#m:fics

She woke up about fifteen minutes into Nikolai's escape, and nearly caused him to swerve into a tree in horror. Pale as a ghost and practically drowning in pink tulle, the girl lifted her head and scowled at Nikolai in the rearview mirror. 

"Where exactly are you taking me?" She asked, surprisingly calm despite what might have looked like a kidnapping taking place right then.

Once he'd gotten over the initial shock, checked for any gray hairs that might have appeared from the shock, and looked behind him three times to ensure she was real, Nikolai pulled over, parking on the side of the dirt road. 

He poked his head out from behind the driver's seat. She was hidden just behind his seat, in a perfect blind spot created by the tinted windows and the headrest someone immensely tall had adjusted for their comfort. 

"You're here," he said, stating the obvious. 

"No, I was here first, which makes you a surprise," She raised a brow at him. 

Nikolai blinked, struggling to come up with an excuse. He had the strangest feeling that he recognized the girl- but how could that be? He'd been wandering outside some Lord's house and the car had been abandoned, key left inside. 

It was practically begging to be stolen. 

"Right," he managed, then gave her a charming smile, "glad you've finally awoken, miss! I was asked to drive you around to ensure you rested well." 

She looked at him quizzically, "by taking me to the suburbs?" 

"Fresh air?" He offered. 

"Who tasked you with this?" her eyes were narrowed now, and Nikolai felt for the first time as though there might be consequences to his actions. An unusual feat. 

"Good question," Nikolai said seriously, then, raising an accusing brow of his own to match hers, he added, "but here's a better one: why exactly are you hiding out in a car?" 

The girl looked away, her cheeks pinking. Gotcha . 

"I'm not hiding ," she said, chewing her lower lip, "just…" 

"Resting?" He offered. 

"Yes!" She looked relieved for the excuse, which piqued Nikolai's curiosity even further. "And you can tell Mal next time that I don't need babysitting." 

"Don't bother denying it," she added when he frowned, "I know he put you up to this." 

Mal?

He smiled, going for sheepish, "ah, you got me there. Now how about we get you home, Princess?" 

She rolled her eyes at the nickname but slumped back in her seat anyway. 

Home, Nikolai considered, meaning a daughter of that Lord?  

Which meant she had money. Lots of it. Nikolai pondered this as he turned the car that was once stolen but was now only borrowed back to what a ghost-like girl in tulle called home. 

---

Zoya loved parties.

There was something about the noise and the champagne and the dancing that took her up to a status she was certain was meant for her. Or perhaps she just likes how different it was from her own world, which was limited to whatever house was empty for the night and within range of the city's graveyard. 

Here, she knew, she could lose herself for a few hours. More if she let one of these men or women take her home and show her an all-expenses-paid good time. 

As though sensing her ill intentions, the guard at the grand doorway put an arm out to stop her from entering. 

Zoya looked down at his arm, raising both brows before turning a withering glare on the man himself, who turned red beneath her gaze. 

"Sorry ma'am- but you aren't on the invite list." He said, truly looking apologetic. Zoya considered him. Of course she wasn't on the invite list, but she had not expected him to actually look up the name she'd given him. 

She looked the part of a lady, with the dress she found in the drawers of her last conquest's wife, and jewelry courtesy of her late fiance- who died at eighty three and left her nothing but a few diamonds and his slimey touch to remember him by. 

"Pardon me?" She asked, her words laced with steel. 

"It's only that your name, miss-" 

"Are you really going to deny entry to Lady Zoya of the House of Juris'? " Her voice rose with every word. The man shrank back. "Do you know who my father is?" 

Dead , her mind filled in. But the guard didn't know that. And he seemed close to shriveling up from her tone. 

"Ah, yes, here we are," a second, well-dressed guard or waiter or someone , appeared. He was taller, handsome, and he gave Zoya a smile she recognized as forced. "Right there on the list. I apologize for my friend, he must have missed it." 

The glare he sent towards the first guard made Zoya hide a smile. 

"Do ensure this doesn't happen again," she snapped, fluffing her hair over her shoulder, "I'd hate for you both to lose your jobs on the same night." 

Then she strolled past them, a smile growing with the distance. It was hard to deny that she was very good at what she did. 

Zoya scanned the room, searching for the right mark. Her eye caught on a younger gentleman dressed in finery, brown hair neatly parted, smiling at an older man he was deep in conversation with. 

Fairly handsome. Zoya zoned in on him. 

She made her way smoothly through the crowd of mingling rich folk, plenty of different perfumes filling her nose as she did. Saints , she thought, wrinkling her nose, all this money and no good taste?  

He was only a few steps away from her, laughing now. Zoya spun on her heel, snatching a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. She pinched her cheeks to get some extra color in them. Then she walked backwards one, two steps and- 

Her heeled shoe found the hem of her gown and she was sent falling backwards, a practiced cry dropping from her lips as her glass of champagne emptied itself onto the man that pretty-boy had been speaking to. 

Arms came around her waist instantly, righting her. Zoya steadied herself against her savior, looking up at him with wide eyes as she clung to him. 

"I'm so sorry!" She cried, hand to her mouth as her eyes found the second man- the only distraction she needed to be rid of- who now had champagne splashed over his expensive jacket. He scowled at her. 

"Oh, I'm such a klutz! I apologize profusely sir! I'm so-" she let her words trail into a sob, swayed a bit, fingers tightening on her mark's arms as she met his gaze with tear-filled eyes. 

"No matter," the old man waved her off, "I'll just have this washed, yes? Malyen, we'll speak again soon. Watch over her, won't you?" 

Zoya let her head dip in shame, and it only took a moment for her mark- Malyen?- to murmer soft words to console her, one hand coming to tilt her face up to his, brushing aside tears that never fell to begin with. 

"Now, now, it's alright," he said softly. Up close, she realized his eyes were a pale blue. His name clicked into place immediately. Malyen, as in Malyen Oretsev . Adoptive son of the Duke whose party she'd crashed. This was infinitely better than 'alright'. 

"I didn't mean to…" she lied. Malyen's hand was still gripping her waist, Zoya noted. This would likely be her easiest mark yet. 

"No worries at all, my uncle was bound to spill something by the end of the night, at least this came from a pretty girl," 

Oh, this one was easy.  

Zoya looked away, letting a small smile creep over her lips. 

