talk, yes. just not mine. have you forgotten what i told you about my self control already? forward desperation is simply not in my nature. i do, however, wish you were here right now. i'd probably stop the car on the side of the road and take you into the backseat. an empty road. i do respect your privacy. my whole bunny ear fantasy was in the snow, alina. it can't be helped. i prefer to curate the secrets people know about me. for example, it's fine if you know that my worst birthday was because my mother hired a clown for the party, but not fine if you know that i once flushed an entire bottle of her xanax down the toilet. she was cross with me for weeks, and in hindsight, i probably shouldn't have done that. high numbers are always best. makes me feel like i'm winning. ah, but that's one of my defining traits. i'm always good at everything the first time. i'm not sure how i'd cope if this stopped being true.
it was a joke. and not one i regret making if that's your answer to it. of course. you're a gentleman to the very end. for the record, i think i could make good use of your driver's seat, too. not just the backseat. be warned i freeze easily. you have no one else to blame when my fingers turn into ice. it's almost like your mother wanted to traumatize you from the start. a clown? really? there's a lot of things we shouldn't have done in hindsight, but we did them. i'm sure you had a reason for it. or was it just teenage rebellion? you're impossible. and no, i don't mean improbable. but that too. if i'm ever asked, i'll lie and tell people you were perfectly good at everything the first time. i'm serious, though. i wouldn't hold something like that against you.
it sounds like you want to make me crash my car but have a very enjoyable death. don't fret. i'll keep you warm. i don't remember why i did it. probably teenage rebellion.
[ it's easier to gloss it over with that. he's almost annoyed with himself that he keeps coming so close to truths that he never had any intention of sharing. something about alina just makes him want to be wholly honest, and, well. he's never been the best at being truthful — not out of malicious intent, but simple self-preservation.
he also finds himself hesitating, another irritating trait he's disused to. ]
are you experienced in that sort of thing? do you enjoy it as well?
you've caught me. whatever will i do now that you've unveiled my nefarious plan. was that the teenage phase that you never grew out of? because i have a feeling you're still a rebel at heart. you did sneak out for me.
[ it's a less confrontational reply than what immediately springs to her fingers on instinct before she reconsiders and erases it: sure you don't remember, in all of its skepticism. cornering an animal that resists entrapment has never ended well, after all, and nikolai is a slippery sort.
for now, she files it away into her folder of subjects to address at a later time, stubborn and persistent to the end. ]
i've given up control before. it's not something i mind with the right person. i just mind that it was with the wrong person who i thought was the right person at the time. but have i had anyone give up their control to me? once or twice. it's not the sort of thing you do with just anyone. does it make you feel better or worse to know that we both barely know what we're doing?
i suppose now you have no choice but to kill me. don't broadcast it. everyone else thinks i gave up rebellion in my youth. besides, the sneaking out has less to do with me being a rebel and more to do with how much i miss you.
right. how pesky of him. oh, it makes me feel much better. the worse an idea, the more i'm inclined to love it. and i'm glad to hear i'm not just anyone to you. any other sentiment would've trampled all over my feelings.
they really were right when they said the female of the species is more deadly. that's because you have everyone else fooled. somehow. can't it be both? i miss you, too. even your awful jokes that make my eyes want to roll out of my head. it's much easier to show my disapproval of them when i can see you.
pesky isn't the word i would choose when you've trusted someone that much and they end up betraying that trust. i don't know. it's complicated, and this isn't about him. my whole point is that it's difficult to place yourself in someone else's hands and expect them to take care of you. obviously you're not just anyone to me. you could never be just anyone. but nothing is stopping you from backing out except for your pride if you really think it's that terrible of an idea.
i prefer my women deadly. it makes the day far more exciting. somehow? i won't stand for this to be attributed to luck. my sparkling wit and charm are the real culprits. your expressions of affection toward my jokes are missed as well. it really isn't the same when i can't see your smiling face.
it was the first word to come to mind and i felt he didn't deserve further thought. well, if we're sharing a moment of honesty, then yes. it is quite difficult to place yourself into the care of someone else. i don't make a habit of it and the entire notion is largely unappealing. but when it's you, it becomes tolerable. exciting, even. you're not just anyone, either. i wasn't making a joke back there. i genuinely love bad ideas. anything worth doing typically starts out as one. promise me there will be many more in our future.
never knowing when i might decide to strangle you must keep you on your toes. i stand by "somehow". mostly because it annoys you, and being frustrating is what i was made for. next time, i'm going to stop myself from smiling at all. that just encourages you to make worse jokes about how unbearably handsome you think you are.
aren't we always sharing a moment of honesty?
