#stanislawkowalski

It was unlike Frederich to miss out on a large party. He was not a drinker, a dancer, or a partyer in general, but the bastard did love to network. Somehow, despite his usually stale manner of talking, he came to life and did well at these sorts of events.

As such, Louis had assumed that his weekend was going to be free. He'd be allowed to return to his apartment above ground and do whatever the fuck he wanted rather than attending. Not that he had much planned for it. He wanted to go to the club. Unwind and perhaps over do it at the same time, until he forgot about his stressors for at least a day or two. Such was his usual weekend plan when in the mental headspace he was.

However, Frederich had informed him the night of that he would go in his stead. Why, he wasn't told. Simply that he needed to talk to their usual clients at the event. Louis had to resist the urge to frown at that. Not for the work but...who was there.

Nastka.

He'd avoided that man like the plague when he could. There were times that business brought them in the same vicinity, but Louis did his best not to allow conversation to strike between the two of them. Truthfully, he gruelled the idea of another talk. He really didn't feel like having another thing to stress about ontop of his work--especially something that he anticipated ending in hurt feelings. He'd had enough salt rubbed into a wound. He didn't expect the sensation to improve with more time spent together.

However, he couldn't completely avoid Nastka either tonight. He was on the list of people to talk to. But he thought he'd table it till the very end of the night. Make a quiet conversation before he ducked. Get a glass or two of wine in his system to make it easier. Finish up his other talks then rip the bandage off.

So he networked elsewhere. He spoke with a few of the families, danced with a handful of women, and eventually felt like he could conclude the night...after talking to Nastka...--he made note of where he was in the room. When their eyes met, he quickly avoided the gaze with a frown. He felt his frustration growing.

...he needed a smoke break before that.

Feeling for his vape in his pocket, he dismissed himself to the balcony. It was a bit bittersweet; knowing that he was avoiding Nastka on the balcony of all places. After they had flirted and had some fun there once before. His pen made it to his lips, a large plume of vapor meeting the air as he sighed after his inhale. Fuck. He really didn't want to talk to Nastka. The night had gone so smoothly. A hand ran through his hair to control unruly bangs.

🩷🩷🩷———— He expected a lecture.

When it came to Nastka almost everything was a lecture of sorts. Especially when it was involving business. He knew it wouldn’t be an easy sell. This was probably the most ambitious move he was trying to make for himself. Ever. Never had he thought of himself and his own needs when it came to business.. until now.

He didn’t know what kind of future he wanted to work towards so Nastka was partly to blame (at least that was how he was rationalizing it).

So he sat, bile rising up in the back of his throat from nerves. Setting himself vulnerable for Nastka to neatly cut into every aspect of his plan with red ink expressing what a horrible decision he could have made. Needless to say this was not how he envisioned things going. Braced for his harshness Kisumi could have expected him pointing out how risky the endeavor of starting a business like a casino was.

He had done research. He has spent hours toiling over the business plan he had presented, picked out a good property, even created a niche to fill. Every decision involved risk, the lack of vision on his left side reminded him of that daily. He sat in silence bearing each of the ways Nastka plucked away each ray of hope. The throw away line about having his back… would he? A bitter part of him thought about Nastka eating up a broken version of himself running to Nastka to nurse his wounds and crying how he had been right all along.

He could have handled being told the idea was a bad financial move. Plain and simple. He could accept that. Then Nastka had to come for him personally. Not having the guts? Wasn’t it enough he had been proposing the idea to his backers? Then——“The knowledge?” For Naskta to then strike him with the lowest blow his ego wouldn’t stand for it.

It was not very much in his habit to attend these meetings… If meeting was the proper term to explain what was going on. Rarely would he partake in discussions, bored with the useless chat, the egos in the room, and more importantly the lack of actions. He has always preferred the field anyway. He was a man born with a gun extending his digits, and he had the sensation that anything could actually tickle his need to take the cannon out and threaten whoever might think it was a good idea to get under his skin.

