Chapter Text
“What are you doing here?” The homeowner failed to keep the nerves from his voice, breath catching painfully in his throat. The madman looked just how he remembered. Furious beady eyes that teetered on the edge of demented, boring directly back through the peephole as if he could see through to the other side. His collection of rotting appendages had grown; fingers, toes, teeth, and ears now resting on some sort of twisted charm necklace made entirely from human remains. He swore he could smell the decomp through the door. The only change was that his hair had grown even longer, streaks of grey standing out upon the black strands.
The homeowner choked down his anger, slipping far too easily into an indifferent demeanor, one that was necessary when talking to someone as unpredictable as the man at the door. It was disturbing how quickly he could switch into that survival mindset.
”Thought you said you weren’t coming back. Guess that was a lie.” Something in his deadpan tone seemed to amuse the other, one corner of the man's lip twitched into his version of a smile, though the homeowner was more focused on the rifle aimed nonchalantly at the door.
”Such a smart ass. I always liked that about you kid, but it’ll get you killed one day.” He was aware of that, his mouth had gotten him into trouble before. Plenty of busted lips and black eyes as a direct result of his abrasive nature, but he never seemed to learn his lesson. The muzzle of his shotgun was pointing directly at the so-called ‘vigilante’s’ heart. If that maniac decided to pull the trigger he’d take him out with him. The other was unaware of this, or perhaps he wasn’t worried, the conversation continuing as if the two were old friends.
”Was surprised at first to see you still holed up out here, then I remembered you were one tenacious son of a bitch and it made more sense.” He didn’t have the energy for small talk, he wanted this man gone. The visitor tapped his shoulder and made a gesture towards the door.
’I can make it quick,’ he mouthed, followed by him miming a strangling motion. Tempting. He ignored him for the time being. If he wanted to kill him he was capable of doing it himself, a finger already tensed against the first trigger. He could blow him away through the door, catch him off guard so he couldn’t retaliate. Then he could bury him out in the woods where he could stay there for an eternity and rot.
Before he could make up his mind his eyes snapped to the hefty plastic device attached to his hip, the logo making his blood run cold and shattering his little fantasy.
”What’s with the radio? You working for FEMA now?”
”Eh. More like ‘business partners’. They don’t tell me what to do, they’re more interested in what I find. Check in from time to time and I keep them updated on my location, but they don’t interfere unless there’s an infestation or if I were to go missing, which we both know ain’t happening. Better that way, I work better solo.”
God. Fucking. Dammit.
He wanted to scream, his hands clenching so hard his muscles spasmed. This was just perfect. Of course FEMA had to be involved and just fuck everything up.
“That’s funny. I remember you saying they were ineffective, that all they did was haul people off and the visitors were still fucking everywhere.” That earned him another smile, the man shifting his weight with a chuckle. He hated the sound.
”True. That’s why they have me now. I’ve cleared out more of their dens than FEMA could ever dream of. Town after town, I purged the monsters from the street and their homes. Not quite as many visitors as there once were but I’m not gonna rest till’ each an’ every one of them is buried six feet under.” He took a step closer, the light leaving his eyes as he shouldered his rifle properly. “Which brings me to why I’m here today.”
There was something instinctively terrifying when looking down the barrel of a gun. It was a view that most people would never experience, yet he could no longer count how many times he had been in this very position.
“Strange reports have been coming in over the past couple months. Several FEMA officers have gone missing, ranging from solo agents to patrols of three or four.” He shot the visitor a glare and his guilty smile was all he needed to know.
’They were too close to the house,’ he whispered. ‘Body Eater needed feeding. Sorry.’ Well fuck. Of course this was news to him, Boris never mentioned that he had been picking off FEMA agents left and right. Yet he couldn’t even fault him for it, that had been part of the deal to stay here: Protect the house. If the homeowner himself had seen even one FEMA agent coming down his driveway he was sure he would have released the visitor like a trained attack dog as well.
“And there’s been more sightings of your ‘half-naked visitor friend’. Saw him with my own two eyes just the other day.” There was clear sarcasm in the way he said ‘friend’ yet it still made his chest seize, the homeowner unable to breathe. The very same visitor was currently pressed against his spine, clearly fighting every bone in his body not to attack the man at the door right now. He could tell he was fighting back a growl, his chest shuddering from the effort to remain silent. The homeowner rolled the tension from his shoulders, focusing entirely on the vigilante for the time being. He couldn’t afford the distraction.
”Ah. What a shame. Guess he’s been avoiding me then, he’s not stopped by to catch-up.” He needed to reign in the snide remarks, he knew this, but his temper was boiling over. The madman didn’t like his answer, his scowl deepening. Boris on the other hand was giving him an odd expression, one that felt completely inappropriate at the moment. When he raised an eyebrow in question the visitor mouthed something that looked suspiciously like ‘that’s hot’ followed by a wink. Clearly the visitor was enjoying this in some way.
”So you haven’t seen anything strange? Nothing out of place this entire time?”
”Only refugees and looters. You’re the strangest thing to visit in a long time.” The man grunted at that, eyeing the door with suspicion. He gripped the shotgun tighter, praying that he’d lose interest soon.
Leave. Turn around and never come back.
“Fine.” He could have cheered when the man took a step backwards, the severed head attached to his belt swaying from the movement. “Glad to know this has been a complete fuckin’ waste of time.” He reached into his back pocket, the homeowner tensing until he realized he was only grabbing a cigarette, pursing his lips as he lit the end with his free hand. Taking a slow drag, he exhaled the smoke slowly, his breath mixing with the cold night air. “I’m needed elsewhere anyways. Been told something bad happened a few towns over. They’re being real vague about it, mentioned a fire and a rogue visitor or some bullshit. My guess is FEMA fucked up big time and like usual I’m needed to clean up the mess.”
He hummed in response. Mentally he was celebrating the vigilante’s departure. That’s it, turn around and fucking die in those woods you hateful bastard. He shook his head to dispel his anger, he needed to stay sharp.
“Good luck.” And good riddance. He couldn’t have asked for this to go smoother, now he didn’t have to worry about confronting the madman and could get nestled in his bed—
“Hold up. You know the drill.”
Huh?