[ a dangerous, regrettable amount of honesty at times, especially. but, beyond that — ]
largely unappealing for you, maybe. some people have different tastes. "tolerable" isn't reassuring or high praise, but i'll accept "exciting". i'm full of bad ideas. regularly. daily. my entire lifetime. just look at my past choices. it's still not very romantic to imply i'm one of your bad ideas, though.
the possibility of sudden death does keep me young. please don't stop smiling at me. i would miss it terribly. perhaps we can come to an agreement where you smile when you're annoyed with me and frown when you think my jokes are funny.
a deeper one, then. i can't spill all my secrets at once. do you feel ready to place yourself into someone's hands again? this is why we get along so well. we're both bad idea enthusiasts. i think you probably thought that i was more of a bad idea at first than the other way around. i knew getting to know you what an excellent idea from the start. especially since i needed your washing machine.
i was going to make a black widow joke, but then i realized i'd traumatize you for life. then i would never frown because your jokes are never funny, and i'd lose the ability to let people know i don't like them. 😊
thank god zoya is the keeper of all of your secrets. i won't even have to bribe her to get access to them. unless she decides she hates me, which would be awkward for everyone. yeah. if they were your hands. not that i need that. i want you. the specifics and the details don't matter. oh, i thought you were the worst idea when we met. you were arrogant, annoyingly charming, and you wouldn't stop talking. maybe you still are a bad idea. i should have known you were just using me for my washing machine.
i knew i shouldn't have told you about the spiders. i don't know why you keep telling me i'm not funny. i can't wrap my head around it.
zoya is a bit too keen on trying to embarrass me. i doubt she'll hate you, unless mal does something awful and she decides to hate you by association. now that would be awkward. my hands are a good choice. they like you already. i had a lot of things to say that night. it was a trying time for me. i thought zoya was going to smother me in my sleep. maybe i am, but things are good now. we'll deal with everything else as they come.
don't worry, i'll kill all of the spiders that sneak into your house so you don't die of a heart attack, you big baby. maybe you can write an awful poem to thank me for being your savior. you can't comprehend anyone not liking you, can you?
that makes two of us. i'm sensing a new partner in crime. your faith in mal is so inspiring. he's not going to do anything awful. probably. maybe. he's not exactly the settling down type. from what you've told me, neither is zoya. that might be a disaster waiting to happen. do your hands like me already? i haven't seen any evidence of that. i was more surprised you kept trying to talk to me. it's either very brave, very stupid, or very insane to flirt with a woman who wanted nothing to do with you at first. for what it's worth, i'm glad i failed at scaring you off. i think you're one of my better ideas after a string of bad decisions.
my hero. i would write you some poetry if i didn't worry you might never speak to me again after being subjected to it. i really can't. it's a notion beyond even my comprehension.
dear god, i would hope they don't settle down. who'll bring me my snacks if zoya is always off being reckless with mal? my hands were respectably liking you from a distance. once we've made ourselves cozy on my veranda, however, i think they'll want to try a different tactic. i was surprised. surprised that i even wanted to talk to you. you were a good decision i hadn't planned on making. i was quite opposed to the idea, actually, but who am i to fight inevitability? especially when it's an outcome a part of me genuinely wants.
you already subject me to odes to your own beauty. i think i can handle your poetry. you're an acquired taste. don't expect everyone to share my tolerance.
even reckless veranda-destroyers and secret-spillers deserve love, nikolai. honestly? zoya would be a blessing. i'm getting tired of mal's conquests trying to get in his good graces through me. it never works. is this going to be a surprise tactic? you're trying to leave me in suspense. that's unfair. i thought you didn't believe in inevitable things like fate. don't tell me i've changed your mind.
well, of course she deserves love, but does it have to be so soon? can't she wait another ten or twenty years? our adventures are unfinished and mal is not invited. that's rather desperate, but i suppose i could see the reasoning if they really were so enamored with someone. must be quite irritating for you, though. it won't be that long until we see each other. i think you can handle a little unfair suspense. i don't. you just happen to be some sort of inexplicable anomaly. trust me, i tried wanting to not want you. that was a rather agonizing morning.
