Beyblade Secret Santa 2024

How do I say this? English dub Bryan/Boris sounds a bit off, like he's reading from the script, but I didn't think it was in a bad way. We know that the Abbey was not a *~happy~* place, and we know that Bryan underwent some kind of conditioning to make him more emotionless. I've wanted to write a story about how that happened for a long time, and my Secret Santa assignment for @natsuni-ghostmoon on Tumblr gave me an excuse to finally write that.

In their description, they wrote: "I like horror and I like cute fluff things and suspense and thriller and comedy/trash/parody/crack treated seriously. I like it dark and I like it colorful."

But while writing this, I kept thinking, "isn't this too dark for a Christmas gift exchange? Aren't Secret Santas supposed to be cheerful?" A lot of people posted their gifts before mine, and after seeing the other cute and colorful gifts, I'm now I'm convinced I owe natsuni a redo! I hope you enjoy it regardless!

Story time:

“Hit him harder,” Boris demanded, the white of his teeth splitting the darkness like a whiplash as he grinned. His voice continuously rose in pitch, and he nearly trembled with excitement, thrilled to see what the boy’s next move would be. It wasn't unusual for him to personally oversee Bryan’s training, to remind him on a regular basis that Bryan possessed something special that the other Abbey boys didn’t have.

On more than one occasion, he had told Bryan, “You remind me of myself when I was your age”. At some unidentifiable point in time, that stopped being a bad thing. Nice guys finish last and all that. Only the strong survive. Second place is just the first loser.

The more he won, the easier his life became. The more Boris gave him preferential treatment and made his life easier. Bryan was not a weak, terrified child anymore.

"See if you can make him cry."

And Boris was not talking to Bryan this time.

Both Bryan and his opponent were covered in what look like EKG stickers, and partially exposed to the cold Russian weather, with only the Abbey’s crappy heating and their pants and shoes for protection. The stickers, instead of monitoring their heart rates, tended to make them beat faster – or sometimes stop. They connected the boys to their Beyblades, somehow, and utilized an intricate combination of tiny cameras, Bluetooth technology, and sensors to record data from the boys’ matches. Each strike also happened to result in a pain that ranged in intensity from searing to almost unbearable – it had caused Bryan to crumple to his knees on more than one occasion. It had caused his lungs to seize up, the muscles in his limbs to lock, and his mind to go blank. He’d watched Ian faint from being shocked once, seen multiple boys throw up or have seizures.

It was supposed to condition them for future battles.

Over time, Bryan had developed an uncanny ability to ignore the pain. Now it was almost like white noise when it happened to him.

Except for today – 

Bryan grit his teeth on reflex as the first punch was thrown. He told himself it didn’t hurt, even as his back hit the ground, next to the chipped attack ring of his Beyblade. The fall didn’t bruise his pride, because he had none left since accepting his role as Boris’s puppet.

He recalled the boiler room from last week, where the boys were told it was training for a potential future mission in Africa. He recalled his first week in the Abbey, when he beat Tala in a Beybattle and was subsequently given the option of beating Tala again or watching someone else do it. The first time Boris’s team of scientists told him to hurt an innocent animal, watch it struggle.

None of those had made him grit his teeth the way he was now, so hard he felt they might shatter, an ache in his jaw overriding at least some of the pain from this Beybattle. Bryan had gotten too used to winning, too accustomed to hurting, to remember what it felt like. Now it  made his stomach twist into decorative knots. His knees trembled under the strain of keeping him upright.

At least at first. Then Bryan remembered the rumors.

There were the rumors–

The rumors were what motivated Bryan these days. They were the reason he could say, with absolute certainty, that if Boris ordered him to do something he would do it. Tough as life was, some part of him was determined to be even tougher. And at least by being a good soldier, he could avoid the worst of what life in the Abbey had to offer.

Boris called the other boy's name again, but not Bryan's.

It shouldn't have mattered, but it did.