The homeowner blinked a few times dumbly, heart rate picking back up when the man shouldered the rifle and motioned at the door. “Show me you’re not one of them.”
Fuck.
He forgot about the tests, he hadn’t even looked over himself recently. Had he slept enough? He’d been drinking coffee lately, but not as much as during the cataclysm. His hand trailed down his face. Were his teeth too white? The homeowner couldn’t remember his last cigarette. Shit, he wished he had a mirror on hand. His fingers twitched over the doorknob, shallow breaths making the world spin around him. If he opened this door would he force his way in? That would be a death sentence for the entire household.
”Hey!” The vigilante barked, tapping the door with the tip of his rifle. “I ain’t got all night kid!” Shit. He really didn’t know what to show him. Well at least his finger nails looked okay—
Strong hands forced him to turn around, the homeowner barely stifling a cry of surprise when the visitor’s grim eyes met his own. Before he could even react his fingers were moving over his face, pulling an eye open with one hand, two fingers hooking into his mouth to pull his lips apart. The actions threw him off guard, stiffening for a moment before he realized what he was doing. The visitor was checking him over for signs. He tried to bat him away, twisting around and hissing at the fool to let him go.
“I know what I’m doing, stop it!”
As quick as the touches came he withdrew, tapping the skin below his eye and giving a nod while another finger pressed against his lips, the visitor shaking his head, eyes deathly serious. He understood. Show him his eyes, not his teeth. He didn’t exactly need his help with this but he supposed it was better to be safe than sorry.
Before he could turn around the visitor was leaning forward, bonking their foreheads together as two cool hands cupped his face. What was he doing now? The homeowner was getting antsy, trying not to let his frustration bubble to the surface. He’d prefer not to lash out at Boris if he could help it, but he also needed to answer the door, the madman’s patience as already wearing thin.
Oh.
He could feel the little tremors in his fingers, could see the way his face was contorted. The visitor was worried. This was something he couldn’t protect him from, not in his current state, and that killed him. He would never admit this, never in a million years, but he could read his body language right now, from his slumped shoulders, to sharp little breaths. He was afraid of what would happen to him when he opened that door. Somehow this calmed the homeowner, reaching up and threading his fingers through the visitor’s hair. He was a coward in many ways, but he knew how to face this demon.
”Hey. I’ve done this before. It’s okay.”
The homeowner withdrew, noting the half aborted whine the visitor let out instinctively as he chased his movement, forced to firmly press a hand against his chest to stop him. They watched each other for a moment, a wordless conversation passing between the two. The homeowner trying to convey that he had this under control while the visitor just stared at him, a thousand emotions flickering through dark eyes. The way he was looking at him was overwhelming. He had seen it before, one other person had looked at him like that. Like he meant everything to them.
Vera.
He reached for the door handle as the visitor shuffled out of sight, taking a deep breath through his nose to steel his nerves. The deadbolt clicked with a heavy finality. Hopefully the madman wouldn’t shoot him on sight for taking so long. He pulled the door open, stepping out into the freezing night air and right into the end of the vigilantes’s rifle. The metal dug into his chest and the cold burned his face but he held his gaze, glaring unflinchingly back at the monster in front of him. A face he had seen illuminated by roaring flames and blood spatter.
He recoiled when the smell hit him, lips curling in disgust as death and decay burned his nose. It was so much worse than any of the corpses he’d disposed of before, never allowing them to fester like this during the cataclysm. At least the cigarette smoke somewhat lessened the putrid stench. He must have been making a face, the vigilante was amused at his disgust, a wry chuckle bubbling up as he watched him yank the door closed behind him. The shotgun was still in hand, but he kept the muzzle pointed at the ground. He didn’t need to give the other a reason to shoot.
”Let’s get this over with,” he grumbled, pulling down his lower eyelid to indulge the sick bastard. The man plucked the cigarette from his lips and lowered the rifle, taking a step forward. It was so much worse when he leaned closer, the smell making him wretch, bile rising in his throat, threatening to puke right then and there.
“Stop yer moving,” he snapped, yanking the homeowner closer by his collar. The suddenness threw him off balance, barely managing to catch himself at the last second. This mother fucker…
”God you fucking reek,” he blurted without thinking, glaring at the man with unfathomable hatred. Thankfully the man found this funny, laughing as the smoke curled around his head like a ghastly halo. He wondered how he could tolerate it, sucking in air with a hiss and holding it until his lungs were on fire. The vigilante sure took his sweet time looking him over, he was starting to get the feeling he was fucking with him on purpose. God if he had to endure another second he was going to hurl directly on the bastard, he didn’t care if he shot him over it at this point.
He was choking, fighting the need to breathe when finally the man finally took a step back, taking another deep drag from his cigarette. It almost seemed like he was… disappointed?
”Figures. Didn’t expect you to be one of them. You’ve never been the adventurous type, too busy watching the world behind a locked door.” The barb stung more than it should have, partly because in some ways it was true. Still, he was ready for this exchange to be over.
”Not that this hasn’t been fun, which it hasn’t, but I had plans tonight that didn’t involve whatever this—“ he gestures in the madman’s general direction, “—was. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
”Wait.” He froze, hating the way his heart stuttered in his chest. He never liked it when people used that tone with him. It brought up… undesirable memories. The vigilante tilted his head to the side, analyzing the homeowner with barely disguised hostility.
”How many people have you got hiding in the house, hermit?” He frowned. The madman had never cared about his guests before.
”That’s really none of your business.” The vigilante didn’t seem to agree, a hand idly thumbing at the antenna on his radio. FEMA’s radio.
“Perhaps. But I’d say with the amount of reports in this area, it’s certainly FEMA’s business.” He didn’t want to tell him, couldn’t risk him demanding to test the household and discover not only the visitor hidden on the other side of the door, but the neighbor’s daughter tucked safely in her bed.
”You can tell FEMA to burn in Hell.” This was reckless and he knew it, but he understood how the Vigilante’s twisted mind worked in a way. He respected those he thought were tough, the kind of men that took action, had gravel in their guts and never backed down.
His father had called men like this ‘old school’ and glorified them to no end. The homeowner saw them for what they truly were: dick heads. While he knew he paled in comparison to this fantasy he could try to play the part. He had the temper for it at least, but this kind of banter felt like toeing the line between getting your ass beat or asking for a bullet to the head.