"Would you like to dance? It helps me take my mind off things, and it looks like you could use that," he offered when Zoya said nothing still. 

She didn't have to fake the pleased smile that spread over her lips when Zoya took his hand. 

"I thought you'd never ask."

---

Her name was Alina. 

Ward of Lord Keramsov, owner of the mansion Nikolai had admired and the car he’d tried to steal. 

They were seated on the hood of that same car now, which Nikolai had had no other opportunities to steal, unfortunately. 

Still, he was making quick progress with this girl, who seemed to find everything about her life dull. This amazed Nikolai. What could possibly be dull about a life of luxury?

She scrunched her face up when he asked, and paused, considering. Her face was like an open book and he could practically see every thought crossing it. Slight cock of the head, bunched lips, furrowed brows.

“It isn’t dull- don’t make me sound ungrateful, Nikolai,” she narrowed her eyes at him before continuing, “only that I feel like there’s more to the world, you know? More out there. More than pompous balls and suitors who only came for my money.”

Nikolai glanced away at that. So he wasn’t the first, then. But she was clever, and something about her stopped him from leaving once the opportunity closed. 

“The world outside is overrated,” he assured her, “any wise person would live out their days in a mansion and drown themselves in money and drink.”

She gave him an odd look at that, but said nothing. 

“Is that why you were hiding, then?” Nikolai asked, leaning back on his hands to watch her carefully, “to get away from that world?”

Alina hesitated before shrugging, “maybe.”

“I knew a man who burned his fortune before killing himself, as a way of escape,” Nikolai said thoughtfully. He didn’t mention exactly how he knew that man nor why the burned fortune made for such a bitter memory. 

“That’s awful!” Alina said, gaping at him.

“I don’t mean it as a solution- only that you aren’t the first to feel that way. Not in my experience, at least.” 

Perhaps he should have embellished the story a bit, but Alina only pursed her lips and nodded. He wondered what it must be like, to care so deeply for every person that even a mention of pain could pierce your heart.

Must be exhausting, he decided.

They stayed there for a few hours before people slowly began pouring out of the grand doorway and Nikolai thought perhaps if he was found on top of a car he tried to steal with a duke’s daughter, things may not go well for him.

He was back a week later, and once again Alina had slipped away from the festivities, this time dressed in purple. He wondered if she was the one who chose the gowns- she never looked particularly comfortable in them.

It was almost amusing. Nikolai thought he’d stick around for a little longer. And so, whenever Lord Keramsov of House Keramzin decided to throw a ball or attend one or spend a night lost in wine and company, Nikolai would be there, keeping Alina company. Or maybe she was keeping him company, he wasn’t certain anymore.

He had not intended for it to last three months, this secret friendship between the two, but then some things could not be planned, and some could not be prevented. 

---

Zoya Nazyalensky was running out of dresses to wear.

After her first run-in with Malyen, she’d gotten a real invite for the following week, and then the next one, and the next. It was a true shame that first guard wasn’t around- Zoya would have loved to see his reaction. 

She'd considered selling her sapphire earrings for a new dress, but she'd made progress with Malyen. Now if she was around he spoke to no one else, he smiled when he saw her coming, and of course, he danced with her more than any other girl. 

She practically had him already. 

And with just a bit of patience, she might be able to reap the rewards. There was already talk of him choosing a bride. 

"Zoya!" 

Speak of the devil. 

"Malyen, there you are!" She gave him a practiced smile, and he took her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

It was the oddest thing, no matter how close she got with Malyen, no matter how many times she'd slipped a little too near, or his hand dipped a little too low, he never kissed her. 

Which meant Zoya must be doing something wrong. Because most men she met would have kissed her the night she fell tragically into their arms. 

He was getting on her nerves. 

She fought to keep a smile on her face as he pulled her aside, away from the crowds. Zoya frowned. Was he better dressed than usual? Was he smiling bigger?

Something was off.

A passing man in a tux put a hand on Malyen’s shoulder and muttered a ‘congratulations’, before disappearing again. 

“What was that about?” she asked, watching the man walk away. Malyen gave her a puzzled look.

“It’s good luck to congratulate the groom as far as I’m aware,” he said with a smile.

Zoya stilled. The what?

“Then why is he congratulating you? ”

He gave her another confused look, brows drawing together, “you read the invitation, no?”

She had not. They all said the same nonsense, always an occasion, something to celebrate when you were this wealthy. 

Zoya felt dread wash over her, and when Malyen glanced behind her and beamed, it only grew.

“There she is!” he announced happily. Zoya spun around to find a girl, her age, possibly younger, dressed in a gold gown that shimmered as she walked, her eyes alight with excitement.

“Zoya, this is my fiance, Alina- I’m so glad you can finally meet her!”

Oh, for Saints’ sake , Zoya thought, realization dawning. This was an engagement party.

---

Nikolai had never actually seen the inside of Lord Keramsov’s mansion. The hall was enormous, with low hanging chandeliers hanging from above and framed portraits of what must have been the Duke’s ancestors lining the hall. Finely dressed men and women danced and mingled with the soft sound of music filtering in from afar.

When he’d last spoken to Alina, she’d been practically giddy with excitement as she offered him an invitation lined with lace. A ball was being thrown to celebrate the engagement of one Alina Starkov and a Malyen Oretsev.

Mal , Nikolai realized. The friend from almost every story Alina had told him. He had felt a stab of disappointment at first, but it filtered into happiness not long after. He couldn’t help it, he’d grown fond of Alina, more so than any wealthy girl he’d met. 

Better yet, they were going to travel. A gift from the Duke, he was sending the pair on a ship that would take them as far as they pleased, on a trip to everywhere , as Alina put it.

Only issue was that now, Nikolai was alone. 

Strange, he’d thought he was the one giving time up for Alina, but maybe it was the other way around. Maybe he’d needed someone too.

Nikolai carried these bitter thoughts with him as he stepped outside, needing some fresh air to clear his mind before Alina found him again. The night air was cool against his skin, and he undid the first two buttons of his shirt, suddenly wondering why he even came. The ball was growing more depressing by the hour.

“ Let go of me. ” someone ground out.

Nikolai frowned, locating the source in a moment. A girl in a navy blue gown stood at the top of the stairs, her statement directed at the guard who’d accepted Nikolai's invitation. The man had hold of her elbow, stopping her exit. Nikolai frowned.