your jealousy is showing. no one is coming to steal zoya away from you. you can survive without her attention for five seconds. stop trying to ruin my matchmaking. i don't blame them for being desperate. he's mal. of course they're desperate. but zoya is a better choice. i won't ever have to wonder if she actually likes me or if she's using me to get to mal. how long? ten minutes? twenty? forty? that's too long for suspense. i deserve a hint. so you're admitting i wore you down just by existing. that's a first for me. i am very hard to get rid of, though. you never stood a chance.
if your matchmaking dramatically alters my life, we will revisit this topic. what is that supposed to mean? he's mal. as if he's so desirable. it's true that zoya is perhaps the worst liar i've ever met. she has no poker face. you will always know where you stand with her. less than an hour. 58 minutes? your existence is quite the cannonball, but i'm happy to be crushed by it. was that a good first line for a poem?
good luck trying to stop me. i'm pretty sure my meaning was obvious. you have looked at mal, right? not to mention he's probably the most loyal person i've ever met and has the biggest heart. zoya is in good hands. i'm 90% sure she's going to end up hurting my feelings, but i respect brutal honesty more than i respect liars. 58 minutes is practically still an hour. you're going to kill me. romantic and borderline nihilistic. i suppose it'll do for a first line.
all i'm saying is that i need my snacks. i try not to for extended periods of time, but yes. i've looked at him. i suppose he has a rather nice jawline. not quite as nice as mine, but whose is? honestly, it's not zoya i would be concerned for. don't die before i give you these bunny ears. i would take it quite personally. i'll see you in 57 minutes?
i don't know if you've realized this, but you have working legs. get them yourself. is this another mal-related insecurity meltdown? you're both very pretty princesses. the prettiest. make sure zoya doesn't turn him into a carcass, then. too late. i'm withering away. remember me fondly. make it 55 minutes without crashing your car into a ditch and i might survive.
get them myself? mal-related insecurity meltdown? i'm afraid i can no longer come to the phone right now. hopefully i will have recovered in 55 minutes when i see your smiling face. the gate is already unlocked for you. i'll meet you in the backyard.
[ his home isn't far from the university, nestled on the hill of a little used street, but it's far enough to grant the privacy he craves. his property is also enormous, which makes it perfect for parties and experiments that might lead to small explosions. the gate leads to a long driveway, the front yard snowy and lined with an ornate black fence, and the backyard is even bigger, complete with a garden of bright flowers, a fire pit, a small gazebo with vines growing along the sides, and a koi pond encircled with stones and greenery. the slats over the veranda in question allow strips of moonlight in, casting over the furry blankets draped over the plush love seat.
nikolai goes to the kitchen first once he gets home, setting two glasses and the cristal on a tray, a gift bag hanging from his wrist as he unlocks the sliding door that leads to the backyard. ]
The sunrise is nice from the gazebo, too, but it's not heated. [ he smiles as he sets the tray down, turning to the stone fireplace to start a fire. ] The fish are hibernating for the winter, but I'm sure they're very excited to meet you in the spring.
[ it's everything she anticipated, and nothing at all like she expected.
nikolai's home speaks to the wealthy isolation she had imagined, and still it lives in the shadow of aleksander's cynical desire for solitude, secluded too far from humanity for it to ever touch him. it's another uncomfortable comparison she casts aside for that very reason, purging that ghost of a memory as her snow-bitten toes cross his veranda, but she can't rid herself of one nagging thought: a house is a far cry from the comfort of a home.
her curiosity isn't satiated with only glimpses, but there's a wildness in the climbing lattices of ivy that reminds her of nikolai's spirit, a vibrancy in the ice-brushed petals in his garden that calls to mind the wildflowers resting on her windowsill. she leans away from where she rests against the railing with a smile that blooms despite herself, restraining herself from hovering by curling her slender fingers around the bottle of cristal. ]
You can stop bragging about your veranda, Gatsby. You won't impress me. [ it's flat as any of her commentary, a contrast to the obnoxious pop of the cork as bubbles race to the surface. the fizz falls in a dying waterfall, splashing across the wooden deck and cascading messily down her wrists. more evidence that she's unused to the opulence and perks of a life that's routine for him. ] Are you going to tell me Mal almost killed himself in your pond too?
[ he glances back at the sound of the bottle opening, a grin sneaking its way onto his lips at the way the liquid spills onto the floor. he tosses her a rag and pokes at the fire, the embers slowly coming to life. ]
I'll leave the impressing to the sun.