“I know how to check for signs, it’s been over half a year. I’m not an idiot. No one needs to tell me how to run my household. Not you, not FEMA.” It appeared they were locked in a tense staring contest, the glowing embers from the tip of the madman’s cigarette illuminating the severity of the man’s features. Not even the moon graced the sky with her presence tonight. It was taking the man a long time to respond. He supposed that meant he was mulling over the decision to shoot him.
”Fine,” he grunted, extinguishing his cigarette on the wooden siding of the house. Anger prickled underneath his skin at the action. “Only trying to keep order round here,” he shrugged, the muzzle of his rifle dropping towards the ground. “Between you and me I’ve still been trying to find my brother’s brat. It’s part of the reason I started working with FEMA but they’ve been practically useless. Ain't one of them that can tell me which camp they took her too. The kid’s more than likely dead but I felt like if I came back to where it all started I might pick up a trail, this area was overdue for a visit anyways. Good thing I did too because you got yourself a visitor problem.” The homeowner’s stomach dropped when the madman held up a finger that looked to have been added recently to his ever growing trophy necklace. It was caked in dirt. ”Were you aware that there were newly dug graves in my brother’s yard? Three men by the looks of it.”
The looters. How could he have found them? They were so careful, the visitor taking great lengths to scatter their remains across the field.
”No,” he lied. “I don’t go over there anymore. What happened?”
”Hard to say,” he admitted, scratching at the stubble on his chin. “The monster didn’t just bury them, he tore them to pieces. Almost missed them completely but a dog dug up the first sap’s torso and once I found him it didn’t take long to find the others. The holes weren’t very deep.” His breath caught in his throat, the pale man’s nagging voice repeating in his mind.
That is nowhere near deep enough
He should have listened to the first warning. Instead he’d argued with him.
We don’t want an animal digging them up
This was his fault. His father had been right about him, he really was just a monumental screw-up, worthless in every way. All he could do now was damage control.
”How do you know it was a visitor? Crime’s been picking up these days and lots of refugees wander up and down the roads now. Don’t try to scare me into believing in your ‘visitor bullshit’ because you stumbled across a few bodies.”
”You aren’t concerned by that?” He hated how the other man paced back and forth as he spoke. It made him anxious, having to turn his head to hold his gaze. “Three mutilated corpses are found next door and you aren’t bothered?”
”Not anymore, you should know that,” he lied, fingers twitching against the rifle’s stock. If he could, he'd turn the muzzle on this guy and make it four corpses. “I made it through the cataclysm. There were bodies in the yard every time I looked out the windows. I had to scrape up the remains of house guests after a visitor had eaten their fill. I’ve witnessed so many deaths I can’t even give you a number anymore. People haven’t stopped killing each other just because the sun’s back to normal.” The vigilante seemed to agree with this, slinging his rifle over his back for the first time since he arrived.
”Glad to see someone else with some fucking common sense these days. That’s why you and I have made it this far.” He hated the thought of sharing anything in common with this monster. “You obviously know how to take care of yourself, I can respect that. Just be careful, hermit. I found something else at my brother’s place.” Why did he have a feeling it was something so much worse than the looter’s remains. He cocked an eyebrow, his impatience getting the best of him. “Something’s been living under the house.” He paused for a brief moment. “Well, it was at one time. The den looks like it’s been abandoned for a few months but whatever made it was massive. Keep an eye out, it could still be in the area.” He nodded to placate him but he had his suspicions on what used to live there. Its corpse was lying somewhere in the woods beyond.
”Still trust your guests then?” He taunted, cocking his head to the side. “Confident that no one in those walls will turn on you while you sleep?”
”I know what I’m doing,” he insisted. There was no scenario where he would ever allow him to enter his house willingly.
“I’m done here, I have more important places to be. Try not to get yourself killed, hermit.” He didn’t speak, only offering a curt nod as the man pushed off of the porch, the snow crunching loudly underneath his boots as he marched down the path. For a while he just watched, refusing to re-enter the house until the end of his tailcoat disappeared into the forest ahead, the lingering stench of decay still tainting the air.
He pushed inside, wincing at the brightness of the overhead lights. When the deadbolt was back in place he felt a rush of relief, his brain reduced to liquified goop after such a stressful game of verbal chess. But it didn’t take long for the dread to set in, fixating on one comment the man had made. His knees wobbled, a hand already gripping his hair in frustration. He felt the visitor rather than saw him, he didn’t want to risk opening his eyes at the moment.
”Mishenka? What’s wrong—“
”He’s looking for her.”
It was all he could think about, a man who was relentless in his pursuits and held zero remorse for those he’d slain was looking for the little girl who cried when a sad song played on the radio. “I don’t know what to do,” he murmured, hating how small his voice sounded. The visitor practically scooped him into his arms, pulling him close to his chest protectively. It confused him how the action comforted and disgusted him, feeling so helpless yet safe when held like this.
”We will figure something out,” the visitor rumbled, tucking his face into the crook of his neck. “We always do.” All he could do now was place his trust in his partner and pray that this wouldn’t end in yet another tragedy.
***
The visitor wanted to hunt the madman down and deal with him directly, his human did not. In fact when he proposed the idea the human’s reaction had been so severe that he had forced the pale man to swear that he wouldn’t go after him alone. He had been downright frantic, nearly ruining one of his favorite crew necks with how much force he was pulling at him. In the end he made that promise, he hoped he wouldn’t regret it in the future.
True to his word he stayed, though there was a part of him that itched to break his oath and hunt the madman anyway. His human was being stubborn— downright impractical, honestly. They knew better than to believe in blind optimism, but he could understand why his human was eager to indulge in that comforting lie.
He was tired. He could see it in his eyes. His shoulders. His voice. The weariness had settled in part because taking care of a human child was far more difficult than either had expected. The feeding, dressing, and general care were not the issue, he had experience with that from Anya. It was the added emotional requirement that it entailed.
It was constant. Human children were nosy. They wanted to know what you were up to, why you were doing it, and nine times out of ten, asked the same questions over and over again. They were also performative and demanded attention at the worst times. Appearing at random to beg you to watch them only to spin in a circle or mimic something they saw on television the night before. A thumbs up was not enough, that made the tiny human sad which perplexed him. An audible answer was often expected, but half the time he wasn’t really watching so occasionally his responses were inapplicable and gave him away. It took a long time for the tiny human to forgive him when that happened.