“Oh no, you see, I went through some records- it took me some time, I’ll admit- but guess what I found?” the girl struggled further against his grip, but Nikolai didn’t miss the fear that took hold of her face. “There is no House of Juris, but I did find a Zoya. Zoya Nazyalensky, wanted for theft, swindling, multiple accounts of fraud, oh-” he let out a harsh laugh, “-the list goes on.”

Saints. 

He wondered what the man might find under Nikolai Lantsov , if he ever bothered to look.

Maybe that’s what prompted Nikolai to step forward, and put a hand on the guard’s, forcing it away. 

“Ah, there you are!” he said, voice cool. The guard blinked at him. It seemed he had more to say, but Nikolai wasn’t certain how long he’d last- the glint of metal as the girl reached for something at her waist told him it wasn’t very long. 

“Pardon me, sir but I-” 

Nikolai didn’t let him finish.

“We should be on our way, sweetheart,” he said, entirely ignoring the withering glare she now turned on him, “it looks like it might rain.”

“You can’t just-” the guard began, but one cold look from Nikolai silenced him.

“As a matter of fact, I can,” Nikolai said, “and I suggest you let my wife and I leave or I’ll have a word with the Duke. Don’t test my limits.”

With that, he slid an arm over the shoulders of a girl who’s name he didn’t know and steered them away. Neither of them spoke until they were far from the guard’s eyes.

And then the girl pulled out her dagger.

---

And the tennis court was covered up With some tent-like thing And you asked me to dance But I said, "Dancing is a dangerous game" Oh, I thought This is gonna be one of those things Now I know I'm never gonna love again

Zoya was not in the mood to deal with this newcomer. Who was he, anyway? She hadn't seen him at any of the previous balls- but then she hadn't seen Alina either. 

Perhaps she had been distracted with her mark. 

A mark that just got engaged. 

Three months wasted, that was all she had. 

That, and the blade pressed against the blond's throat. 

He seemed unphased, raising an unamused brow at her. "Really?" 

Zoya snarled at him, "who the hell are you?" 

"You don't remember the wedding?" He had the nerve to say. 

Zoya let the blade's edge press into his Adam's apple, eliciting a hiss. 

"Saints, do you really intend to kill me after I just saved you from arrest?" 

"You didn't save me." She countered.

"No? And you think this method might have worked better with the guard?" 

Zoya considered him for a moment before easing her grip on the dagger, letting it hover instead, still threatening. 

"I have no intentions of turning you in if that's what you're afraid of," he said, unnervingly calm. 

"You never answered my question." 

"Nikolai Lantsov. Certified thief, swindler, and fraud!" He announced proudly. 

Zoya narrowed her eyes at him, "are you mocking me?" 

"Not at all." 

"Then what was that nonsense about testing your limits with the guard?" 

"I can run really fast," 

He was grinning. 

Nikolai Lantsov . She considered him a moment longer. He didn't look particularly wealthy- his suit certainly wasn't new, and slightly too tight on the shoulders. Stolen? Possibly. His hair was almost perfectly brushed, save for one gold lock that fell over his hazel eyes. It was unnerving and Zoya had the strangest urge to push it away. 

She shoved that thought to the farthest depths of her mind.

"What do you want?" She eyed him warily.

"A ship, a life without running, my friend back, my family gone. At this moment? That dagger away from my throat tops them all." 

A life without running , Zoya thought. It seemed her and the stranger had similar goals in mind.

Yet the only method of achieving that dream had turned away with a thin brunette on his arm. 

Zoya huffed, pulling the dagger back and dropping her hand to her side. Why she chose to spare his life, she didn’t know. Maybe she owed him. Or maybe it was that cursed voice in the back of her head that always made her pull back in the end, never following through with the worst of her threats. 

Liliyana’s voice. 

She turned away before he could notice the tears gathering in her eyes. She needed to get away, as far as possible from this place. Liliyana’s death still cut Zoya sharper than any dagger she’d wielded. I should have saved you. I should have been there.  

If nothing else, she should have avenged her aunt. But the driver had disappeared as quickly as he’d hit them, nothing but the empty road to keep company the two bodies that lay there, hands still linked together.

She shut her eyes tight, hugging herself, walking faster, practically stomping now. Memories were the cruelest curse.

A drop fell from the skies, landing on her cheek and lining the path her tears might have taken. Zoya paused, frowning. She looked up, and more droplets splattered across her face and bare arms. 

Oh, for the love of-

“I did say it was going to rain.”

Zoya whipped around, grip on the dagger tightening automatically. The blond- Nikolai Lantsov - was still there. His hands were stuffed in the pockets of his trousers, head tilted to the sky, welcoming the rainfall. 

“Are you following me?” Zoya asked, incredulous. 

His eyes found her again and he shrugged, “I don’t want to be alone, either.”

This took her aback. She wondered how she must look with her fancy ball gown and tear-filled eyes, only moments away from a dream and less away from disaster. 

She glowered at him, “I don’t want your company.”

“Ah, but you aren’t disagreeing,” he noted smugly, “let me walk you home, at least. Where’s home?”

Zoya huffed, turning away from him and walking determinedly faster. His ridiculously long legs meant he caught up to her easily. Zoya gave him a sidelong glance.

“Nowhere,” she snapped. Then a thought occurred to her. Maybe tonight wasn’t ruined just yet, “and you?”

“Anywhere.” he said with an infuriating grin.

There goes that. He was just as broke as her, only far more optimistic about it.

She shook her head, not glancing his way again, just walking forward, faster. Away. 

A life without running. Not today.

When she finally looked to her right a few minutes of determined silence later, Nikolai was gone.

Zoya frowned, glancing behind her to find he had stopped a few steps behind, something like dread washing over his face, oblivious to the rain now pattering against his fresh suit. 

She considered leaving him alone with whatever horrifying thoughts his mind chose to torture him with, but something made her stop.

“Scared of a little rain, Lantsov?”

Maybe it was the use of his name, but he looked at her, eyes haunted. 

“Shall we take a different turn?” he asked, forcing a smile over his face, his eyes darting to a spot just behind her as he spoke.

Zoya followed his look to find a large gated house, not unlike the Duke’s mansion they’d left, perhaps a bit smaller. She scanned it for some sort of threat that might warrant such a response from him. A single window was lit, curtains shut, the barest sliver of a person’s face showing. Zoya narrowed her eyes, frowning. A woman. She appeared to be in her late forties, the scowl on her face tugging her loose skin enough to seem older.