A loose curse escaped Bryan's lips as his Beyblade glanced off the side of the stadium. That part of the stadium was synced to his left side, and when the censors in the stadium registered the hit, it was like a knife was being twisted into his shoulder socket. Pain made it hard to concentrate.

Had it always been this bad? Bryan didn’t think so, but pressed his lips into a thin line, knowing better than to ask. 

With his focus completely shattered, Bryan’s Beyblade flew out of the stadium.

Best two out of three. Bryan had won the first round and lost the second.

…Fuck .

That meant there was still one round left to go.

He staggered to his feet, aware of the weight of Boris’s disappointed scowl behind him – what, now the old man was going to start cheering for him? – and prepared for the next round. His arms felt heavy. His chest felt constricted, pinched, a phantom fist curled around his ribcage and squeezing harder with each breath. His legs didn't want to support the weight of his body any longer, protesting against it, but somehow supported him anyway.

Because he was stronger now, Bryan reminded himself. The droplet of sweat running down the length of his back wouldn't convince him otherwise.

Bryan’s fingers shook as he fastened his Beyblade to his launcher. Exhaustion. There was a small crack in the attack ring that did not look good. Anxiety spiked his thoughts – no , Brian forced the emotions down, it’s just a simple observation. Nothing to get worried about.

His opponent, aggravatingly, was able to smile at him through the pain. The sweat on the other boy’s face gave away the fact that he wasn’t immune to it.

The scientist next to Boris jotted down a few notes, muttering, “Bryan’s heart rate has begun to decelerate… at a rate of four beats per second.”

“He’s stabilizing from the shock,” Boris replied. “Good. Start the countdown for the next round.”

Lazy old fool. Bryan bit the words back, focusing his eyes on the Beystadium instead. Strangely, even his anger seemed muted compared to normal. 

The researcher accompanying Boris obeyed orders, and Bryan counted along in his head: three, two, one–

He had turned into a predator waiting to strike, and only a few seconds later, the battle was over. The attack ring on his Bey had completely split in two, but his opponent was even worse for wear.

Somehow, Bryan had won.

"A suicide rush," Boris muttered. He sounded impressed, though perhaps that was Bryan’s imagination. "You're lucky your Beyblade held out…"

Boris’s voice was barely audible over the sound of the other boy's pained screams. Had he still been able to feel his arms, he would have ripped the damned stickers off, risking punishment for disrupting Boris’s observations and research in the process.

"You could have tied," Boris added, as if that were worse than losing.

“That wasn’t possible,” Bryan insisted.

He couldn’t explain how, but he’d known that he could win with an all out attack at the start. It was like the world had almost begun moving in slow motion, like he was seeing everything with perfect clarity for the first time.

When he looked at Boris, Bryan saw him smile. The smile quickly faded into a mosaic of colors, before transforming into a bright blur of white. 

A pair of arms – Boris’s arms – caught him as he tumbled forward.

“Why did you…?”

“Because I had no choice, Bryan.” Bryan’s conscience was fading quickly, and what little was left was being exhausted by confusion. The last thing Bryan heard before closing his eyes, allowing the painful white to turn into black, was, “I didn’t want to cheer against you, but it had to be done. My turning against you caused the emotional strife that was to be the catalyst for your development.”

Arrogant, lazy old fool. As if your praise really meant that much to me…

Immediately afterwards – at least, that’s what it felt like – Bryan woke up in the Abbey’s shoddy excuse for a firmary. A damp cloth rested on his forehead in the absence of painkillers, providing nothing to numb his aching head aside from a pleasantly cool sensation on his skin. His useless sense of touch was the first thing to return, informing him that he was still hurting and cold and shirtless. The soreness in his limbs and chest kept Bryan stapled to the mattress, unable to move. Even the effort it would have taken to roll on his side was too much.

Sight followed soon afterwards, after blinking a few times to bring color back into his vision. Not that there were many colors to look at. The concrete gray walls of the infirmary greeted him, as well as the more familiar sight of Tala’s observant frown.

Neither was worth admiring. In fact, Bryan almost would've preferred going blind.