Yet, curiosity animated him too. He had heard about this fellow before, Nastka, but he had never encountered him. Courtesy of the underground world, they have evolved apart for many reasons. You wouldn’t put two wolves in the same enclosure ; they would try to eat the other one alive. Those were the inner rules of the hidden mobsters. Colliding together meant having a winner and a loser, and right now Kaizen wouldn’t ever be pictured as a surrender.

Stairs going down, a metal door. A private club with illegal bets and other poker nights somewhere downtown. Some dirty cash for lowly gangsters and their wide pockets, but also the perfect cover for whoever wanted to have a chat. He hoped there weren’t too many prying ears tonight ; he would have to cut them right after the meeting if tongues felt the urge to spill secrets they shouldn’t talk about. Knocking on the door, his face was well-known enough for the gatekeeper not to ask for a password.

Rather, the atmosphere was quite tense right now. When he walked inside, murmurs and side looks would escort the few authorized card tables, but Kaizen was already moving, heading to the back of the room, behind red velvet curtains and a wooden door.

“Am I late?” He asked when he noticed that Nastka was already there. It was annoying, but it wouldn't show on his features. He grabbed the handle of the door, and he locked it behind his back. Whatever might be the turn of their discussion, if blood was spilled, then it would be their private matter. He wouldn’t really care about being late or not, but he didn’t like the undermining of it. He wouldn’t sit down right away either, preferring to lean against a piece of furniture and lighten a cigarette with his silver zippo.

IS THIS YOU, BLONDASIE???

@stanislawkowalski : All I ask is, that you do not cast me aside. Have mistresses and lovers as you please, but confide in me as I am to be your husband

" and is that supposed to soothe my heart? "

spoken dry, deadpan, golden eyes laid upon his husband-to-be with all of the fondness of stone. after all, this was business. transactional. why were they trying to weave emotions into what was inevitably to be hollow and cold?

atticus glanced away, unamused, and untouched by this seeming effort to make the most of their future vows.

The whole point of this trip in Kisumi’s mind was to escape work. He hardly ever got away, truly away, he planned the trip on a whim for the two of them wanting to see Nastka out of that environment. Indulging himself in a side that he never had been allowed.

Strangely domestic in some ways.

The way Kisumi had his phone off and was so present for the moment made him feel like the security blanket was ripped from him. Usually when Nastka’s questioning became too much he buried himself into the latest celebrity gossip. There was no hiding, he allowed himself to be bare, on display. Yet Nastka brought out his papers. Who would have thought he would be jealous of math.

Kisumi didn’t want to tear Naskta’s from necessary business but it was a reminder of what he himself was inevitably was avoiding. Wanting his attention was needy. No, scratch that. He needed to reframe his mindset. Wanting Nastka’s attention wasn’t needy, it was needed. Not a want but an instinct desire. He wasn’t being a nuisance by allowing himself to break into Nastka’s personal space. He could have easily continued with his task, Kisumi wouldn’t have impended the task, he could have still wrote if he wanted.

He allowed Nastka the space to decide.

The bubble in his chest that formed when the papers cleared away and those eyes shone towards him, oh it elated Kisumi. There was always that little current of fear that entangled itself with the novelty of Nastka’s attention. As always Nastka saw right through him. Clocking the lack of speech. Kisumi couldn’t deny when he held himself back from words he was hiding. Not sharing the loud thoughts which raged through his mind like a thunderous current, a river bank overflowing. He held the eye contact, refusing to break it to admit Nastka’s words held truth.

“I know you see the cracks.” Kisumi couldn’t deny that. If anything, Kisumi would bet everything on Nastka knowing him better than himself. “By you seeing them I don’t know if you’ll suture me back together or simply apply the pressure to shatter me whole.” But maybe that wasn’t Nastka’s purpose in this. He was just here to witness. It was his own choice whether to allow his presence to be one of healing or destruction.

“Right now I feel like you’re making me like Kintsugi..” he said softly. The art of taking broken shattered ceramic pieces and jointed them back together with gold. Highlighting the scars and cracks for a thing of beauty. Seeing them for what they are and embracing the imperfections. “You still look at me like I’m something more.” Kisumi’s voice felt too loud even now. Yet he could whisper against Nastka’s lips.