Zoya turned to look at Lantsov, an amused smile playing across her lips, “care to explain?”

“It’s rather a dull story,” he said, wincing, “involving a car, a widow, and a missed wedding, so really we should be on our way now.”

Zoya thought no story involving those three elements could ever be certified as dull, but she bit back a grin, and said, “where else would we go?”

Maybe he’s right, maybe I don't want to be alone .

Whatever terror had been across Lantsov’s face vanished in a second and his eyes lit up, “I know just the place.”

---

The only flaw Nikolai Lantsov admitted to having, was lack of foresight. 

He had not anticipated that the night would end with a pain he did not wish to identify gripping his heart, and a girl with a dagger in a tent-covered tennis court. 

The young lady in question was glaring at the rain they’d escaped from, now harshly pattering against the tent, arms decidedly crossed over her chest. 

It took Nikolai a moment to realize she was shivering from the cold.

“This place has been abandoned for weeks, we should be alright here for some time.” he reassured her, not quite sure if the guard would make good on his threat or leave them be.

Not them, her . He had no attachment with her. He could stay in the city longer if he liked.

She nodded and Nikolai came to stand beside her, slipping out of his jacket and moving to drape it over her shoulders. She jerked back, looking at him with wide blue eyes.

“What are you doing?” she asked, eyeing him warily.

Nikolai chuckled lightly, “you’re going to freeze-” what had the guard said her name was? “ -Nazyanelnsky . I doubt dying from hypothermia is going to clear your record.”

She huffed, but took a step closer, allowing him to drape the material over her shoulders. Her hair and dress were thoroughly soaked through, and she tugged the material closer around herself. Another thing Nikolai noticed- and this was rather difficult not to- was just how beautiful the girl was. It had stopped him short when her eyes had first met his, unyieldingly blue and more threatening than the blade she’d held to his throat, but now he was close enough to see how the water freed her curls, letting the dark locks frame her face. 

Too close, probably. 

He took a step back, averting his eyes. “What will you do now?”

She shrugged, gazing at something behind him and frowning, “leave, probably. There’s nothing left for me here, anyway.”

He nodded, understanding. He’d left plenty of places for the same reason, hadn’t he? If he dared to stay too long, he might do something ridiculous like grow attached to someplace. Or someone.

Nikolai couldn’t afford that. And neither, he suspected, could Nazyalensky.

You’ll come running back to us, boy, just you watch . He forced his father’s voice out of his mind and cleared his throat. The rain was beating rhythmically against the tent but there seemed to be a second, underlying sound. He frowned.

“Is that-”

“Music, yes.” Nazyalensky cocked her head, thoughtful. “I suppose that’ll be there doom one day, locked in a grand mansion, flooding the halls with music and champagne until all their problems seem to disappear.”

“ The external world could take care of itself, ” Nikolai quoted, a smile twitching at his lips. 

He offered a hand as the rain melded with the music, creating a sound that was almost sad, but not quite. Possibility , he thought. It sounds like hope.

“Dance?” he asked. Nazyalensky raised a brow.

For a moment, it seemed she might ignore his offer, reintroduce him to the blade she carried, but then her cold fingers slipped into his and she said, “dancing is a dangerous game.”

Nikolai grinned despite himself, pulling her closer. Somehow all his troubles seemed to melt away, his focus entirely taken by her proximity, which was doing strange things to his heart.

For a few minutes, it felt entirely wrong to speak. They fell into a strange and comfortable silence, steps in sync, music forgotten. Nikolai could not have said if time was even present, or perhaps it chose to step aside and give them this space, he considered, taking a step back and twirling her. He had not seen her smile all day but the barest hint of a grin now pulled at her lips and Nikolai counted that as progress. 

“Do you bring all your ladies to dance beneath the rain, Lantsov?” her sharp blue eyes met his and it took him a second to process the question. Once he did, Nikolai laughed, pulling her close again as she locked her arms around his neck.

“Only the ones wanted by the police,” he replied.

“Am i meant to feel special?”

“That is entirely up to you,” he admitted, “though I am such delightful company, it must surely be an honor, no?”

She scoffed, “you aren’t even that good of a dancer,”

Nikolai raised a brow, “and yet you’re still dancing with me.”

Something seemed to click in her mind then, and Nikolai cursed every Saint that let him speak when she pulled away from his embrace, stepping back and eyeing him quizzically. 

Nikolai frowned, “is something the matter?”

She said nothing, and Nikolai noticed for the first time that their surroundings had quieted. The rain had stopped, and he had not even noticed. Saints, what was her company doing to him?

Nothing good. Nothing beneficial, anyway. He’d heard enough to know she had no title or any money to her name, and he’d revealed as much to her out of the sheer excitement of knowing he wasn’t alone.

He’d been such a fool.

A moment later, Nazyalensky fluffed her dark hair over her shoulder and pierced him with another sharp gaze, something more determined in her eyes now as she closed the space between them.

“I’m not going to thank you for helping me.” she informed him.

“I never asked for-”

But she didn’t let him finish, because suddenly her lips crashed against his and all thoughts abandoned Nikolai immediately. She tasted of rain and something else, something sour likely residu of the party they’d abandoned, and he pulled her closer, fingers tangling in her hair. His dizzy mind could hardly keep up with the feel of her against him as she locked her arms around his neck, lips parting under his. 

And all too soon, she pulled back, leaving them both breathing heavily. Nikolai must have looked as rattled as he felt because she smirked, tossed her hair back and then turned to leave.

To leave .

His brain was too late to catch up to that fact and his mouth was too busy contemplating the burn of where her lips once were. Maybe that was why he used her first name.

“Zoya, wait-” he called, not quite sure what he wanted her to wait for. He’d kissed girls before, a number he couldn’t keep track of. Most of them pretty. All of them wealthy. 

But this time he hadn’t been kissing her for any reason other than he’d wanted to.

“I don’t suppose I’ll see you again?” he tried not to sound too hopeful. Her sharp eyes looked him over, and it occurred to Nikolai that she hadn’t stood to gain anything from it either. 

And there was definitely something in her eyes, something he might have translated as desire. Something open.

She gave him an elegant one-shouldered shrug, “if you’re lucky.”

And then she was gone. Though her presence lingered, following Nikolai into his dreams long after she departed. 