[ it's a view he's witnesses many times before, courtesy of his habit of falling asleep out here, an open book curled to his chest or his tablet sliding somewhere between the cushions to poke directly at his spine in the morning. the sunlight always wakes him, the rays warming his face even when he covers his eyes to keep from being blinded.
his house is usually empty except for zoya's presence, which is how he prefers it. he can get along with anyone and pull a conversation out of thin air if he needs to, but these days he finds he doesn't mind the quiet so much. ( but he will mind if zoya starts spending all her time with mal. ) he likes the quiet, but he doesn't particularly like being alone. there's a vast difference that he finds is lost on most people. ]
Surprisingly Mal has not almost killed himself in my pond, but there's an unspoken rule that if you bother the fish, you'll never be invited back. People usually just sit there and look at each other wistfully while they wonder if they should kiss or not.
[ once the flames begin to flicker over the logs, he joins alina, reaching into the bag for a pair of white earmuffs with soft rabbit ears attached. he beams as he slides them onto her head without warning. ]
You look exactly how you did in my fantasy. Only more cross. I find it even more delightful this way.
[ then he holds the bag out to her in exchange for the bottle. inside is a round, vintage music box of blue and gold, the lid emblazoned with a sun, tiny birds carved between each ray. the inside of the lid is a backdrop of stars once upon, a golden castle rising from the box to slowly turn to the sound of tinkling notes. ]
[ a huff of her breath materializes in the air between them, a frozen wisp burned away by the radiating heat of the fireplace, as her fingers graze over the soft velveteen of the attached ears. it's undoubtedly childlike, but — she doesn't have the heart to remove them. the cold sterility of a foster home had demanded she let go of any fantastical whims long before she was ready to grow up, and nikolai's smile looks too much like he plucked the sun from the sky and placed it there.
ruining it for him has to qualify as a sin. ]
People like us, you mean. It's ridiculous when you think about it.
[ all of that wistful pining and longing staring, and the reins of fear that have kept her wondering what if. perhaps it only strikes her as wasted time now that she knows that she isn't drowning alone, swept along by a current that hardly cares if she hadn't been ready to risk another loss.
more ridiculous is the buzzing of her nerves, hyperaware of her own confessions, acutely attuned to the fact that she isn't wondering. that she's already made her decision to kiss him. perfect moments are as mythical as fate and patience is hardly the best virtue she has, but — she lets herself drift toward waiting, as if the moonlight cutting a beam into his skin will tell her when to fall.
for now, she distracts herself with the rag in her hand, the excess sticky residue that she licks off of her fingers with a swipe of her tongue. only when she's satisfied she isn't going to taint the contents with grimy hands does she reach in with careful reverence she reserves for what few meaningful gifts she's ever received.
don't get emotional, starkov. even that reminder can't push down the lump of emotion lodged in her throat when its lid sparkles into view. ]
I told you not to get me anything else. [ but the slight windedness to her grumbling undermines it, reveals how affected she is when the music begins to chime to the pivoting of that gilded, sparkling castle. her fingers skim over it, over the flight path of tiny wings in the backdrop. ] It's beautiful, Nikolai. You shouldn't have.
[ as he watches her pull the music box out, it strikes him suddenly that he doesn't know how he got here, to this specific moment in time where things just keep moving forward as if it's all natural. fighting this entire scenario for so long has left him somewhat ill-prepared to tackle it. after dominik, there was never supposed to be anyone else. he's as dramatic as they come — one lost love was enough to cement his decision to give up on the possibility of everything. with many other pursuits and passions to occupy his mind, chasing love wasn't even hard to give up after his heart had been so thoroughly and publicly shattered. he embraced the notion, even.
leave it to him to find the one person who doesn't regularly read about his life and likely has no idea about what'd happened. he suspects the only reason she even knew about morozova's blow to his family was because of her ties to him and not an avid interest in the financial papers. it's refreshing, mostly. he's glad to be able to introduce himself the way he wants to be seen instead of how everyone else has decided he should be. but there's a small part of him that realizes he'll have to talk about decidedly personal things about himself at some point, and not a single cell in his body is looking forward to deconstructing his own complicated armor for the sake of letting someone else in.
so no, he has no idea how he ended up here, with alina visiting his home, a bottle between them that is likely to spill some unsavory secrets, his own desire to kiss her mounting with every passing moment. he was never supposed to do this again.
he breaks off his thoughts to rejoin the present, smiling hopefully as she traces her fingers along the engravings. ] But I wanted to.