Sometimes little things set her off while she endured much more serious matters rather stoically. He chalked that up to what she had endured this past summer. Orphaned, kidnapped, starved. Daria had survived what many grown humans could not, yet at the end of the day she was still just a child. She cried when her favorite doll’s arm broke off and asked if they could buy juice every time they went to the store.
His human, in truth, shouldered the brunt of the burden. He tried to help where he could but it wasn’t always easy for him. She sought them out for comfort, something neither of them had much expertise in providing. The visitor had once responded in what he thought was an appropriate answer, a truth that he felt she should hear now rather than later. This had only made the child wail even harder and then his beloved Mishenka was angry with him. Though it wasn’t like the human was an expert either.
Once he had asked the visitor how he should proceed, Daria left alone at the moment to sit with her grief.
”She’s upset because breakfast reminded her of her mom. Apparently she used to make blini every weekend and then she burst into tears. How do I respond to that?” He had cocked his head to the side, glancing at the storage room that held the human’s unhappy childhood memories inside, tucked away in little cardboard boxes.
”When you were upset as a child, what did your father say to you?” The human barely reacted, face entirely devoid of expression.
”He told me ‘I’ll give you something to cry about’, and beat my ass. I won’t be doing that.” He agreed, best not to do anything that man did. “What about your mom?” His human was watching him closely, a part of him had selfishly missed being the center of his attention. “Was she the comforting type?”
”She would ignore me until I stopped. No matter how hard a tantrum I threw or how loud I screamed, she waited until the noise died down and I was too tired to continue.” The human grimaced and shook his head.
”Won’t be doing that either. God we had some fucked up childhoods, didn’t we?” It wasn’t truly a question. They both knew the answer.
But it was getting easier for them both as time went on. The visitor discovered that the girl enjoyed his more… ‘eccentric’ behaviors, mimicking him despite his human’s objections. He embraced it, if she wanted to act like a visitor he wouldn’t stop her. He taught her how to stalk and surprise her prey, usually the homeowner fell victim to this, but also how to hide and quiet her breathing. Eventually he was going to teach her how to run on all fours but that was for another day.
Night was when he truly got to work, carefully waiting until both humans were asleep before he crept out of the bedroom and into the office. He spent hours going over different scenarios, trying to determine the best course of action to take regarding the vigilante. He kept a journal, one full of notes, ideas, and even traps he could lay for the man if he were ever to return, but no matter how many plots he schemed nothing could account for one glaringly massive problem: FEMA. If he maimed or disposed of the madman they would be on their heels before long. The only thing they could do in that event was abandon everything and he knew the human would never accept that. It was a problem with no solution but the visitor couldn’t face the truth. So he scribbled and scratched in that journal every night until his hands ached and his eyes burned, because if he couldn’t stop the bullets with his body or tear flesh from bone then he was going to find another way to protect the one person that made life worth living.
He loved him too much to let him go.
***
“Dasha please… I need you to stay still, I don’t want to hurt you.” She wasn’t listening, periodically covering her face when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. He had dragged a stool in front of the bathroom sink for her to sit on, but now he was wondering if that had been a mistake. Seeing her reflection only seemed to distress her more than she already was and it was not making the process any easier. The matted strands he had painstakingly separated were yanked out of his hand once again when she slumped forward, a muffled wail escaping through her fingers.
He was trying so hard to be patient, shoving his frustration down as best he could. It disgusted him that there was even a part of him that was getting aggravated, his temper one of the things he hated most about himself. He knew what his father would do in this situation, the memories flitting through his mind an unpleasant reminder of his upbringing. Then there was the mirror making everything so much worse, he tore his eyes away from a reflection that was a carbon copy of his father’s face. He thought he’d be rid of the man once he was dead and buried. Instead his memory hung over him like a shroud, suffocating him and poisoning his mind. He refused to be anything like that man.
Yelling was out of the question. It made him ill to think he may have done that if this was during the cataclysm, a time where he felt nothing but irritation for his fellow man. As awful as those two weeks had been for him, it was the wake-up call he needed. Experiencing so much pain, loss, fear; listening to the stories of so many strangers from vastly different backgrounds and meeting people like Luka, Yesenin, and Margo had been enough for him to finally dig his head out of his ass after spending the past few years rotting alone in his house. He recalled how patient his neighbor had been with his daughter and he remembered how attentive the kindergarten teacher had been to Margo during their time in the basement.
”Dashenka,” he knelt down, trying to get her attention. “Listen to me.” He held a hand out to her, hoping to God his face was expressing something more than a pained grimace. Watery eyes were watching him through her fingers. “I have to fix this before it gets worse. I’m only cutting a tiny bit off, okay? Just enough to save the rest of your hair, otherwise we’ll have to cut it all off. Will you let me do this?”
It was a relief when she slowly reached for his hand, wiping at her face with her sleeve. While she managed a nod her misery was still evident, that faraway glazed look she sometimes got was always hard for him to stomach.
“…Sorry. I trust you, promise I do. It’s just… I just can’t stop seeing them. They took everything from me…” She reached up and gripped the uneven strands between her fingers. “Why did they have to take this too?” He felt his blood pressure spike just at the thought of FEMA. If he had a button that could vaporize every FEMA agent off the face of the planet he’d slam his hand down without a moment’s hesitation.
“I’m so sorry, Dasha.” Nothing he could say could make up for the abuse she suffered under their care. She stayed silent for a while, taking a moment to collect herself. When she sat back upright she folded her hands back into her lap.
”Okay… go ahead.”
The homeowner stood back up and patted her shoulder, reaching around for the scissors once again. Fortunately she sat still for him, though she kept her head bowed, eyes glued to the floor. He wished she would stop picking at her fingers, but he was already asking so much from her so he let it slide just this once. Careful to preserve as much undamaged hair as possible, the homeowner painstakingly removed what couldn’t be saved as well as the random long strands that stuck out like a sore thumb. Lock after lock fell onto the tiles below, the job both tedious and time consuming. He wasn’t sure how long they were at it, his spine already aching from the awkward angle he was forced to stoop over in order to reach her, but when it was done he felt a weight lift from his shoulders.