---

And the skeletons in both our closets Plotted hard to fuck this up And the old men that I've swindled Really did believe I was the one And the ladies lunching have their stories about When you passed through town But with that, it was all before I locked it down

Now you hang from my lips Like the Gardens of Babylon With your boots beneath my bed Forever is the sweetest con

The harbor was bustling with activity. Men just returning from their business trips, sailors bidding their families farewell, a few lingering folks that made Zoya tighten her grip on her suitcase. 

She scanned the area for anyone in a guard's uniform, some sort of police, a person in power that could prevent her escape. 

Nothing. 

Still, she ducked her head as she walked, letting the hat she'd snatched from a vendor a few streets ago hide her face as she did. The one thing she could not afford was getting caught right now. 

You run and run and always end up alone , the voice in her head said pitifully. She shoved it away. Zoya was most certainly not alone. She had herself, the only companion that could never disappoint. 

Such thoughts were very distracting. She should have been paying more attention to the people around her, then she might have seen him coming. 

"Take a right," a voice whispered beside her, making her jump. 

Hazel eyes met hers, the same pair that appeared in her dreams. The same ones she had not seen for weeks. 

" Nikolai? " She hissed in surprise. She was somewhere between wanting to smack him and wanting to hug him. Both options were terribly frightening in their intensity. 

He shushed her, looking around in alarm. "There are at least four cops waiting on the ship you're meant to board, so very subtly take a right and go into the adjacent ship." 

Fear gripped her heart as her eyes found the ship she'd been heading for. The ticket provided courtesy of the gentleman manning the ticket booth, had been granted to her with no charge. Zoya had attributed that gift to the smile she'd sent his way, dipping her lashes, offering him some praise. But perhaps just this once, she'd been the one tricked. 

She cursed under her breath, earning a raised brow from Nikolai. "How do you know this?" 

"Walk with me, I'll explain," he said. Zoya scowled but obliged. 

Nikolai turned them towards a second ship, far less grand, but no doubt far safer. One of these days, Zoya thought bitterly, safety and luxury will come hand in hand . 

And perhaps then she'll find satisfaction. 

"Go on then," said Zoya, attempting to scan the ship for the threat they were abandoning whilst also keeping her head low. 

"You do recall the Duke's house, and his lovely guard that caught you?" 

"How could I forget such delightful company," she muttered, making a face. 

He laughed, "I figured as much. Well, I went back a few days later to bid a friend farewell. Before long I was surrounded by a group of finely dressed gentlemen just dying to meet my wife." 

Zoya stopped short, causing him to stop as well. "But I know people there, I was invited!"

He winced, "your name must have slipped their mind, then." 

She swallowed, "must have," she allowed. She'd been a fool to think Malyen Oretsev had been interested in her at all. Grand waste of time, he was.

"Not all is lost," Nikolai reassured her, placing a hand on her lower back to urge her forward, "you do still have my company." 

He punctuated the statement with a wink that made Zoya huff and roll her eyes. It seemed in a few weeks she'd already forgotten how insufferable the man was. And how handsome , her mind filled in. 

She was growing rather annoyed with that voice.

The waded through the crowds of people, Nikolai muttering apologies as they bumped into a few passerby until the docks were before them and a bored looking sailor was asking for their tickets to board. 

Saints, the ticket-  

Nikolai slipped two papers out of his jacket pocket, handing them to the man with a practiced smile. 

They exchanged a few words and then she was on the ship and Zoya could breathe properly. She scanned the people on the ship- was that family giving her odd looks?- maybe she had become paranoid. She swallowed, trying to look as normal as possible. 

Nikolai gave her a worried look, so she must not have done a great job at it. 

"Zoya…" he began then hesitated and shook his head. She wondered what he'd been about to say. 

"It should take about a week to reach our destination, you can make yourselves comfortable in your assigned cabins below decks." A man was saying. He went on to details about food and safety but Zoya couldn't even hear him. 

Her eyes were on the sea. 

She'd never actually traveled by boat, never dared to leave the country that housed her only family- even dead. And yet there it was, shimmering under the light of the sun, endless waves beckoning her to some unknown future. 

She was at the rail before she became aware that she'd moved at all. She gripped it, furrowing her brows. She'd been running all her life, but now it felt like there might be some destination to look forward to. Even an unknown one. 

And still… 

"Nikolai, what are you doing here?" She asked quietly, watching as gulls dipped towards the water before soaring back up in the sky. A little boy tossed them a piece of his bread, cheering when one swooped forward to capture it. 

"I've always loved the sea," he said thoughtfully. But he knew she didn't mean that. 

"Bags packed, tickets ready. You knew I'd be here," she said. He didn't deny it, so she plowed on, "you could've sent a warning. Or just leave me to whatever fate awaited me." 

"I'd be more concerned about whoever was on the other end of that dagger you carry," he replied, voice a bit strained. 

That earned the slightest tilt from Zoya's mouth at the memory. 

"And yet you're here." 

She turned to face him finally. His hands were stuffed inside his pockets, face unreadable watching the water as land receded, becoming smaller and smaller as the ship pulled away. 

"And yet I'm here," he agreed. Then his hazel eyes were on her and Zoya sucked in a breath. How was it possible to hold so much depth within a person's eyes alone? How was it that just meeting his eyes could make her heart do strange flips in her chest? 

"I suppose I'm just tired of running alone," he said, giving her a half smile. "And maybe I wanted to test my luck, see if the pretty girl I met would mind if I stuck around for a bit." 

Zoya rolled her eyes, a smile lingering on her face, "I suppose two saves could earn you that much." 

"So you're admitting I saved you the first time?" 

"Ah yes," she said dryly, "my knight in shining armor." 

"Well I'm certainly attractive enough to be one."

"No proper knight should have such a large ego," she informed him. 

Her eyes slid back to the water and the place she was leaving. 

Years later, Zoya would wonder if either of them had been aware of the trick the universe had played on them. The one swindle neither of them had anticipated. The twist of fate that allowed them to be together.

And yet.

And yet, this bastard with dark orbs and bronze skin in front of him decided to not heed the caution sign, charging straight at Taehyun with a glare that was like a hammer, shattering the very glass into scattered pieces; his words like fire, melting the fragile glass into a dull puddle; his tone a harsh challenge made of acid, completely ridding whatever was left of the frail glass.

