Brighton Page

"You could come with me." He hadn't meant to suggest it, because he didn't want to put that kind of pressure on Anatoly. He had been careful not to make the suggestion, not to create an opening where Anatoly could come to think that was what he wanted, but he felt weaker now. His own vulnerability won out, just this once, even as he regretted his words. Asking someone to stay was easy. Asking someone to move their entire life across the world wasn't.

Anatoly's hand retreated, and Luka knew it had been a mistake. "I wish I had your courage," Anatoly answered, which sounded a lot like a no. "To leave all of this behind and start over somewhere new."

"It's not courage," Luka said. "The brave thing would be to stay."

"Maybe for you."

Luka pushed himself up, leaning over to kiss Anatoly. "We could be happy there. It might not be perfect, but it's a lot better than here."

"Luka, I…" He hesitated, but the message was clear.

"You don't want to leave."

"I know it doesn't make any sense."

"No, it's does." Luka pulled back, but Anatoly reached up to keep him there. He stopped retreating, letting Anatoly's fingers brush across his skin. "This is your home."

"You're my home."

Luka lowered his forehead down to rest against Anatoly's. "Don't say things like that. I'll think you're coming around."

"You're right," Anatoly said. "Maybe we shouldn't talk."

Anatoly kissed him, and Luka allowed himself to be pulled in. They had always known, both of them, exactly how and when this would end. It didn't make sense to try and change that now.

There was only acceptance.

In less than 12 hours, Luka would be on a plane, bound for a 10 hour flight to New York. Even if Anatoly had said yes, it would have been too late for him to come now. Luka should have asked earlier, when there was still time to convince him, to plan for it, but that was exactly what he hadn't wanted to do.

He had always anticipated the answer, and it felt easier like this. Like it might hurt less.

He was on the floor, watching his hands as magic spilled to the surface of his skin, threading glowing swirls across his body. He clenched his teeth against the screams, but he couldn't rein back the whimpers. He was aware of being on his knees, watching his hands as the glowing tendrils knitted together to a solid red. He felt like it was going to consume him, like he couldn't contain this amount of power and it fucking hurt. No one had told him it was going to hurt.

"Luka, look at me."

He felt the hand settle on his shoulder, and tried to pull away, but he couldn't move.

"Get away from me," he gasped through the pain. "I don't want to-"

He screamed as the pain intensified. It was like it was burning him up from the inside, all that energy. He had to let go, to let it out, but if he did...

"Luka, it's your magic. It's part of you. You can control it."

He nodded, weakly, swallowing that power down. Letting it run its course through his body, but not allowing it to reach out, to cause havoc on the world around him. He tried to focus on his breathing, even as he felt like the power was going to consume him, even as the pain threatened to knock him unconscious.

Magic filled every part of him, every single cell, and he must have been glowing a steady, neon red. He breathed as steadily as he could, chanting to himself that he was in control, grasping desperately for a focus. The pain eventually turned dull, throbbing, like an old wound. He watched as the red glow of his hands, his arms, dimmed and turned back into tendrils and swirls, and then disappeared entirely.

He breathed heavily, and now he felt the tears that had spilled from the pain. His entire body buzzed with the aftershock. His surroundings came back in to focus, and he became aware of Anatoly still kneeling next to him, the hand resting on his shoulder.

"How did you know...?" Luka could barely get the words out. He shouldn't have been able to do that. Mages coming into their magic were time bombs, bound to go off. The damage could be contained by Agents, but it couldn't be stopped. It couldn't be controlled. Except that apparently it could.

"I didn't." He felt Anatoly rise, and took the hand offered. He dragged himself up on unsteady legs, supported by Anatoly.

"I could have killed you." His voice was weaker than he meant it to be. He wanted to express his displeasure, his disapproval, but he was too tired.

"You didn't." He tilted Luka's face up gently, and their eyes met. "You wouldn't let anything happen to me."

"I..." Luka lowered his head onto Anatoly's shoulder. "We're going to discuss the logic of that later. When I feel less like I'm going to pass out."

He shrugged. "Gray area magic. Spells are still used by the Academy, if mainly for the suppressors. Besides, the ban was put on us by the Court. We voted no. No one is going to care."

"But we're still doing this in an empty warehouse?"

"Yes," he said. He pulled another staff out of the wall, and went to stand in front of Luka.

"What, you're going to train me to fight?"

"Isn't that what you want?"

Luka smiled. "I grew up at the Academy. Do you really think you can teach me anything new?"

Anatoly matched his smile. "I thought I already had," he said, and charged at Luka.

Luka stepped into the charge, and the steel bars clashed. Luka was faster, but Anatoly was more refined. When Anatoly managed to knock the staff out of his hand, Luka was well aware that it was his cockiness that felled him. He might have had the skill to win, but not the experience.

Anatoly got him up against the wall, pushing him into it. They were both breathing heavy from the fight, and Anatoly was close enough that Luka could feel his breath on his skin. When he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just over Luka's own, Luka's breath caught, not sure he was reading the situation right. Not sure he possibly could be. The wave of desire that washed over him at their proximity was a new and unexpected feeling, something that he had never given much thought to before, but now he found himself wanting that narrow gap between them to close. Time seemed to stretch into an eternity with too many possible outcomes, but then Anatoly kissed him. Adrenaline was still coursing through his blood from the fight, and for one perfect moment, it made him feel fearless. He kissed him back, but the moment he did, Anatoly pulled back.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, pushing off the wall.

"Hey," Luka said, grabbing his shirt and keeping him in place. "No. Don't apologize."

Luka pulled him in for another kiss, and just managed to see the hint of a smile on his face, before their lips came together again.

"So, that's why you were so interested in training me," Luka murmured, once they broke apart.

"Oh, yeah," Anatoly said. "That was the only reason."

He smiled, but still looked troubled. "I feel like I'm corrupting you."

"You already were," Luka pointed out. "Grey area magic?"

Luka shrugged, slicing the blade smoothly into his flesh. His magic was still too distant, too inaccessible. He was still too young, but it slowly rose to the surface, sparking across his skin like electricity jumping between wires. The wound closed in something resembling slow motion.

"How old are you?"

Luka looked up, to see the man frowning at him. "Does it matter?"

"You haven't come into your magic yet."

As in, he had access, but barely. He wasn't even supposed to have access. When people came into their magic it usually happened suddenly and all at once, in one single, uncontrollable burst. The problem was, that most people didn't know they had magic until then, or just waited for that moment to come. Luka had grown up at the Academy, he didn't have that kind of patience. So, he practiced with what little he had.

"No."

"You're Luka."

Luka put the knife down, and cocked his head. "You're the new apprentice." He couldn't be entirely sure, but he didn't like being at a disadvantage, so he guessed. Besides, it was the most likely reason for this stranger to be in his kitchen. Exams had just ended, so it was the season for it.

"Anatoly," he said. "You're not satisfied with being a Healer?"

"What are you?"

"Forger."

"Well, then you can't really complain, can you?"

He leaned forward. "You know, 'Healer' is just a word. What you really do is control the human body. If you want to fight, all you have to do is be creative."

"What do you mean?"

"That you can heal, but you can also cause pain."

"Like a blood mage?"

"No, not like a blood mage. Blood mages are killers. I'm talking about manipulating nerves, pain receptors."

Luka looked down at his arm, focusing on his meager magic. It flickered across the surface of his arm, but nothing happened. It wasn't something he was used to, and he didn't know how…

"It takes practice," Anatoly said. "Maybe some research."