“Bryan.”

Bryan closed his eyes again. Not in the mood for this. Not a good time for another lecture .

“Bryan!”

But, as usual, he didn’t have much choice.

“Yes, Tala?” Bryan slurred. “Honestly. You’re such a mother hen.”

His voice was so… hoarse. He didn’t want a lecture, he wanted a glass of fucking water. He’d eat the snow off the ground if he had to.

“I–”

“Good,” the sound of Boris’s voice lowered the temperature of the room by at least ten degrees, and Tala shut up immediately, “he’s awake.”

Bryan made a noncommittal grunt.

On the other hand, there were times listening to Boris was actually preferable to the noise inside of his head.

A memory of pain and fear similar to what he’d felt today swirled behind his eyelids in its place. Memories of a violent and angry father, a mother who never wanted to be bothered and threw alcohol bottles at him if he defied her.

“You think that hurts? Son, I’ll give you something to cry over–”

“Don’t cry at me, ‘Mommy, I’m hungry’! Don't leave your mattress without my permission, or you will regret it!” 

Bryan’s eyes fluttered open again, just in time to hear, “You know I hate doing this to you, Bryan.” Not the first time Boris had said this, or something similar. Also the closest thing to an apology that Bryan had ever heard from an adult. “It has to be done though… Bryan.”

“I’m trying.”

Bryan was speaking through a mouth filled with cotton. His tongue did not want to work, and more importantly–

The room was fuzzy again, not from pain or an ill reminder of the beating he’d recently taken, but from tears.

“Try… harder…” Boris sounded as though he were speaking through grit teeth. Why? Why, out of all his soldiers, did he seem to think Bryan was so special? Because Bryan was stronger than the others… So was Tala. So were Ian and Spencer. “As soon as you learn to let go of your emotions…”

“Nothing can hurt me anymore,” Bryan recited.

Did the training hurt more than a fist? Did it hurt more than being pushed or starved did?

“That’s right. Throw away everything that keeps you weak; all that fear, the sorrow, the remorse – you’ll be stronger without those things. Why, think about how much stronger you’ve already become since you joined the Abbey! And stop–”

And stop–

It wasn’t as if they weren’t able to have a proper conversation. They could talk just fine, and Da Xiang’s English, while much more colloquial than his, was far from bad. They’d talk for hours. About culture, about history, beys, and everything else that would come to mind. Julian had found solace in the other, in their connection, in the stories that Da Xiang could tell him. Chinese history was rich, and Da Xiang was animated whenever he explained it to him. And Julian, despite all his impressive knowledge, knew fairly little about the country of his partner.

He supposed that learning like this had its upsides, though. Because it meant he'd see Da Xiang smile and get passionate, and the grin on his partner's face whenever he expressed interest in learning the history of the Beylin Temple made everything worthwhile. He'd never thought it to be possible, but he could listen to the other for hours and never get tired. Not of his voice nor the stories he told.

However, once again, he found the language barrier to be their worst enemy.

It was worse with Da Xiang, because unlike with his European friends, he couldn't understand even a smidgen of Chinese. And he couldn't try and piece it together from knowledge of other languages or context clues either. Usually it wouldn't be an issue, but the later in the night it got, the more Da Xiang would fall into the pattern of mixing in Chinese words, oftentimes without even noticing.

"我累了," Da Xiang mumbled, and Julian raised an eyebrow. "What?" "我累了," Da Xiang said once more, with a bit more urgency, and Julian took a deep breath. "You're speaking Chinese." "What's Chinese?"

Julian had to do a double take at that, and just from that alone, he took the hint that Da Xiang must've been extraordinarily tired that day. He shook his head and directed his attention towards his books again.

"You should sleep. You don't even know what you're saying anymore." "Lay down me?"

Julian cleared his throat at that and turned to look at his partner, and he couldn't stop the small smile that threatened to spread over his face. It was rather late already, and, after the long flight Da Xiang took to visit him, Julian supposed it's the least he could do.

