being nice.

   Make no mistake, Daniil had little right to complain given his own attitude, but still. The words make him jittery and warm.