#daz rambles

It’s not because he can’t afford it, not in the slightest.

Not because he ran out, absolutely not, he’s on top of everything. Spares upon spares.

Not because he’s suddenly turned against the stuff, either.

No, it’s because Price mentioned it makes his nose sting.

It’s the same reason Price stopped buying fabric conditioner. Nikolai always seemed to spend too much time tugging at his clothes when he used the stuff, too much time in bed tossing and turning, too much time massaging reddening shoulders. Nik was allergic, and so Price happily accepted the slightly coarser jackets.

The same reason Nikolai cooked steak to medium rare, instead of his preferred very. He knew Price always struggled a bit with unclean food, always struggled with the fear of food poisoning, especially given he never had the chance to take such liberties as a child.

Because he didn’t get the chance to go out, where he was before. He didn’t get to experience the world around him. Nikolai didn’t get to leave the bubble he grew up in, because it’s hard to go anywhere at all with nothing to your name.

Price, if he’s honest, hates it. The next time he gets dragged out to some drag show he doesn’t give two shits about, or a five-hour lecture about some old Latin bullshit, he swears that he’ll kill someone.

That is, until he glances up at Nikolai on the train home. The way he’s smiling, mostly to himself, before looking away and out the window.

From that night onwards, Price shows up when he asks without hesitation. Whether abroad, or local, he goes to Nikolai’s side.

It’s late, late enough that they’re probably some of the only people awake in a five mile radius. Scratch that, they’re probably the only people in a five mile radius.

John sits to Nik’s left, in the seat he’s so used to Nikolai occupying. His hands are encased by Nikolai’s as the other man gently coaches him through the steps.

“Da, collective. No, no, just a little, so we are not all on the ground.” Nikolai moves John’s hands away, placing one gently onto the cyclic. “Now make sure we are straight. Da! And then lift us off.”

He can’t help the grin on his face when John makes it off of the ground.

“Da! Now, cyclic, bring us forwards. Raise collective too, so we do not go down.”

Nikolai, perhaps in earnest of himself, takes his hands away entirely as John brings them to a decent flight speed.

Sure, it’s not what he’s used to cooking. He’s used to shivering in the cold and making a soup, not sweating, knelt down as he tries to force more coal into a fire.

He could use a grill. But the labour of his love dictates a proper fire pit, dictates something worth the man who’s currently napping on the couch.

Price, on the other hand, learns to knit just well enough to make Nikolai scarves.

They’re not well made, far from it, the links are messy and he feels awkward the entire time. But, nonetheless, he continues. Hats, and gloves, and the occasional jumper, anything possible.