He stretches out like a cat, content in a bed that is not his while he watches the other man move around. This is a habit of his now —— invading Artemy’s space, where he does not quite belong or fit in. He could have left when it was all over, but what point is there? Thanatica is a pile of ash. His career is gone. So this town does not suit him, but it’s as good a place as any to stay for now. It’s funny how when he’s come to terms with this is when the other man seems intent on leaving himself.

(The house is —— well. Cleaner than the last time he was here. He had been there while the other man sorted through his father’s belongings, more for moral support than anything. Artemy looks more like an ordinary man in these surroundings than he ever did in his workshop.)

Daniil rolls over onto his side to watch Artemy, pillowing his head in his arms. “Then leave,” he responds simply. “Pack your bags. Find a successor to take up your mantle. Run back to the capital —— leave the country if that’s what you wish. But I know you too well, Tyoma —— if you leave, all you’ll ever talk about are the reasons you should’ve stayed.”

He can’t really understand the burden of it. He’s never had a legacy to inherit the way Artemy has taken his own up. But he understands responsibility, and he understands duty, to oneself if nothing else. Daniil closes his eyes and yawns.

“Wherever you go —— be certain it’s what you want, because it will haunt you every hour of every day otherwise.”

artemy    looks    up    from    where    he’s    folding    clothes,    and    pauses    for    a    few    seconds.    ❝    that’s    not    what    i    mean.    you    don’t    understand    -------------    i    can’t    leave.    not    that    i’d    want    to,    i    have    responsibilities.    sticky    and    murky    can    survive    on    their    own,    i    know    that,    but    they’re    children.    they    shouldn’t    have    to.    no,    it’s    not    that    i    want    to    leave.    ❞    it’s    just    that    he’s    been    thinking    a    lot    about    everything    and    daniil    hasn’t    stopped    him    yet.    mostly    because    this    is    the    first    time    that    he’s    brought    it    up.    

❝    you    have    a    degree.    you’re    the    bachelor.    i    was    six    months    away    from    graduating.    i    can’t    exactly    do    that    now,    and    you’re    going    to    think    i’m    a    fraud    forever.    ❞    he’s    only    half    serious    ;    there’s    a    fond    smile    on    his    face.    but    he’d    be    lying    if    he    said    it    didn’t    bother    him,    just    a    little.    ❝    it’s    so    hard    to    explain.    emshen    cannot    let    their    dead    relatives    have    outstanding    obligations    or    we    don’t    have    any    right    to    our    titles.    father    was    a    menkhu.    i    always    knew    one    day    i’d    have    to    take    that    role    for    myself,    but    .    .    .    i    didn’t    think    it    would    be    so    soon.    i’ve    never    stayed    in    a    place    for    more    than    a    few    months    and    now    i’m    back    in    the    house    i    grew    up    in.    ❞    

   despite his supernatural nature and the holy reverence that came with it ,  the outsider was only familiar with the violent, malicious side of men   ---  so greedy and cruel,  reveling in the image of their god in pain.  it appeared, however, daniil would differ.  did it surprise him ?     𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱  𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 ,   𝘪𝘵  𝘥𝘪𝘥.    years of trauma had molded his subconscious into distrusting any and all humans around him, especially those he could be interested in one way or another.  slender fingers undid the buttons of his shirt, sliding to the very edge of it,  gently tugging until his malnourished, pale chest was revealed.  arms crossed atop it, communicating his clear embarrassment to the other man as he breathed a sigh.

         He feels the burn of his soulmark like a brand on his skin, reacting to the presence of his other half. It grows worse when Burakh stands next to him, almost unbearable —— he doesn’t even know if he’s imagining it, or if it really is an effect of the bond. (Would touch bring relief, or make it worse?) Yet it’s nothing compared to his words, piercing him as effectively as any knife and cutting even deeper than that.

Daniil shifts, shoulders hunched, arms wrapped tightly around himself. “Your jealousy for the dead is unbecoming,” he spits back, harsher than he means. It’s cruel of him to use that like a shield, he knows. He had loved her with nothing supernatural binding them together, but he loves Artemy more. He loves Artemy so much that it burns him up inside. And he hates him because this is something he has no control over, something beyond his reach. Is it real what he feels, or some artificial construct? Does it matter?