[ and perhaps that's the most surprising thing of all to him, that he wants this, and all the things that come with it. he busies himself with the bottle, pouring two glasses. ]
It's ridiculous because we haven't been taking part in these longing stares by the pond. The koi love to witness the embarrassing spectrum of human emotions. Who are we to deny their entertainment?
[ he takes the music box and sets it aside so he can push her drink into her hand instead, clasping her other one in his. ]
To you. [ he clinks their glasses together. ] For being a good sport about my fantasies. And for allowing me to sexually frustrate you with my dawdling pace. I'm happy you're here, Alina. Truly. I honestly didn't think that I'd ever have anyone to watch the sunrise with again.
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no subject
have you forgotten what i told you about my self control already? forward desperation is simply not in my nature. i do, however, wish you were here right now. i'd probably stop the car on the side of the road and take you into the backseat.
an empty road. i do respect your privacy.
my whole bunny ear fantasy was in the snow, alina. it can't be helped.
i prefer to curate the secrets people know about me. for example, it's fine if you know that my worst birthday was because my mother hired a clown for the party, but not fine if you know that i once flushed an entire bottle of her xanax down the toilet. she was cross with me for weeks, and in hindsight, i probably shouldn't have done that.
high numbers are always best. makes me feel like i'm winning.
ah, but that's one of my defining traits. i'm always good at everything the first time. i'm not sure how i'd cope if this stopped being true.
no subject
of course. you're a gentleman to the very end.
for the record, i think i could make good use of your driver's seat, too. not just the backseat.
be warned i freeze easily. you have no one else to blame when my fingers turn into ice.
it's almost like your mother wanted to traumatize you from the start. a clown? really?
there's a lot of things we shouldn't have done in hindsight, but we did them. i'm sure you had a reason for it. or was it just teenage rebellion?
you're impossible. and no, i don't mean improbable. but that too.
if i'm ever asked, i'll lie and tell people you were perfectly good at everything the first time.
i'm serious, though. i wouldn't hold something like that against you.
no subject
don't fret. i'll keep you warm.
i don't remember why i did it. probably teenage rebellion.
[ it's easier to gloss it over with that. he's almost annoyed with himself that he keeps coming so close to truths that he never had any intention of sharing. something about alina just makes him want to be wholly honest, and, well. he's never been the best at being truthful — not out of malicious intent, but simple self-preservation.
he also finds himself hesitating, another irritating trait he's disused to. ]
are you experienced in that sort of thing?
do you enjoy it as well?
no subject
was that the teenage phase that you never grew out of?
because i have a feeling you're still a rebel at heart.
you did sneak out for me.
[ it's a less confrontational reply than what immediately springs to her fingers on instinct before she reconsiders and erases it: sure you don't remember, in all of its skepticism. cornering an animal that resists entrapment has never ended well, after all, and nikolai is a slippery sort.
for now, she files it away into her folder of subjects to address at a later time, stubborn and persistent to the end. ]
i've given up control before. it's not something i mind with the right person.
i just mind that it was with the wrong person who i thought was the right person at the time.
but have i had anyone give up their control to me? once or twice.
it's not the sort of thing you do with just anyone.
does it make you feel better or worse to know that we both barely know what we're doing?
no subject
don't broadcast it. everyone else thinks i gave up rebellion in my youth.
besides, the sneaking out has less to do with me being a rebel and more to do with how much i miss you.
right. how pesky of him.
oh, it makes me feel much better.
the worse an idea, the more i'm inclined to love it.
and i'm glad to hear i'm not just anyone to you.
any other sentiment would've trampled all over my feelings.
no subject
that's because you have everyone else fooled. somehow.
can't it be both?
i miss you, too. even your awful jokes that make my eyes want to roll out of my head.
it's much easier to show my disapproval of them when i can see you.
pesky isn't the word i would choose when you've trusted someone that much and they end up betraying that trust.
i don't know. it's complicated, and this isn't about him.
my whole point is that it's difficult to place yourself in someone else's hands and expect them to take care of you.
obviously you're not just anyone to me. you could never be just anyone.
but nothing is stopping you from backing out except for your pride if you really think it's that terrible of an idea.
no subject
somehow? i won't stand for this to be attributed to luck. my sparkling wit and charm are the real culprits.