Taehyun was not allowed to break and he will be damned if he lets this newly appointed leader do just that, his fist curling up in his lap.

"Well?" Comes that blasted low register of a voice from across the room, Taehyun’s eyes burning a hole of anger and frustration into his black jeans, his hands clasped tightly and his knuckles white.

"I told you," Taehyun wearily says with his eyes downward, his voice almost a whisper as he closes his eyes and tries not to let his emotions get the best of him. "I just think that it’s irrational to try to arrange three songs into one."

"If you dislike my idea, then why don’t you suggest something?" Comes that harsh tone again, slapping Taehyun across the face with a cold touch that felt as if his skin was burned, leaving a hideous and angry red scar. Taehyun inhales a deep breath and exhales it, his insides hurting and tired all of a sudden because this wasn’t it. This wasn’t how it was suppose to go.

Taehyun wasn’t suppose to break.

An awkward silence overcomes the room, the other three members stuck in between an argument that had nothing to do with them and yet their eyes were privy to it, their ears tuned to it, their breaths held to it. Some cast their heads down or left or right, unsure of what to say or to make of the situation while other’s firmly glare down at Taehyun; other’s like him with dark gazes, displeased faces, and minds that Taehyun couldn’t read.

Other’s like him that were made of rock solid marble that stood up to heat while Taehyun melted to it; other’s like him that preserved and preserved, becoming only stronger over time. Other’s like him that were were far too different and dangerous for Taehyun. He was dangerous.

"You fix it up and then tell us." He says, his unwavering and blunt gaze on Taehyun, his lips in a downward spiral of displeasure.

"Mino-ya, I think we should—" Jinwoo tries to chime in before Taehyun abruptly stands up, those last words being the straw that tips over everything, Taehyun’s mind slowing down to a halt but his heart thrashing against his rib cage, bitterly and fiercely fighting to run away, to get away from here.

Taehyun loudly trudges his way down the room and to the door, the very door that was his only escape as his world narrows down to a single black tunnel with a speck of light at the end, his breathing uneven gasps of air.

He pulls the handle with whatever strength he has left as he steps out of the suffocating room, the fresh air outside hitting him pitifully, his legs marching with no destination in sight, his arms flailing with no strength. And all the while, three voices attempt to call him back into the room, that they would figure it out together, that it’s a group effort and things’ll work out while that one voice was silent and indifferent because of course.

Of course he wouldn’t call Taehyun back because what was Taehyun to him? What was Taehyun to him that Taehyun expected him to follow, to charge out of the room and grab ahold of Taehyun and apologize. To hold him and whisper “I’m sorry." over and over again until Taehyun could feel whole again. He wasn’t going to follow Taehyun out to try to mend the situation with gentle words, that he didn’t mean what he said, that it wasn’t his intention to say those words, that he was merely joking, that he didn’t mean to break Taehyun.

And the fact that he wasn’t going to do any of that for Taehyun shouldn’t have hurt the maknae as much as it did; it wasn’t suppose to. But as true as it was that Taehyun wasn’t allowed to break, his blasted heart constricts at the thought of being left alone by him; at being forgotten by him and pushed away to the back by him.

The fact Taehyun that would rather be despised by him than to be ignored by him disgusts his whole being because that was the very definition of breaking. That’s what it means to be taken apart and to be dissected on the cold hard table, to be left broken with no way to be put back together.

Taehyun sniffles his nose and marches down the dark yet vibrant halls of YG and tries to see through his hazy gaze, barely realizing that he has been crying harder and harder with each step that he took. He brings a sleeved hand to his face and messily wipes away the tears staining his cheeks, lips dry and eyes burning.

He looks up ahead with another sniffle and spots an elevator, his feet marching to it without a second thought, his heart ahead of his body. He stops in front of it and waits for it to come up, his knees suddenly weak and his legs tired. He drops his head down between his shoulders and lets the marbled floor swallow up all his tears, each drop bigger and pained than the last.

He feels the elevator “ding" before he hears it, his feet already moving forward before a rough hand grabs his right forearm, harshly pulling his whole wretched being into the elevator, his back slamming against the cold wall, his gaze clouded and hazy, his right hand grabbing onto a black shirt for balance while the other wraps around bare muscles.

Taehyun gasps in surprise and bows his head against a firm bare shoulder, his heart thrumming in sheer adrenaline, his muscles strained and ready to jump at any second as a heavy silence sets over the elevator. He inhales a few deep breaths before he freezes, his whole being winding and coiling up into itself, his breath fleeing from his lips as his looks up, a familiar but distant face greeting his hazy vision.

Taehyun pushes the other away as if he was burned, his body scorched as he plasters himself against the metal wall and tries to make himself disappear, his gaze everywhere but him, everywhere but where he wants to look.

Taehyun sets his jaw in a firm line and holds his tongue because he’ll be damned if he says anything; anything that might range from curses of “go to hell" and "fuck you" to "i’m sorry, hyung" and "forgive me?" to "hold me" and "fall for me like i’ve fallen for you." So he bites. He bites his tongue and plays ignorant, completely ignoring the looming and dark presence right in front of him, his heart cowering away with each passing second of silence.

"You are infuriating." Comes his voice, the low growl snapping Taehyun’s gaze away from the floor and to his displeased face, his black rimmed glasses doing nothing to hide the anger in his orbs. Taehyun stares at him for a mere second before looking away, fighting to keep his breathing even because he will not break; not here, not now, not again.

”You are fucking infuriating, Nam Taehyun. You are a little shit who throws tantrums like a five year old when he doesn’t get his way.” He says with a harsher growl leaving his lips, his feet moving forward an inch at a time, his dark orbs seeking Taehyun’s pale ones that refuse to return the look. “When someone says no to you, you do a fantastic fucking job of playing the drama queen, you know that?”

"Move." Taehyun finally says, his voice a tired whisper, his shoulders drooping down in defeat, his heart a slow rhythm of fatigue, his mind dejected and nonsensical. He grips the metal bar behind his back and straightens himself up, his gaze finally landing on the other’s who looks just as angry as he was in the training room, if not more.

"Every single time I give an order, you have to retaliate. Every time I make a decision, you have to say ‘no' to it. Every time I try to do something, you get in my way. Ever single fucking time I try to accept my new role as the leader, you are there to remind me how shit of a leader I am because clearly, everything I do is horrible. According to you, I am useless; I am shit and I am not worth the position.” He growls angrily with frustration and irritation draping his face, his body completely ignoring Taehyun’s command of moving aside as his feet bring him closer and closer before he’s right in front of the maknae.

