“don’t call me that,” she murmurs, looking to the ground. “why are you here?” she gestures weakly to their whole situation, anatole standing far too close to her in this grimy alley off the back door of a club in the dead of winter.

“i wanted to see you. i keep seeing you everywhere. it’s driving me insane that i can't—that i can’t talk to you, o-or touch you.” he reaches toward natasha’s elbow, but she backs away so quickly that she nearly trips over herself.

“don’t say that.” her voice shakes. “you ruined my life. don’t you dare say that.” anatole’s relentless as he steps forward again.

“you know, every time i️ see you, i fall in love with you all over again,” he says, his speech slightly slurred (but not slurred enough for any of this to make sense), and natasha’s eyes go wide.

“no. no. you’re not allowed to fucking say that. you ruined my life.” she takes a shuddering breath. “what the fuck? i know that’s not why you’re here. i know it’s not. why are you here?” anatole suddenly loses his bravado, slumping against the wall and starting to slide down it. natasha doesn’t move any closer, but something in her softens when she sees his dejected face. “it’s not really me, is it?” her voice is even now. it’s not a question.

anatole shakes his head. his hands go to his eyes, and natasha realizes he’s crying. she doesn’t comfort him. she can’t do that to herself.

“anatole, stop being the massive idiot i know you are,” she says, edged with the anger she she wished she could have expressed to him so much earlier. he stiffens at that, and something deep down inside her is glad. “it’s fedya, isn’t it?” his silence is enough of an answer.

“he says—he says he loves me,” anatole manages, his voice strained.

it takes all natasha has in her not to sigh with exasperation. “like i said, stop being an idiot.” she begrudgingly slides down the wall so she’s eye-level with him. “you love him too.” he looks up at her, eyebrows drawn in confusion. “it’s the way you look at him. i just can tell.” he curls into himself, hugging his knees to his chest. it should fuel her anger, really, the way he acts, but the only feeling natasha can dig up from inside her is pity. he’s silent until the door to the club slams open, making them both jump. fedya sticks his head out of the open doorway.

“tolya, where the hell have you been? i’ve been looking everywhere, come back in.” he nods at natasha, and she smiles politely in return. anatole stands up, brushing himself off.