your expressions of affection toward my jokes are missed as well. it really isn't the same when i can't see your smiling face.
it was the first word to come to mind and i felt he didn't deserve further thought.
well, if we're sharing a moment of honesty, then yes. it is quite difficult to place yourself into the care of someone else. i don't make a habit of it and the entire notion is largely unappealing.
but when it's you, it becomes tolerable. exciting, even.
you're not just anyone, either.
i wasn't making a joke back there. i genuinely love bad ideas. anything worth doing typically starts out as one.
promise me there will be many more in our future.
no subject
i stand by "somehow". mostly because it annoys you, and being frustrating is what i was made for.
next time, i'm going to stop myself from smiling at all. that just encourages you to make worse jokes about how unbearably handsome you think you are.
aren't we always sharing a moment of honesty?
[ a dangerous, regrettable amount of honesty at times, especially. but, beyond that — ]
largely unappealing for you, maybe. some people have different tastes.
"tolerable" isn't reassuring or high praise, but i'll accept "exciting".
i'm full of bad ideas. regularly. daily. my entire lifetime. just look at my past choices.
it's still not very romantic to imply i'm one of your bad ideas, though.
no subject
please don't stop smiling at me. i would miss it terribly. perhaps we can come to an agreement where you smile when you're annoyed with me and frown when you think my jokes are funny.
a deeper one, then. i can't spill all my secrets at once.
do you feel ready to place yourself into someone's hands again?
this is why we get along so well. we're both bad idea enthusiasts.
i think you probably thought that i was more of a bad idea at first than the other way around.
i knew getting to know you what an excellent idea from the start. especially since i needed your washing machine.
no subject
then i would never frown because your jokes are never funny, and i'd lose the ability to let people know i don't like them. 😊
thank god zoya is the keeper of all of your secrets.
i won't even have to bribe her to get access to them.
unless she decides she hates me, which would be awkward for everyone.
yeah. if they were your hands.
not that i need that. i want you. the specifics and the details don't matter.
oh, i thought you were the worst idea when we met. you were arrogant, annoyingly charming, and you wouldn't stop talking.
maybe you still are a bad idea. i should have known you were just using me for my washing machine.
no subject
i don't know why you keep telling me i'm not funny. i can't wrap my head around it.
zoya is a bit too keen on trying to embarrass me.
i doubt she'll hate you, unless mal does something awful and she decides to hate you by association. now that would be awkward.
my hands are a good choice. they like you already.
i had a lot of things to say that night. it was a trying time for me. i thought zoya was going to smother me in my sleep.
maybe i am, but things are good now. we'll deal with everything else as they come.
no subject
maybe you can write an awful poem to thank me for being your savior.
you can't comprehend anyone not liking you, can you?
that makes two of us. i'm sensing a new partner in crime.
your faith in mal is so inspiring. he's not going to do anything awful. probably. maybe.
he's not exactly the settling down type. from what you've told me, neither is zoya. that might be a disaster waiting to happen.
do your hands like me already? i haven't seen any evidence of that.
i was more surprised you kept trying to talk to me.
it's either very brave, very stupid, or very insane to flirt with a woman who wanted nothing to do with you at first.
for what it's worth, i'm glad i failed at scaring you off. i think you're one of my better ideas after a string of bad decisions.
no subject
i would write you some poetry if i didn't worry you might never speak to me again after being subjected to it.
i really can't. it's a notion beyond even my comprehension.
dear god, i would hope they don't settle down. who'll bring me my snacks if zoya is always off being reckless with mal?
my hands were respectably liking you from a distance. once we've made ourselves cozy on my veranda, however, i think they'll want to try a different tactic.
i was surprised. surprised that i even wanted to talk to you.
you were a good decision i hadn't planned on making. i was quite opposed to the idea, actually, but who am i to fight inevitability?
especially when it's an outcome a part of me genuinely wants.
no subject
you're an acquired taste. don't expect everyone to share my tolerance.
even reckless veranda-destroyers and secret-spillers deserve love, nikolai.
honestly? zoya would be a blessing. i'm getting tired of mal's conquests trying to get in his good graces through me. it never works.
is this going to be a surprise tactic? you're trying to leave me in suspense. that's unfair.
i thought you didn't believe in inevitable things like fate. don't tell me i've changed your mind.
no subject
that's rather desperate, but i suppose i could see the reasoning if they really were so enamored with someone. must be quite irritating for you, though.
it won't be that long until we see each other. i think you can handle a little unfair suspense.