Running the comb through one final time he stood back to look over his work. While the style was undoubtedly far shorter than what she would have liked, it at least looked purposely cut and styled to be that length. Barely long enough to be tucked behind her ears and only reaching an inch or two down her neck but it was easily his best work, having had to cut his own hair since he was a child. His first couple of attempts… Well he had ended up wearing a hat for a few weeks after.
”See? All fixed.” For the first time since he started Daria glanced up at the mirror, dread clear as day in her eyes. She didn’t smile, but she wasn’t crying, just sitting there quietly looking over herself with a heavy sadness. It was too much to expect for her to like it. She had mentioned several times before how much she missed her long hair, recalling how her parents used to braid it every night before bed and that her hair reminded her of her mother. Losing something that held memories of parents she no longer had must have been soul crushing, a loss a child already found difficult to bear. Though Daria had such a gentle heart, for all her grief she made sure to voice her gratitude despite her feelings.
”Thank you uncle Mik,” she spoke softly, turning to look up at him. He squeezed her shoulder, wishing that he knew what to say to make her feel better.
”Is it really that bad?” He had meant it as a joke but the girl took the comment to heart.
”No! It looks good, promise. I just…” She looked back at her reflection before glancing away. “I feel silly.”
”How come?”
”It’s so short now, I have less hair than the boys in my class. Even your hair is longer than mine.” Catching his reflection in the mirror he realized just how long his hair had actually grown. It stuck up defiantly in places, brown tufts curling over his forehead and around his ears. An idea was slowly beginning to take shape in his mind. Perhaps he was due for a trim as well.
”Tell you what. I don’t like having all this hair. Think you can help me out?” The girl blinked at him, pointing slowly at herself as if she couldn’t believe what he was asking.
”Me? Really?” He nodded. Daria fiddled with her hands, tiny brows creased in thought. “Okay… I can try.” Grabbing the bulky hair clipper and fumbling with the cord for an embarrassingly long time, they eventually swapped places. The girl had moved the stool to the side of the sink while the homeowner was adjusting the guard on the device.
”And there we go.” He held up the clippers so the girl could see it better. While she still appeared nervous she was clearly interested, leaning closer to get a better look. After taking a moment to explain how it worked she inched closer, holding the trimmer up to his head. He held back a smile at how the machine looked massive in her tiny hands.
It happened so fast, a buzzing moving quickly across the side of his head, the cold bathroom air hitting his scalp. There was a gasp after the action, brown hair falling to the floor below.
”I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!” There was an obvious stripe down the side of his head, the girl pointing at the spot frantically as if he couldn’t see it for himself. Before she could say another word he was snorting, unable to hold it back after catching sight of himself. He looked ridiculous, feeling the soft peach fuzz left behind by the clipper. The remaining hair made it so much funnier, standing upright on either side like a deranged madman.
”No, calm down. It’s supposed to look like that,” he chuckled, trying to maintain a semblance of composure before he lost it completely. To do this he needed to stop looking at his reflection, which was becoming increasingly difficult. Her shoulders relaxed, relief washing over her face.
”Really? Are you sure?” He nodded, covering his face as his shoulders shook, failing to hold back little huffs of laughter. Just when he thought he had recovered, the girl spoke up with a giggle. “Can you make it into a Mohawk?” Well, he was cutting it all off anyway, he didn’t see the harm in indulging her. He looked like an idiot but that was exactly what she wanted, the girl nearly falling off the stool and clapping her hands together in glee pointing at his hair as if it was the funniest thing she’d ever seen. It was a beautiful thing to see her so happy, he didn’t mind if it was at his expense.
All previous sadness was forgotten as he continued, the girl taking her place by his side, swinging her legs as she routinely held her hands out to offer her assistance with the clippers. In truth he was doing most of the work but allowing her to ‘help’ boosted her confidence, taking the time to point at areas he missed and offering a thumbs up once she approved of the area.
The end result was a bit strange after so much time had passed, no longer used to seeing himself with such a short style. He was looking over himself in the mirror when he caught sight of the visitor in the reflection, a look of surprise on the other man’s face.
”You cut your hair?”
Why did he sound distraught? He turned to face him, the visitor already having moved to be standing right behind him.
”What are you—“ The homeowner tried to duck away from outstretched hands but gave up halfway through the action, deciding it wasn’t worth the trouble. There was no escaping the visitor when his interest was piqued and the fool was currently fascinated with his new haircut, both hands running over his entire scalp. He really shouldn’t have been surprised, he had no concept of personal space.
”Okay that’s enough.” He batted his hands away, ignoring the little whine from the visitor. “Yeah I cut it, calm down.” Okay, the visitor was definitely pouting.
”I helped!” The girl raised her hand in pride, catching his attention.
”Oh. You both cut your hair.” She visibly wilted at that, self consciousness seeping back in.
”Does it… look okay?” The visitor was nodding without hesitation.
”Oh yes,” the visitor assured. “I almost feel left out.”
”Good because you’re next.” He was pushing the visitor onto the stool before he registered what was happening, eyes going wide when the hermit reached for the clippers. Daria was hopping up and down nearby, toothless smile on display.
”Yay! Uncle Boris is getting a haircut too!” A hand flew out, gripping the homeowner’s wrist firmly. The look in the visitor’s eyes almost made him laugh, a wild desperation in his expression.
”Misha please,” he whispered. “I was being facetious. Not that I hold my appearance in high regard, but I do not wish to be bald.” He couldn’t help it, full-body laughter erupting unexpectedly, the homeowner dropping his forehead on the other man’s shoulder.
”You are so stupid,” he wheezed, grabbing the visitor by either side of his head to force him to look at his own reflection. “I’m not shaving you, just cleaning up all this.” He tugged lightly at the hair falling into his eyes, showing just how out of control it had gotten. “You can’t even see through your bangs anymore. Now will you behave?” For a few seconds the visitor just sat there, brows drawn together in thought. He leaned over, confused at the lack of response. Getting closer was a mistake, the visitor suddenly snapping back to life to pinch his cheek and jostle him, like a babushka that hadn’t seen her grandchild in years.