"I guess I could use some sleep, too."

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Learning Chinese was more difficult than he originally anticipated. He'd known it wouldn't be easy; the language was classified as the hardest one to learn for a reason, and he'd known as much going into it, but now, looking at the characters, he wondered if he'd ever get it. He was at least lucky that Da Xiang spoke Mandarin Chinese and not Cantonese or some other variation. He'd taken one look at the former and decided he wasn't even going to attempt it.

Now, however, he was knee-deep in learning Mandarin Chinese, and he felt as if he was drowning. There was simply no way he'd get this done in a reasonable time. By the time he could speak fluently, they'd already be married. He had to physically pause as that thought crossed his mind, and, with a much more reddened face, he buried his nose back in the book.

"你怎么样? " he said out loud, trying to get a feel for the pronunciation and feeling a familiar frustration growing inside him. He hated not being a natural at things. It made him both want to quit and continue until he perfected it.

But he didn't have that time. Not yet.

Because his trip to China was coming up and he wanted so desperately to impress Da Xiang with his newly acquired language skills. But it wasn't going to happen, and it made him want to rip out his hair. Yes, failure wasn't the end of the world; he had learned that from his partner, but that didn't make it any less torturous to be taunted by simple words and phrases like this.

With a groan he shut the book tightly, glaring at the wall opposite to him. His gaze wandered, eventually landing on a picture of Da Xiang, and his expression softened a little. Maybe he wouldn't be able to impress his partner with flawless Mandarin, but he could still learn a phrase or two regardless.

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“我爱你,” Julian told Da Xiang, eventually. It was a phrase he’d practiced over and over and over again until he achieved perfection in its pronunciation. He was confident that he had properly conveyed what he wanted, without raising questions or mixing up sounds. Which is precisely why he didn’t understand the way Da Xiang was staring at him as if he’d just insulted his mother.

“Come again?” the other man said, and Julian, not for the first time since their relationship began, felt strangely inadequate. Had he mistakenly learned a different phrase? A saying that, in the way he said it, does not even make sense? He wondered where he went wrong, but, with the same confidence as before, he decided to simply repeat what he had learned. 

“我爱你.”

There was a long pause where Da Xiang simply stared at him, quietly, as if that made anything better. Julian was about ready to snap at him, tell him to respond, but before he even got a word out, Da Xiang finally opened his mouth.

“Ti amo anch'io.”

The pronunciation was sloppy, and the words were spoken in a haste, and it was far from perfect, but Julian appreciated it regardless, because to him it was perfect anyway, especially in that moment. The first time either of them had said it, the first time Julian had the courage to admit it, both to himself and to his partner. It was the start of a new chapter in their relationship, and Julian was scared. But when Da Xiang smiled at him like that, looking so nervous but so, so happy, well, then the future might not be so scary after all.

"Your accent needs work," Julian said eventually, stepping forward and putting a hand on Da Xiang's chest, right above his heart. He could feel the unsteady, fast rhythm in which it was beating, and it made him smile. Their hearts were beating to the same melody, fast, out of tune, but together.

Da Xiang, finally able to compute again, rolled his eyes at the comment but didn't make any move to pull away. One of his hands moved to Julian's hip, resting there as if that was all that kept his boyfriend close.

"Of course that is the first thing you will say." "Would I be me if I didn't? Don't tell me you expected anything else."

A small huff left Da Xiang's lips, and he shook his head, the annoyed expression giving way to a slightly softer smile.

"I suppose I didn't. It's just one of those annoying things I love about you."

And before Julian could protest, before he could huff and argue that Da Xiang was simply impossible for even insinuating he was annoying, the other had already leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. Any argument died on his lips as Julian returned the kiss, finding that this activity was a lot more productive than needless arguing right now.

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Julian took a deep breath as he stared at himself in the mirror. He could do this. He'd been planning for this moment. But then... why was he so nervous? There was no reason to be nervous. Da Xiang wouldn't say no, and Julian had mastered the speech he was about to give. There was no reason at all to worry about tripping over his words or rejection or anything of the sort.