i don't. you just happen to be some sort of inexplicable anomaly. trust me, i tried wanting to not want you. that was a rather agonizing morning.
no subject
you can survive without her attention for five seconds. stop trying to ruin my matchmaking.
i don't blame them for being desperate. he's mal. of course they're desperate.
but zoya is a better choice. i won't ever have to wonder if she actually likes me or if she's using me to get to mal.
how long? ten minutes? twenty? forty? that's too long for suspense. i deserve a hint.
so you're admitting i wore you down just by existing. that's a first for me.
i am very hard to get rid of, though. you never stood a chance.
no subject
what is that supposed to mean? he's mal. as if he's so desirable.
it's true that zoya is perhaps the worst liar i've ever met. she has no poker face. you will always know where you stand with her.
less than an hour.
58 minutes?
your existence is quite the cannonball, but i'm happy to be crushed by it.
was that a good first line for a poem?
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i'm pretty sure my meaning was obvious. you have looked at mal, right?
not to mention he's probably the most loyal person i've ever met and has the biggest heart. zoya is in good hands.
i'm 90% sure she's going to end up hurting my feelings, but i respect brutal honesty more than i respect liars.
58 minutes is practically still an hour. you're going to kill me.
romantic and borderline nihilistic. i suppose it'll do for a first line.
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i try not to for extended periods of time, but yes. i've looked at him. i suppose he has a rather nice jawline. not quite as nice as mine, but whose is?
honestly, it's not zoya i would be concerned for.
don't die before i give you these bunny ears. i would take it quite personally.
i'll see you in 57 minutes?
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is this another mal-related insecurity meltdown? you're both very pretty princesses. the prettiest.
make sure zoya doesn't turn him into a carcass, then.
too late. i'm withering away. remember me fondly.
make it 55 minutes without crashing your car into a ditch and i might survive.
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i'm afraid i can no longer come to the phone right now.
hopefully i will have recovered in 55 minutes when i see your smiling face.
the gate is already unlocked for you. i'll meet you in the backyard.
[ his home isn't far from the university, nestled on the hill of a little used street, but it's far enough to grant the privacy he craves. his property is also enormous, which makes it perfect for parties and experiments that might lead to small explosions. the gate leads to a long driveway, the front yard snowy and lined with an ornate black fence, and the backyard is even bigger, complete with a garden of bright flowers, a fire pit, a small gazebo with vines growing along the sides, and a koi pond encircled with stones and greenery. the slats over the veranda in question allow strips of moonlight in, casting over the furry blankets draped over the plush love seat.
nikolai goes to the kitchen first once he gets home, setting two glasses and the cristal on a tray, a gift bag hanging from his wrist as he unlocks the sliding door that leads to the backyard. ]
The sunrise is nice from the gazebo, too, but it's not heated. [ he smiles as he sets the tray down, turning to the stone fireplace to start a fire. ] The fish are hibernating for the winter, but I'm sure they're very excited to meet you in the spring.
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nikolai's home speaks to the wealthy isolation she had imagined, and still it lives in the shadow of aleksander's cynical desire for solitude, secluded too far from humanity for it to ever touch him. it's another uncomfortable comparison she casts aside for that very reason, purging that ghost of a memory as her snow-bitten toes cross his veranda, but she can't rid herself of one nagging thought: a house is a far cry from the comfort of a home.
her curiosity isn't satiated with only glimpses, but there's a wildness in the climbing lattices of ivy that reminds her of nikolai's spirit, a vibrancy in the ice-brushed petals in his garden that calls to mind the wildflowers resting on her windowsill. she leans away from where she rests against the railing with a smile that blooms despite herself, restraining herself from hovering by curling her slender fingers around the bottle of cristal. ]
You can stop bragging about your veranda, Gatsby. You won't impress me. [ it's flat as any of her commentary, a contrast to the obnoxious pop of the cork as bubbles race to the surface. the fizz falls in a dying waterfall, splashing across the wooden deck and cascading messily down her wrists. more evidence that she's unused to the opulence and perks of a life that's routine for him. ] Are you going to tell me Mal almost killed himself in your pond too?
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I'll leave the impressing to the sun.