”Fine,” the pale man acquiesced. “I will allow it.” He rubbed at his sore cheek, glaring daggers at the bastard. Now he really was considering shaving him bald. Though in a way this was a way of indulging himself as well, running his fingers through thick black strands. His hair was captivating, loving how flawless it looked despite the visitor’s lack of effort to keep it styled in any way, shape, or form. He did the bare minimum and it always looked great, the hermit was envious of him in that regard. The longer his hair got the more difficult it was to control, sticking up at odd angles and resisting any amount of hair gel thrown at it in the attempt to tame it. Not to mention how it made him look even more like him.
Starting with the back of the neck and working his way up he focused on the overgrowth. Even though the visitor had agreed to this his body language was tense, cold eyes analyzing his every move. Maybe his unease was due to how severe his and Daria’s haircuts were in comparison to what he wanted, he made sure to be careful with every stroke, snip, and cut he made. Daria hovered nearby, idly chatting between the two while carrying the broom and dustpan, her idea of helping out. Honestly he appreciated it even if he was still going to have to clean after her, the child missing several spots in her excitement.
Eventually the visitor relaxed, leaning back into the fingers scratching against his scalp. Perhaps it was obvious he was taking longer than needed, genuinely obsessed with the feeling of running his hair through his hands. It felt intimate, the visitor trusting him completely. Something about the tenderness in this moment got to him, a strange bubbly sensation welling up in his chest so intense it was almost painful.
Part of him wanted this to drag on for as long as possible, smiling softly at the way the visitor cocked his head and leaned further into the sensation, a rumble already bursting from his throat. If he wasn’t covered in hair he’d lean down and kiss him, marveling at how blissed out the visitor was in this moment. He ran a thumb down his cheek, the action causing those bewitching black eyes to open, focusing on him immediately. That feeling in his chest only grew stronger, three words clawing their way up his throat, just on the tip of his tongue—
He jolted when the phone rang, mouth snapping shut and flushing. God he had almost blurted something embarrassing, thankful that something had snapped him out of his stupor.
”All done Boriska,” he patted his cheek gently and leaned closer. “And look how handsome you are.” The visitor was preening from his words, a lopsided smile breaking out across his face.
”You find me handsome?” He rolled his eyes and took a step back, the pale man trying to reach for him in vain.
”Obviously. Don’t act like you didn’t know that.” He had never seen the visitor so smug, grinning from the doorway as he reached for the phone.
”I would hope so. Though, it’s nice to hear it sometimes.” He shot him a warning look only to receive a wink in response. Insufferable. He was never complimenting him again. The phone beeped as he accepted the call, tucking it between his cheek and shoulder as he re-entered the bathroom, accepting the broom and dustpan from Daria.
”Hello?” The nervous voice of the kindergarten teacher filtered through the speaker. He really ought to learn her name by now.
”Oh hello Mikhail! I hope you are doing alright. Um, I was wondering… do you have a moment? I wanted to discuss something with you.” He repositioned his grip on the phone, setting the broom down against the sink.
”Sure. Is everything alright?” He could practically hear the hesitation from the other side of the phone.
”Well, yes. Um… It’s about the holiday break.” A voice could be heard yelling in the background, rapidly moving closer.
”Is that Mikhail? Go on! He’ll say yes, just lemme ask!” He could hear the woman hushing the excited teen, the rustling on the other end indicating the younger was trying to weasel the phone away from the woman.
”Rita!” The older woman sounded downright scandalized. “This is highly inappropriate behavior!”
”Come on! I passed my exams! There’s no school for a month! Please please let me ask, pleasepleasepleaseplease—“ With a wince he pulled the phone away from his ear, the noise growing to an intolerable level. The teen was scolded and sent away, her cries of anger still audible in the background of the call.
”That girl, I swear—“ she took a deep breath, voice sounding rather rattled as she continued. “My apologies Mikhail, Rita has been very excited about visiting you for Novy God.”
That’s right. He had forgotten about that, the homeowner perking up immediately. “I was calling to check and see when would be a good time to send her your way.” He glanced at the child nearby, watching her attempt to show Boris a trick she had taught the cat. It appeared the animal was just laying on its side despite whatever the girl was telling it. Maybe Margo was exactly what Dasha needed, someone closer to her age that she could relate to.
”When does she want to come over?”
”That’s the problem!” The teacher sounded absolutely exasperated. “She wants to come over right this moment— packed her bags and everything— but I told her that was insane, that is way too much of a burden to place on you, we could never expect you to host her for almost a month—“
”I’m fine with that actually. The earlier the better.” The teacher sputtered in shock for a moment.
”What? Are you quite sure?”
”Yes. I need her help actually.”
“Oh? What for?” He closed the bathroom door slowly, locking it after. He was careful to keep his voice down as he explained the situation with the neighbor’s daughter.
“My neighbor and his wife were killed during the cataclysm. Terrible fire, I don’t know what caused it. They had a little girl and I was taking care of her. FEMA came one night and took her away from me. I thought I’d never see her again, but now she’s back home. Only,” he paused, trying to find the best way to explain this, “She’s having a hard time adjusting. They mistreated her and nearly killed her.” He gripped the sink in front of him, regret swirling in his core. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but I think spending time with someone closer to her age would be good. Help her adjust.” The woman was quiet for a moment, a somber tone apparent in her voice.
”The poor, dear. How old is she?
”She’s eight years old.” The woman let out a pained noise, the story no doubt stirring up painful memories.
”So young,” she murmured. “I understand what you’re trying to do Mikhail but… I’m not sure how Rita will react. She can be…” The woman hesitated, choosing her next words carefully. “Rather withdrawn when in the company of her own peers. I am unsure how she’d react to a child. Are you sure about this?” He wasn’t sure of anything but he trusted Margo. When he voiced as much the woman sighed but seemed to understand. “Alright. I admit I was hoping Rita and I would be able to have a little celebration before—“ She stopped herself, quickly changing mid sentence. “No, disregard that, I’ll tell Rita to get ready. This is important.” Even as the words came out there was a sadness in the woman’s tone, as if she was resigning herself to her fate to spend the holiday season alone. Something about that had him offering before he could think better of it.