At least that's what he had told himself up until this point. And he'd been so confident before, too. He bought the ring and planned his speech with the confidence of a man that had already set a wedding date. But they didn't. And they'd discussed before, sure, but that was forever ago. And suddenly, staring at himself in the mirror, Julian wasn't so sure Da Xiang actually wanted to get married.

But there was no backing out now. If he didn't do it today, then he never would, and heaven forbid he'd let Da Xiang propose. No way. He'd waited too long for this moment to give it up like this. This was supposed to be perfect, and, damnit, it was going to be if he had any say in it.

Fixing his hair that he'd ruined by running his hand through it so many times, he exited the bathroom with renewed vigor, making his way to the living room of the apartment he and Da Xiang shared.

"I was wondering if you'd fallen in," his partner commented nonchalantly, and Julian rolled his eyes at the comment, taking a seat next to him on the luxurious couch. Da Xiang had set up some action movie on the TV, and he frowned once more. Was it really his partner's turn to pick the movie?

Contemplating whether or not he should mention that he hated action movies, he decided to refrain from doing so. Maybe the movie would put Da Xiang in a good mood. A rom-com probably would've been a better fit for this evening, but Julian despised those even more. So he sat back and stared at the screen, trying to get his mind off of the task at hand, which worked with little success. He couldn't tell you a single thing that happened during the movie, his mind blank and his attention occupied as he kept imagining the many different ways in which everything could go horribly wrong. 

"Julian," he heard Da Xiang say eventually, and he jolted a little, turning to the other man. There was a look of confusion and mild concern on Da Xiang's face, and Julian realized that he must've not been very subtle in his worries. "I can practically hear you thinking," Da Xiang said, a frown settling on his features. "What's wrong?"

Blinking once, twice, Julian forgot how to breathe for a moment. His ears were ringing, and his heart was racing so fast he wondered if it was going to have a heart attack.

"Julian? You're acting weird." "Just listen to me."

Da Xiang's frown deepened, but he nodded, and Julian was grateful for the breather. Now or never.

"We've been together for a few years now," he began, in what he hoped was perfect Chinese. Judging by the way Da Xiang's eyes widened, he assumed he was saying the right thing. "And I have been waiting for this moment. I've been learning for years, just to say these words to you. I hope you even understand what I'm saying, but I'm certain my pronunciation is crisp and clear." He was stalling for time, but he was already dangerously close to forgetting everything he had prepared.

"I love you. You already know that. I'm not telling you anything new by saying it, but I want you to hear it again. I want you to understand it. This isn't easy for me, and you know that. Talking about my feelings has never been high on my agenda, but you make me want to try. So I am trying, for you."

He took a deep breath, hesitating to continue, but the way Da Xiang was looking at him encouraged him to keep going.

"In the years we've been together, I've realized that I don't want to spend my life with anyone else. It has always been expected of me to marry a woman one day, but I don't want that, not anymore. I want to marry you." With those words he reached into his pockets, pulling out a ring that he presented to his partner. "I hope you want to marry me, too."

The other stayed quiet for a moment, and Julian wondered if he'd messed up somewhere during his speech, but he was sure that the ring was a clear enough indication as any of what his goal was with it. He refrained from pushing for an answer, letting the seconds tick by as he started feeling like his stomach was trying to swallow him whole.

Then, after what felt like an agonizing eternity, Da Xiang groaned. And Julian wasn't sure what to feel. Was that a rejection? But his partner turned to him, eyes sparkling, despite the look of faux annoyance on his face.

"I don't know enough Italian to answer you properly," he complained, and Julian felt a weight lift off his chest. Suddenly he could breathe again before Da Xiang took it away when he took the ring from him, inspecting it and putting it on his finger. "What? Did you think I'd say no? We already talked about this before."

For what might've been the first time in his life, Julian started grinning.

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Translations:

"我累了" = "I am tired."

"你怎么样?" = "How are you?"

“我爱你.” = "I love you."