"Move." Taehyun says again, his voice not even a whisper but a plea, a plea of "leave me alone" and "i never meant to hurt you" and "you’re breaking me." A plea that goes unheard as a firm and warm body presses against Taehyun’s front, leaving the maknae afraid, confused, and vulnerable; his heart bare for the world to see. "Move. Move. Move. Please, move. Just please—MOVE!” Taehyun exclaims in a desperate mantra as he pushes the other away only to be pulled forward, two solid arms wrapping around him, two sets of dark orbs on him, and a pair of lips breathing down his nape and up to his ear.

"You listen to me, Nam Taehyun." He says to the frozen maknae, a cold whisper running into the brown locks of hair and down the pale nape, a small gasp leaving Taehyun’s lips at the sheer proximity of it all; his hands, his arms, his chest, his face, his lips. Everything is too much right now. He’s too much.

"You hate me, then say so. You don’t want me to be the leader, then say so. You don’t want me breathing, then say so. Fucking say it instead of beating around the bush. Fucking say everything you have to say about me to my face instead of throwing shade at it.” Says the other in a low whisper that infuriates Taehyun because how dare he accuse him as it takes two to tango.

"What is there to say when you are constantly against everything I propose? What, it is because I am the maknae? That I am not mature enough for big boy thinking? That I am fucking stupid and that I can’t follow along?” Taehyun yells as he fiercely pushes his way out of the other’s arms, the familiar warmth being replaced by a sudden breeze of cold, tears threatening to fall down. “I have never once been so humiliated in all my life as I was when you put me on the spot back there in that room. In front of everyone, you made me look like I am an asshole that’s ungrateful and that hates you—”

"Because you do! You fucking do hate me, Taehyun!" He snarls in reply as he steps in front of a shaking Taehyun again, the maknae quickly turning his head away and up, his gaze to the ceiling before the those rough but long fingers grab Taehyun’s chin, turning it towards him before Taehyun tries to slaps his hand away in a futile attempt. "I might’ve joined last but I know dislike when I see it. I know indifference towards a loner when I see it. I am not an idiot; I was never welcomed by you, Taehyun."

“Because I was afraid of you, you fucking bastard!" Taehyun screams as he grabs a hold of the other’s black tee, his finger nails digging into the fabric as he roughly pushes forward, making it so that Taehyun was towering over him now. “I had only arrived a short while before you did and I was barely friends with any of them, our conversations were those of “hello’s" and "goodbye’s" and yet—" Taehyun takes a deep breath, his eyes gleaming with tears, his lips quivering with uncertainty of continuing or shutting up. He continues.

"And yet when you came, they easily liked you. They easily got along with you and I was the loner. I was the weird one out who couldn’t be friends with any of them, always lurking in the shadows. I was afraid of being pushed to the back by you and the others because I am not like the rest of you. I’m not—nice. I am not idol material. I am everything that you guys are not! I was fucking afraid, Mino! I was afraid to accept you into my life because you are everything that—”

"That what?” He asks, his voice a harsh scratch, his gaze never leaving Taehyun’s tear stricken one, his hands holding on tightly to Taehyun’s forearms, trapping the maknae with no intention of letting him go. “That I’m what, Taehyun? What the fuck am I? What am I that I scare you?”

"That you’re breaking me.” Taehyun whispers with a broken moan leaving his lips, his fingernails digging into the other’s tee as if it were a lifeline, his face burying into the familiar black cotton, his shoulders dejected as he shakes the frozen leader. “I am fucking afraid of you because you break me. Your every word cuts me, your every glance rips me, your every touch kills me. You’re a fire that will burn me, Mino. You’re nmfff—”

Taehyun’s lips attempt to explain before they’re captured by rough and demanding one’s of the other, two familiar hands gliding under Taehyun’s arms and down his spine and his back before firmly gripping onto his waist. Taehyun tries to push the other away, his mind a confusion, his heart excited, his lips eager to continue his argument, his explanation but the lips of the other, the kiss from the other is not kind as it’s robs Taehyun of common sense.

"If I fucking break you, then break me back.” He hoarsely whispers onto Taehyun’s lips, his tongue running over every inch of the maknae’s lips, his hands like a vice that cannot be broken. “If I fucking break you down, get back up and break me. Ruin me in return because I see a fire in you just as you see it in me. Feel the heat upon my skin as I feel it upon yours, Nam Taehyun.”

Mino grunts his displeasure and continues walking towards the school’s playground and basketball hoops, ignoring the hollering of the three boys and instead allowing the fresh air of winter to welcome his senses. He stops midway and closes his eyes, the cold but gentle breeze tickling his skin as he lets the memories of selfishness, naiveté, and boyhood stream down his being and into the ground from once which he came.

"A penny for your thoughts?" Comes a soft voice from behind Mino, two warm hands plastered on his back, a trickle of cold November breath ghosting down his nape. Mino slowly opens his eyes and turns around with a small smile as Taehyun’s pale but flushed face greets his vision. The vocalist smiles as he steps forward, his face not a feet away from Mino’s. "It’s not everyday that YG sajangnim let’s us go on vacation to visit our hometowns, so if you’re dwelling on something deep and profound, I want in."

"I’m just thinking about how long it has been since I’ve came back home." Mino says as he takes in his surroundings and everything that was once his home, everything that is still his home. He looks back at Taehyun and nudges his head towards his school in the form of a question, a sly smile pulling on his lips as he ignores the three onlookers in the back that are lost in their own world of wonder and amazement of the school.

"I thought you’d never ask." Taehyun says with a smile of his own as he falls in line with Mino and starts the trudge towards the main classroom building, their shoulders brushing with each step, their hands slightly ghosting one another, their hearts beating in the same rhythm of understanding and companionship.

+

"Is this your classroom?" Taehyun asks as Mino leads them to a solitary room with the markings of the senior class, the door left ajar and the room lit up with the afternoon sun. Mino nods his head and moves forward, opening the door and signaling for Taehyun to go first, eliciting a snort from the vocalist’s lips.

The two walk in and in silence, roam their gazes around the class that looks almost exactly the same since Mino had left it; the desks in the same condition, the walls dark and shiny as ever, the board clinging onto bits and pieces of chalk because it could never erase well.