”You’re welcome to come too. We’re having a small get together for Novy God. Luka and Yesenin are coming over as well. It’s not going to be anything that crazy, lord knows we’ve had enough of that this year, but it’d be nice to have everyone over again. You know, after all we’ve been through together.” There was silence on the other end of the line. When the woman spoke her voice was quiet.
”That’s very kind of you… But I doubt that anyone wants me there, Mikhail. I would be surprised if they even remembered who I was. Have fun with the others, enjoy your party. You deserve it. I don’t want to drag anyone down on such a special day.”
”I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want you here.” He wasn’t going to let her retreat so easily. “And I’m sure Margo would as well. She thinks very highly of you.” He waited for a response but all he got was a shaky exhale.
”I’ll think about it.” That was good enough for him, wishing the teacher a good evening and setting the phone back down on the receiver.
***
“This is bullshit, I didn’t sign up to be a baby sitter.” The homeowner hefted the strap of Margo’s travel bag over his shoulder, stepping off the bus after a very melodramatic teenager. He swore the thing was twice as heavy as last time, the hermit wondering what could possibly be weighing it down now.
“Language.” She shot him a glare, her displeasure mounting.
”But it’s not fair! I’ve spent enough time catering to little brats. There wasn’t a day where my brothers weren’t screaming bloody murder or barging into my space unannounced. Thieving little bastards always touching my things, had us all crammed in a single room like animals. I’m done with that. I thought it was just gonna be me, you, and PB.” The house was coming up in the distance, the warm lights casting a yellow glow onto the snow nearby.
”Dasha’s not like that,” he assured, falling into step by her side. “She’s more reserved. Actually she’s a bit too quiet sometimes. She could stand to talk a bit more and speak her mind. Like you.” He nudged her with an elbow. Despite his efforts the teen was still glowering ahead, stomping through the slush with a huff.
“Hey,” he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, the teen halting in her tracks. “Try to give her a chance. Daria’s a sweet kid and her father and I go way back. We’ve been neighbors as long as I can remember. Over the years he helped me out more than I deserve. I honestly owe him everything, I only survived the cataclysm because of his help. I promised if anything happened to him I’d take care of Dasha and I failed him once already by allowing those bast—“ he grit his teeth, stopping himself mid sentence. If he was going to lecture Margo about her language then it was only fair that he watched his own.
“She’s been through so much. Losing her home… her parents. She was so carefree before, I used to always see her playing and running around in the fields every time I looked out the window. I want Dasha to feel safe enough to be a kid again, I hate that she’s constantly looking over her shoulder waiting for the next bad thing to happen to her. She’s not been the same since then, perhaps she never will be, I know that, but I think that meeting you will make a world of difference for her. Who knows, maybe you can be a role model for her.”
”God you’re so embarrassing,” she groaned, turning away from him. He could tell her frustration was just an act, she was just too proud to admit it. “Fine. I’ll give it a shot. Don’t come crying to me when shit goes sideways though. I’m not good with kids.” He snorted, following after the teen who had already scaled the steps before he could even reach for his keys.
”Thank you. I appreciate it.” His efforts were not needed, the door swinging open before he could wrap his fingers around the key rings in his pocket. The visitor was waiting for them, leaning against the doorframe with a lazy smile.
“PB!” The teen squealed, rushing forward to give him a bone crushing hug. “It’s been so booooring without you! Nothing ever happens in the city. Did you miss me?” Without missing a beat the pale man pulled the teen’s hat down over her eyes which made her screech and replied,
”Nope. Not at all.” The two tussled as he climbed the stairs, Margo wriggling out of a headlock she had fully incited after attempting to sucker punch the visitor in the gut. Her laughter grew quieter as she disappeared down the hall, the two of them alone for a few moments. A hand suddenly stopped him from entering.
”I’m not letting you in,” the pale man teased, his voice a poor imitation of the hermit. He stood there dumbly for a moment, mouth opening before he could think better of it.
”Huh?”
”Those were the first words you ever said to me. Always such a romantic, you had me positively swooning.” He smacked his shoulder, mouth twitching despite himself.
”Oh shut up. You threatened to break the door down right after.” The visitor scoffed in mock offense.
”How appalling, you completely misunderstood me. Just so you know I asked about the integrity of your door as a connoisseur of durable architecture, Mr. ‘I’ve got a gun’. So who really threatened who?”
”You fucking liar,” he grinned, moving closer. “If we’re just gonna make shit up then maybe I just wanted to make you aware that I have an affinity for rifles. I was even going to give you a demonstration.” The homeowner pointed at his chest and mimed pulling the trigger. That tickled the visitor, he could tell by the way his nose scrunched up in glee.
”Shame. I would have loved that. Then I could have shown you how many strikes this door can endure before it splinters off the hinges. Three? Perhaps four? We shall never know. Too bad indeed.”
”Yeah and you would have missed out on all this,” he gestured inside the house, “And living with me can’t be that bad because you can’t seem to keep yourself away.” Or his hands to himself apparently, fingers tugging him forward by his belt loops until they were chest to chest.
”Hmm…True. You are surprisingly very persuasive Sunshine.” He was drawn to this man, like an invisible force was pulling him in unable to resist his orbit. Why did he enjoy this back and forth between them so much? He was a grown man for Christ’s sake but here he was currently reveling in that high he always got from bickering with the visitor. It was almost like a dance at this point, the two circling each other until they inevitably crashed together, and that was his favorite part.
Strong arms were circling around him, lips pressing firmly against his own. Compared to some of their previous kisses It was quite short, only lasting a few seconds but his heart sang, feeling as if molten lava was coursing through his veins. Oh he loved that look he was giving him right now, eyes practically twinkling with laughter. He couldn’t help it, the homeowner found himself leaning forward once more. The visitor didn’t complain when he chased after him, grabbing him by the chin and pulling him in for another kiss.
”Oh woah, there’s a dog now.”
Ah. That’s right. Margo was down the hall and they definitely needed to catch her up on a few things. Part of him was sad to leave his partner’s warm embrace, but knowing that this was what would be waiting for him at the end of the day when his bones were achy and his mind was muddled from exhaustion made parting bearable. He reluctantly withdrew from the visitor, the door locking behind him.
”That's Anya. She belongs to Boris.” Margo’s head popped around the corner, wild hair falling over her shoulder.
