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. π
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 β 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.
[ its twinkling castle gives one final, dwindling rotation before the music fades into soft silence. that lingering doubt that always wants to gnaw on her bones remembers, too vividly, every gift that's come with a price. something transactional, demanding a sacrifice in return. something conditional, taken away the moment she's lost worth in aleksander's eyes. something to chain her to a man that had craved an equal, so long as he was holding the reins.
and all of it had contributed to the image of the woman he had wanted to mold like clay, a masterpiece in his collection. from the corner of her eye, the embossed stars glimmer back at her with the same warmth that has wrapped around nikolai's voice. starlight. a testament that he has seen for what she is and brought her a representation of it in suns and stars and birds that are allowed the freedom of their wings, for no other reason than but i wanted to.
in the light of the moon, her eyes glisten tellingly with unshed moisture she blinks away. it's been too long since she's burst from happiness rather than spilling over from sadness — so long that she'd forgotten what it feels like to have a heart brimming with so much uncontainable hope that it overflows. maybe he had been right in calling them kindred spirits. she squeezes his hand in hers, clinging to that anchor. ]
Sometimes I can't even believe you're real. [ the corners of her mouth twitch as their glasses chime. ] Consider that a compliment and an insult.
[ some days, it nearly feels like she's dreamed him, that tug of familiarity in her gut that insists she knows the very depths of him. it's impossible, nonsensical; he's too good for her to have dared to dream into existence. her laughter flows out of her, like a soft breeze that dissolves the moment his seriousness strikes. ]
You're haunted. [ she knows this familiar song and dance. nikolai carves a piece of himself for the taking, and then retreats before she can study it further. it whispers of an earlier secret he's given her of how little he has smiled until now. as though she can beg it to show her where he's fractured, she sets her glass aside after a slow sip and sets her palm against his beating heart. ] I can feel it in you, right here. How long has it been since you've been happy?
An insult wrapped in a compliment really just means that you adore me, but you're trying not to let it go to my head. It's too late, by the way. My head is quite full of your affections already.
[ the moonlight catches the glimmer of unshed tears she quickly blinks away, though he doesn't do her the disservice of calling attention to it. he's already had a taste of the sort of man aleksander is, and he knows her hardened exterior has been strategically placed to combat the experiences she wishes she could forget. they're alike in that regard, and he finds that he respects her armor even while hoping he can somehow find his way beneath it.
her laughter dwindles at what he says, making him immediately regret his words. he's been so careless with his statements lately, but alina has the unfortunate β or perhaps fortunate β effect of pulling his thoughts out of his head without much actual thinking going into them. he forces himself to focus now, wanting to pull away from where her hand rests at his chest because he can feel his heartbeat quickening.
how long has it been? he gives the question a moment's thought despite having no intention of answering truthfully. it's been a year and a half since dominik's accident, but he'd lost his happiness somewhere even before that, when he could see the toll the tabloids and the rumors and the clandestine photographs were taking on dominik. and then after... he'd spent two weeks in hiding at his parents' estate before he simply couldn't take it anymore and returned home, where zoya was waiting with her blessedly scathing tongue. she'd barely left his side for weeks, offering him the same comfort he'd given her after the death of her aunt, back when they were both still nearly strangers.
after that he'd decided happiness was no longer a goal he needed to attain.
he escapes her hand by drawing her by the wrist onto the love seat, throwing a fuzzy blanket over her as he pulls her close. the ears still flopping over her hair pull a smile out of him. ]
You told me to ask you about your very wise experiences later tonight. [ he tucks a bit of her hair back, his fingers gently sliding to the nape of her neck to rub circles into her skin. ] The only thing that haunts me is that clown from my birthday party. And the thought of someone trying to steal my dear Zoya away. And the fact that you'll probably play a spider prank on me one of these days. I suppose I am a bit haunted.