Mino walks up to the front of the class and places his hands over the teacher’s desk, the brittle material of it wearing off as pieces of it stray onto Mino’s fingers. Taehyun walks to the back of the class, his fingers dancing over each desk before he comes to the last desk. He turns around and watches Mino with interest, his gaze on the older boy’s back as the sun brightly beams down on Mino’s darker complexion, making his skin a golden brown.

"Teach me." Taehyun says with no warning as Mino stills at the front, his eyes snapping up to Taehyun’s, his hands lamely falling to his side, his breath hitching in sheer bewilderment. He quirks a brow in questions at the vocalist who merely smiles back before he settles himself in the last desk, his arms coming up on top of the desk. A coy smile plays on Taehyun’s lips as he leans forward on the desk, orbs never leaving Mino’s. "Teach me, Mino-sensei."

"Sensei?" Mino says with smile as he falls back on the teacher’s desk, crossing his arms with his gaze never leaving Taehyun’s, the younger boy merely smiling at him. "Well, all right." Mino says as he pushes himself off the desk and towards the board where the teaching stick lay; he grabs it and faces Taehyun again, a smirk of mischief playing on his lips.

"Nam Taehyun, have you done your homework?" Mino tries to ask with a stern face, a smile threatening to break past his lips as he makes his way down the class. Taehyun shakes his head in reply, his eyes never leaving the stick in Mino’s hand. "No? Well, we can’t have that now can we?"

Mino says as he comes to a stop at Taehyun’s desk, the stick slamming down onto the hard wood, his body towering over the vocalist’s, casting a shadow over Taehyun’s frame. Mino picks up the stick and places it under Taehyun’s chin, gently running it across the smooth skin before lifting that pale face up and up and up before stopping, a small sigh of content leaving Taehyun’s lips.

"What shall we do with boys who don’t do their homework?" Mino asks in a soft whisper as he brings his face down to Taehyun’s, their noses a few inches apart, Taehyun’s eyes seeking Mino’s lips, the stick a solid border between the two. Mino closes the gap to a mere inch as he whispers "a punishment, that’s what.” onto Taehyun’s lips before his lips come down on Taehyun’s, the stick crashing down to the ground, a loud crack eliciting the room of it’s solidity and harshness, of how kisses are just as rough and whole and solid.

The stick rolls away in a slow stream of consistency as Taehyun pulls Mino down onto the desk, his lips eager and brutal, his breath erratic and tongue relentless. Mino slams his hands onto the desk to hold himself upright before pulling Taehyun up with him, the desk a cursed barrier between them and so much more that can be offered to two people who yearn for the other’s touch.

Mino sidesteps it and pulls Taehyun flush against him, pushing the vocalist back against the desk and leaning down to bite at his v-shaped jaw, his smooth neck, and slender collarbones, a taste of fresh winter and pure talent clinging onto the skin. Taehyun’s fingers thread their way into Mino’s short dark locks, his breathing growing harsher and harsher before a clattering of chairs snaps the two out of their world and back into reality.

"Ah shit, not again." Seunghoon says behind a shocked Seungyoon and Jinwoo as the dancer slowly starts to back away. Mino quickly uprights himself and clears his throat while Taehyun harshly breaths through his noise, his eyes glaring down on the two who are rooted to the ground, their gazes altering between Mino and Taehyun.

Seunghoon gulps loudly before he turns around and trips over to the door, the dominating presence of Taehyun and his displeasure almost hitting him in the back, leaving the other two clueless and shocked.

"Yah! Seungyoon! Jinwoo! Run!" Seunghoon exclaims as he dashes out of the room as Taehyun grabs the stick and stalks towards the three of them, cold anger and murder melting in his orbs. The said two hyungs look at each other before turning around and dashing out of the room, screaming for Taehyun to spare them and that they were sorry, they didn’t mean to interrupt.

"Tae, you really didn't have to--" Mino attempts to say as the rest of his sentence cowers down his throat, his eyes snapping and gluing onto the familiar yet new, shocking yet beautiful figure in front of his doorsteps; a figure with pedicured feet wrapped in red stilettos, long thighs hidden behind black leggings, b-boy hips and a slender waist covered by a shimmering red dress. A figure like none other because it took all the power of the high heavens to have Mino's eyes pry away from those hips and instead to that perfectly pale face, gleaming with mischief.

"Wow. Shit--you look good. Really, really good." Mino lamely mumbles with his eyes wondering all over Taehyun's body, taking every bit in and searing it into his memory, his hands equally itching to touch and taste something that he wasn't quite sure was his yet. "Yeah?" Comes Taehyun's sultry voice, one reserved for singing and performing onstage, a voice which broke something inside Mino because it was directed at him; that voice of sin was speaking to him. "You think so?" Asks the vocalist as he sashays his way into Mino's room, the clicking of his heels thundering in Mino's ears, sending the older male into a mix panic of desire and cowardice.

"I thought you might like this." Taehyun softly whispers with a sly twinkle in his orbs as he leans down towards Mino, his arms slightly wrapping around the rapper's neck, his golden brown locks falling down his pale face, obstructing Mino's sight of everything and anything; not that it mattered to the rapper because all he needed was the feel, the sensation. And such it came with Taehyun's fingers teasing up Mino's nape, his candy flavored breath mingling with Mino's strained gasps, his lips dawning upon Mino's. 

Such it came, that rushing and exciting feeling of everything and nothing; that feeling of falling and standing up at the same time. It came and came and came. Such it came with a soft gasp left Taehyun's lips, a strangled hitch from Mino's throat, a sigh of content from somewhere in between the two lips and tongues.

Such it came with four roaming hands clutching to black cloth, the sound of silk and cotton drowning out the world, the room lighting up with brimming heat and gentle warmth of two nothings and two every things. Such it came.

"Mino. Check this out--holy shit! What are you doing?!" Came Seunghoon's shrill as he comes to a halt at the door and gapes at the sight of their main rapper and vocalist, their lips touching, their arms wrapped around each other, their gazes clouded and eager. "Um." Seunghoon attempts before Taehyun stands up and glares at him. "If you don't leave right now, I'll PERSONALLY send you back into the trainee room." Threatens the vocalist, his orbs cold and unwelcoming, verging on the brink of "Try me. I dare you." because he was having none of it tonight. None at all.