[ it's a view he's witnesses many times before, courtesy of his habit of falling asleep out here, an open book curled to his chest or his tablet sliding somewhere between the cushions to poke directly at his spine in the morning. the sunlight always wakes him, the rays warming his face even when he covers his eyes to keep from being blinded.
his house is usually empty except for zoya's presence, which is how he prefers it. he can get along with anyone and pull a conversation out of thin air if he needs to, but these days he finds he doesn't mind the quiet so much. ( but he will mind if zoya starts spending all her time with mal. ) he likes the quiet, but he doesn't particularly like being alone. there's a vast difference that he finds is lost on most people. ]
Surprisingly Mal has not almost killed himself in my pond, but there's an unspoken rule that if you bother the fish, you'll never be invited back. People usually just sit there and look at each other wistfully while they wonder if they should kiss or not.
[ once the flames begin to flicker over the logs, he joins alina, reaching into the bag for a pair of white earmuffs with soft rabbit ears attached. he beams as he slides them onto her head without warning. ]
You look exactly how you did in my fantasy. Only more cross. I find it even more delightful this way.
[ then he holds the bag out to her in exchange for the bottle. inside is a round, vintage music box of blue and gold, the lid emblazoned with a sun, tiny birds carved between each ray. the inside of the lid is a backdrop of stars once upon, a golden castle rising from the box to slowly turn to the sound of tinkling notes. ]
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[ a huff of her breath materializes in the air between them, a frozen wisp burned away by the radiating heat of the fireplace, as her fingers graze over the soft velveteen of the attached ears. it's undoubtedly childlike, but — she doesn't have the heart to remove them. the cold sterility of a foster home had demanded she let go of any fantastical whims long before she was ready to grow up, and nikolai's smile looks too much like he plucked the sun from the sky and placed it there.
ruining it for him has to qualify as a sin. ]
People like us, you mean. It's ridiculous when you think about it.
[ all of that wistful pining and longing staring, and the reins of fear that have kept her wondering what if. perhaps it only strikes her as wasted time now that she knows that she isn't drowning alone, swept along by a current that hardly cares if she hadn't been ready to risk another loss.
more ridiculous is the buzzing of her nerves, hyperaware of her own confessions, acutely attuned to the fact that she isn't wondering. that she's already made her decision to kiss him. perfect moments are as mythical as fate and patience is hardly the best virtue she has, but — she lets herself drift toward waiting, as if the moonlight cutting a beam into his skin will tell her when to fall.
for now, she distracts herself with the rag in her hand, the excess sticky residue that she licks off of her fingers with a swipe of her tongue. only when she's satisfied she isn't going to taint the contents with grimy hands does she reach in with careful reverence she reserves for what few meaningful gifts she's ever received.
don't get emotional, starkov. even that reminder can't push down the lump of emotion lodged in her throat when its lid sparkles into view. ]
I told you not to get me anything else. [ but the slight windedness to her grumbling undermines it, reveals how affected she is when the music begins to chime to the pivoting of that gilded, sparkling castle. her fingers skim over it, over the flight path of tiny wings in the backdrop. ] It's beautiful, Nikolai. You shouldn't have.
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leave it to him to find the one person who doesn't regularly read about his life and likely has no idea about what'd happened. he suspects the only reason she even knew about morozova's blow to his family was because of her ties to him and not an avid interest in the financial papers. it's refreshing, mostly. he's glad to be able to introduce himself the way he wants to be seen instead of how everyone else has decided he should be. but there's a small part of him that realizes he'll have to talk about decidedly personal things about himself at some point, and not a single cell in his body is looking forward to deconstructing his own complicated armor for the sake of letting someone else in.
so no, he has no idea how he ended up here, with alina visiting his home, a bottle between them that is likely to spill some unsavory secrets, his own desire to kiss her mounting with every passing moment. he was never supposed to do this again.
he breaks off his thoughts to rejoin the present, smiling hopefully as she traces her fingers along the engravings. ] But I wanted to.
[ and perhaps that's the most surprising thing of all to him, that he wants this, and all the things that come with it. he busies himself with the bottle, pouring two glasses. ]
It's ridiculous because we haven't been taking part in these longing stares by the pond. The koi love to witness the embarrassing spectrum of human emotions. Who are we to deny their entertainment?
[ he takes the music box and sets it aside so he can push her drink into her hand instead, clasping her other one in his. ]
To you. [ he clinks their glasses together. ] For being a good sport about my fantasies. And for allowing me to sexually frustrate you with my dawdling pace. I'm happy you're here, Alina. Truly. I honestly didn't think that I'd ever have anyone to watch the sunrise with again.
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