[ she hasn't failed to notice the pattern that's emerged. nikolai withdraws whenever she prods too indelicately at old aches and raw, scabbing wounds and returns with an excessive amount of charm to force her attention elsewhere. it's predictable enough that she's come to predict the precise moment when he'll retreat — but, more tellingly, he's glaringly obvious in revealing that she's stepped too close to uncovering some truth he isn't ready to expose, and doesn't that tell her enough on its own?
it only stirs her curiosity, only results in the knowing frown she casts in his direction. wrapped as it is in a dismissive joke, as though nikolai is aware his reluctance will be easier to swallow if it's flavored with humor, it wedges itself between them as all lies do — and she is tired, to her very bones, of being deceived. ]
You haven't asked me anything. That's a statement, not a question.
[ maybe it's childish to match his stubbornness by proving to be difficult herself, but she doesn't shy away from it. the underlying implication speaks for her: if he intends to dig that information out of her, he'll have to earn it. never mind that it works in her favor, offering the smallest of delays before she reaches into her ribcage and carves out her past hurts and spills her unspoken secrets into his hands, hoping their weight isn't too much to hold.
some of her defensiveness disintegrates at the first kneading stroke of his fingers, loosening knots that have formed from endless hours hunched over her work. the sigh she gives can't wholly be blamed on her exasperation, either, try as she might to stifle herself — if only to prevent him from discovering just how easily she melts beneath one touch from him like a pathetic touch-starved creature. it's a weakness she can't afford when she's aiming to make a point. ]
I know what you're doing. You can't keep avoiding everything I ask by turning it around on me. [ she plucks at the blanket swathed around her, venting her frustration out on its corners as she fiddles with the fabric, and props her chin onto the perch of his shoulder to gain a better view of his profile. ] Would you even answer me if I asked if you could be happy again?
[ with me? remains unspoken, but it lingers between the lines for him to hear. ]
[ his tactics won't work for long on her, that much is clear. he's quiet for a moment, his hand kneading into her shoulder now. it is wholly unfair to ask her about the experiences she holds deep inside of her if he has no intention to give anything of himself in return. that isn't how any of this works. ]
I'd answer if I knew. [ he focuses on the way her skin feels beneath his hand, a comfortable silken warmth. ] It's possible, of course. I imagine even unavoidable, with you. But I don't want to let myself want that. Just that small thing. And I don't want you to think that that somehow means I don't want to be with you.
[ he moves to her hair again, the tips of his fingers running along her scalp. this moment feels suddenly fragile, and he can't help the doubt that springs into his mind, that maybe he shouldn't be doing this, maybe it's too soon after all, but it takes no time at all for his mind to supply a counterargument. he wants this. ]
I can show you. When we go back inside. [ it allows him time to escape those truths for at least a little longer. the sun will be up by then, and perhaps the world won't seem so bleak. ] I'd rather just show you everything than tell you. I promise you'll get the truth either way.
[ he reaches for their glasses and then settles beside her again, holding hers out. he wants to know alina's story because he wants to know every part of her. the less gentlemanly part of him is still hungry for any insight he can get about aleksander. there's a plan slowly coming into place and he already has zoya on board. ]
I'm curious. [ he takes a sip, sliding his arm around her and savoring her warmth. ] How did you meet him? He doesn't really run in these circles. You certainly won't find him in a laundromat.
[ it's impossible to miss the skepticism that overtakes her. what she believes less is his ability to want her, his ability to allow himself to. isn't that what it means? part of her wants to snap in some vain attempt at self-preservation that's useless, now that they've come this far. now that she's shared pieces of herself she can't take back, can't force him to unknow.
he wouldn't be the first to think wanting her is a weakness.
she rips her gaze from his, instead. it's physically painful to look at him, but not as painful as whatever discovery he might make after just a glimpse of her expression. she's never been skilled at hiding what she feels, but when she thinks of the unyielding steel in aleksander's unfeeling gaze, maybe that's a blessing in disguise. ]
[ she's set herself up for this trap, but now that she's in its snare, she finds herself struggling. her lips purse together as she pulls away from his touch under the guise of getting comfortable, setting her earmuffs aside before she wraps her fingers around the offered stem of her glass. the long swig she takes from it burns in her throat, but so does the bile that wants to rise whenever she pauses to consider which parts of aleksander had been real. human. ]
I was in love with someone else at the time. Someone that couldn't love me the way I wanted. [ the only secret she's never handed mal, like a coward too afraid to lose the one fixture she couldn't survive without. ] And then I met Aleksander at an art exhibit, and he made me feel — special. Like I was worth something to someone.