“I never asked for you to love me. This isn’t my fault.”

there    is    a    hollow    ache    in    his    chest,    and    pain    with    the    knowledge    that    daniil    will    never    understand    him,    and    will    never    make    any    attempt    to,    either.    ❝    it    is    not    JEALOUSY.    ❞    artemy    practically    snarls,    crossing    his    arms.    how    does    he    explain    this    to    a    man    that    doesn’t    listen    ?    it    isn’t    about    his    own    selfish    desires,    it    is    about    how    a    man    who    cannot    love    has    been    forced    to    love    a    man    who    already    had    someone,    once.    

    oliver moved in a vertical line next to the bookcase in a slow pace, fingers tracing the backs of this collection,  seeking to familiarize himself with the other man’s taste.  philosophical pieces, poetry, anatomical studies  :  none of those were surprising.  but tales from the abbey,  myths of the outsider,  witness accounts of non - believers ?   𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑢𝑙𝑖𝑎𝑟.   daniil’s hesitation to bring up the arcane had not gone unnoticed and this added another layer of intrigue to their previous conversations.     ❝   i know many professionals refuse them.   do  you  ?    ❞  

DANKOVSKYY     :    it's    not    even    a    trap    .    .    .    it's    a    grave.    sub    ipsum    fumus    sumus.    can't    say    i    hold    a    soft    spot    for    it.    

Quotes taken from Spies Are Forever Musical from Act I :

is    that    supposed    to    be    philosophical    ?    really,    at    a    time    like    this    ?    

artemy    looks    up    at    the    bachelor    from    where    he’s    treating    a    patient,    making    sure    this    poor    plagued    woman    swallows    her    pills.    he    pulls    the    bottle    of    water    away    from    her    lips    and    slowly    stands    up.    his    knees    ache    and    he    feels    dizzy    and    clotted    blood    has    made    the    wool    of    his    jumper    stick    to    his    flesh.    it’s    a    horrible    feeling.    and    yet,    he    still    doesn’t    want    to    be    told    by    dankovsky    that    he    looks    pale,    and    perhaps    maybe    if    he    actually    wants    to    be    of    any    help,    he    should    sit    down    and    rest    for    a    while.    artemy    sneers    at    the    thought.    he    still    has    people    to    help,    and    the    only    person    who    isn’t    working    right    now    is    bachelor,    standing    so    proudly    in    that    coat    of    his    with    his    hands    clasped    together.    

❝    what    kind    of    question    is    that,    erdem    ?    ❞    he    asks,    disdain    clear    in    his    voice.    he    doesn’t    want    dankovsky’s    concern    or    sticky’s    pity,    and    if    he’s    honest,    he’s    exhausted    with    all    the    questioning.    he    is    doing    just    fine,    and    he    doesn’t    need    anybody’s    help.    ❝    don’t    we    both    have    better    things    to    be    discussing    ?    ❞    

meme.   /   @dankovskyy !

  the outsider was a stubborn man  ,  the facade of innocence and insecurity causing him to struggle with how he wished to appear to this man   :   juggling pride and potential,  part of his faux - naivete had already disappeared from his persona over the course of a few weeks.  in time,  perhaps his true self would surface before the daniil,  were they to remain on this course  —  no,  he was sure of it.  it came as no surprise then that when he noticed the man’s gesture, it sparked curiosity.  

   step.  hesitation took a hold of him for a moment, its cold fingers rubbing against the skin of his chest. did he fight it?  he wished to.  step.  such a small thing,  to obey someone else without question,  reject a heart’s refusal to open up.  step.  he approached slowly, with a head tilted in slight.  not long after, he stood before him, presenting himself with a vulnerable stance  ;  willing to learn and listen.  𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴,  𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.  head hung somewhat,  gaze fixated ‘pon daniil’s visage,  fingers toying with their kin atop his stomach.  so  much  to  wonder ,  so  much  to  learn.  the mere fact daniil requested his presence instead of sending him away was extraordinary in of itself,  oliver’s erratic decisions deterring many who knew him,  even if he’d set up a pretense.