[ her eyes drift downward to her drained glass, finding it easier to confess to an inanimate object than nikolai's face. in some ways, she guesses she might still be a coward. ]
None of that matters anymore, because it was all just a lie.
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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. π
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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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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and all of it had contributed to the image of the woman he had wanted to mold like clay, a masterpiece in his collection. from the corner of her eye, the embossed stars glimmer back at her with the same warmth that has wrapped around nikolai's voice. starlight. a testament that he has seen for what she is and brought her a representation of it in suns and stars and birds that are allowed the freedom of their wings, for no other reason than but i wanted to.
in the light of the moon, her eyes glisten tellingly with unshed moisture she blinks away. it's been too long since she's burst from happiness rather than spilling over from sadness — so long that she'd forgotten what it feels like to have a heart brimming with so much uncontainable hope that it overflows. maybe he had been right in calling them kindred spirits. she squeezes his hand in hers, clinging to that anchor. ]
Sometimes I can't even believe you're real. [ the corners of her mouth twitch as their glasses chime. ] Consider that a compliment and an insult.
[ some days, it nearly feels like she's dreamed him, that tug of familiarity in her gut that insists she knows the very depths of him. it's impossible, nonsensical; he's too good for her to have dared to dream into existence. her laughter flows out of her, like a soft breeze that dissolves the moment his seriousness strikes. ]
You're haunted. [ she knows this familiar song and dance. nikolai carves a piece of himself for the taking, and then retreats before she can study it further. it whispers of an earlier secret he's given her of how little he has smiled until now. as though she can beg it to show her where he's fractured, she sets her glass aside after a slow sip and sets her palm against his beating heart. ] I can feel it in you, right here. How long has it been since you've been happy?
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[ the moonlight catches the glimmer of unshed tears she quickly blinks away, though he doesn't do her the disservice of calling attention to it. he's already had a taste of the sort of man aleksander is, and he knows her hardened exterior has been strategically placed to combat the experiences she wishes she could forget. they're alike in that regard, and he finds that he respects her armor even while hoping he can somehow find his way beneath it.
her laughter dwindles at what he says, making him immediately regret his words. he's been so careless with his statements lately, but alina has the unfortunate β or perhaps fortunate β effect of pulling his thoughts out of his head without much actual thinking going into them. he forces himself to focus now, wanting to pull away from where her hand rests at his chest because he can feel his heartbeat quickening.
how long has it been? he gives the question a moment's thought despite having no intention of answering truthfully. it's been a year and a half since dominik's accident, but he'd lost his happiness somewhere even before that, when he could see the toll the tabloids and the rumors and the clandestine photographs were taking on dominik. and then after... he'd spent two weeks in hiding at his parents' estate before he simply couldn't take it anymore and returned home, where zoya was waiting with her blessedly scathing tongue. she'd barely left his side for weeks, offering him the same comfort he'd given her after the death of her aunt, back when they were both still nearly strangers.
after that he'd decided happiness was no longer a goal he needed to attain.
he escapes her hand by drawing her by the wrist onto the love seat, throwing a fuzzy blanket over her as he pulls her close. the ears still flopping over her hair pull a smile out of him. ]
You told me to ask you about your very wise experiences later tonight. [ he tucks a bit of her hair back, his fingers gently sliding to the nape of her neck to rub circles into her skin. ] The only thing that haunts me is that clown from my birthday party. And the thought of someone trying to steal my dear Zoya away. And the fact that you'll probably play a spider prank on me one of these days. I suppose I am a bit haunted.
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it only stirs her curiosity, only results in the knowing frown she casts in his direction. wrapped as it is in a dismissive joke, as though nikolai is aware his reluctance will be easier to swallow if it's flavored with humor, it wedges itself between them as all lies do — and she is tired, to her very bones, of being deceived. ]
You haven't asked me anything. That's a statement, not a question.
[ maybe it's childish to match his stubbornness by proving to be difficult herself, but she doesn't shy away from it. the underlying implication speaks for her: if he intends to dig that information out of her, he'll have to earn it. never mind that it works in her favor, offering the smallest of delays before she reaches into her ribcage and carves out her past hurts and spills her unspoken secrets into his hands, hoping their weight isn't too much to hold.
some of her defensiveness disintegrates at the first kneading stroke of his fingers, loosening knots that have formed from endless hours hunched over her work. the sigh she gives can't wholly be blamed on her exasperation, either, try as she might to stifle herself — if only to prevent him from discovering just how easily she melts beneath one touch from him like a pathetic touch-starved creature. it's a weakness she can't afford when she's aiming to make a point. ]
I know what you're doing. You can't keep avoiding everything I ask by turning it around on me. [ she plucks at the blanket swathed around her, venting her frustration out on its corners as she fiddles with the fabric, and props her chin onto the perch of his shoulder to gain a better view of his profile. ] Would you even answer me if I asked if you could be happy again?
[ with me? remains unspoken, but it lingers between the lines for him to hear. ]
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I'd answer if I knew. [ he focuses on the way her skin feels beneath his hand, a comfortable silken warmth. ] It's possible, of course. I imagine even unavoidable, with you. But I don't want to let myself want that. Just that small thing. And I don't want you to think that that somehow means I don't want to be with you.
[ he moves to her hair again, the tips of his fingers running along her scalp. this moment feels suddenly fragile, and he can't help the doubt that springs into his mind, that maybe he shouldn't be doing this, maybe it's too soon after all, but it takes no time at all for his mind to supply a counterargument. he wants this. ]
I can show you. When we go back inside. [ it allows him time to escape those truths for at least a little longer. the sun will be up by then, and perhaps the world won't seem so bleak. ] I'd rather just show you everything than tell you. I promise you'll get the truth either way.
[ he reaches for their glasses and then settles beside her again, holding hers out. he wants to know alina's story because he wants to know every part of her. the less gentlemanly part of him is still hungry for any insight he can get about aleksander. there's a plan slowly coming into place and he already has zoya on board. ]
I'm curious. [ he takes a sip, sliding his arm around her and savoring her warmth. ] How did you meet him? He doesn't really run in these circles. You certainly won't find him in a laundromat.
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[ it's impossible to miss the skepticism that overtakes her. what she believes less is his ability to want her, his ability to allow himself to. isn't that what it means? part of her wants to snap in some vain attempt at self-preservation that's useless, now that they've come this far. now that she's shared pieces of herself she can't take back, can't force him to unknow.
he wouldn't be the first to think wanting her is a weakness.
she rips her gaze from his, instead. it's physically painful to look at him, but not as painful as whatever discovery he might make after just a glimpse of her expression. she's never been skilled at hiding what she feels, but when she thinks of the unyielding steel in aleksander's unfeeling gaze, maybe that's a blessing in disguise. ]
You really want to talk about my ex-fiancΓ© on a night like this?
[ she's set herself up for this trap, but now that she's in its snare, she finds herself struggling. her lips purse together as she pulls away from his touch under the guise of getting comfortable, setting her earmuffs aside before she wraps her fingers around the offered stem of her glass. the long swig she takes from it burns in her throat, but so does the bile that wants to rise whenever she pauses to consider which parts of aleksander had been real. human. ]
I was in love with someone else at the time. Someone that couldn't love me the way I wanted. [ the only secret she's never handed mal, like a coward too afraid to lose the one fixture she couldn't survive without. ] And then I met Aleksander at an art exhibit, and he made me feel — special. Like I was worth something to someone.
[ her eyes drift downward to her drained glass, finding it easier to confess to an inanimate object than nikolai's face. in some ways, she guesses she might still be a coward. ]
None of that matters anymore, because it was all just a lie.
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