”Who the fuck is Boris?” The visitor pointed at himself.
”Me.” The girl’s mouth dropped open, looking both shocked and excited.
”What! Since when?”
”Thirty two years ago,” he teased, clearly amused by the girl’s scowl. “Although I only remembered it quite recently.” The homeowner intervened before the girl completely lost her patience.
”We ran into his old coworker, Tanya. She was the one who hung the poster you found and she had Anya this entire time. Obviously we brought her home.”
”That’s crazy! And unfair as hell,” she lamented. “While I was suffering and taking my stupid finals you two were having whole ass adventures to recover PB’s memories? I’m so jealous!” He winced, recalling the looters and the visitor’s experience at the FEMA camp. He wouldn’t necessarily call those ‘adventures’. “Uh, so will your dog rip my hand off if I try to touch her or…”
”No, she’s friendly,” the visitor assured, bending down and motioning the animal over. She was eager to trot up to them, greeting Boris before sniffing the teen over, her tail a blur with how hard she was wiggling back and forth. The two were currently occupied by the dog, Margo forcing the pale man to recount the exact circumstances that led to meeting Tatiana. For a while he remained close by, interjecting every so often when he didn’t agree with the way the pale man was recounting the story, secretly enjoying the devious looks he got in response. He was pretty sure by now the visitor reveled in creating chaos, always choosing to push his buttons at every opportunity.
He cut the visitor off when he started to recount a rather embarrassing story involving the hermit and a failed attempt at clearing snow from the roof.
”Oookay that’s enough.” He started ushering the teen towards the office, ignoring how she egged the pale man on to continue. “Let’s get you settled for the night.”
”You’re not getting out of this old man, I want to hear the rest of the story!” He scowled and pushed the door open, dropping the oversized duffle bag by the couch. He hoped Margo didn’t find it as uncomfortable as he did. The visitor hadn’t followed, but the sound of Anya’s nails indicated he was letting the dog into Dasha’s room. Without the dog the poor kid would be knocking on their door in a matter of hours and neither of them wanted that.
”There’s nothing to tell.” Apparently his partner hated him, choosing to pipe up at that time.
”All the snow slid off at once and buried him alive. I had to dig him out by hand and defrost him by the fire. He looked like a drowned rat standing in a puddle, soaked from head to toe.” Margo found this hilarious, cackling in glee as she flopped onto the couch.
”Oh wow! I wish I could’ve seen that,” she giggled. He contemplated strangling Boris with his bare hands.
“Yes, it was very amusing. His tiny scream was the best part. Like a little baby mouse.” Okay. That’s it. The pale man was spending the night outside.
”Enough,” he snapped. “You’re all caught up now. No more stories.” Margo huffed and rolled her eyes.
”Jeez what a buzz kill,” she muttered. He ignored the comment, setting aside some spare pillows and blankets for her to use tonight. In a few weeks he would need this room for Luka and Yesenin, he hoped that by then the girls could get along well enough to coexist in the same room.
“No,” the visitor chimed in, stepping closer. “There’s one more story.” If this was another narrative at his expense he seriously was going to murder this man, the look he was giving the visitor right now clearly communicating as much. As usual he ignored him, politely folding his arms in front of him, a gesture he noticed he resorted to frequently even back when he first started visiting the house.
”Oh yeah?” she paused rustling through her bags, eager to hear what the pale man had to say. “Go on PB, spill it.” She clearly thrived on secondhand embarrassment when it pertained to the homeowner. He on the other hand found comfort in his imagination. Like right now he was fantasizing about putting the pale man in a Full Nelson.
”My Kati confessed.” It was quiet in the office for a few moments, both the teen and homeowner wearing similar looks of confusion. Kati? Wasn’t that the character from her novels? Just when he was about to ask what that meant the girl slammed both hands down on the coffee table, a wild look in her eyes.
”Shut. Up. You’re lying.” He felt so lost now, glancing between the smug visitor and overexcited teen that looked about ready to jump out of her skin. Clearly the two knew what that meant, maybe it was an inside joke or something?
“You two?” She pointed feverishly back and forth at the two men. The visitor nodded.
Was he hallucinating? What is happening right now?
”I fucking hate you guys!” She wailed, pulling at her hair. If this continued she was going to wake up Dasha. “You two started dating and didn’t think to tell me? That’s like, HUGE news! Why didn’t you call me?!” The visitor was trying to calm the teen down, snickering over how the girl was attempting to throw punches in his general direction. The homeowner on the other hand was finally connecting the dots.
”Wait, why the Hell am I Kati?” The deadpan look the teen was giving him right now was not appreciated.
”Ugh if you bothered to read the book you’d understand but you’re too busy being lame.” He scowled when the visitor nodded in agreement.
”Hold on,” he threw his hands out, realizing that to have an inside joke it must be discussed at some point between the two parties. “Margo knew I liked you?”
”No dummy other way around.” She jerked a thumb in the visitor’s direction. “Your boy PB here is not subtle at all. Wanna hear how sad he was when he thought you didn’t like him back?” Now it was the pale man’s turn to be mortified, trying and failing to cover the teens mouth to shut her up.
”That's not necessary—“
”No no you deserve this,” he interjected, fully invested in whatever the teen had to say now. “Tell me.”
”That day we went to the store and you went to see Luka he came undone. He was all ‘woe is me, my love is doomed’ and kept wandering around the aisles and knocking displays over. It was awful, I lost him like four times! Thought he was gonna cry at one point, but I gave him a pep talk so you’re welcome.” The visitor was unamused, lip curled in clear disdain for the teen’s story.
”That is not how I remember it.”
”Those are the facts, buddy,” the teen sing-songed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Don’t hate me, I’m just keeping it real.” The visitor narrowed his eyes, attempting to push past them both to leave the room but the hermit grabbed his arm to stop him. He wasn’t letting him escape, not after torturing him for the past half-hour.
”Aw babe how sweet,” he smirked, enjoying the dangerous glint in the other’s eyes right now. “So while you were picking up that can of rotten fish you were yearning for me? How romantic.” The corner of the visitor’s mouth twitched.
“Of course, sweetheart. It made me think of you.” He smacked him, nearly failing to hold back his laughter.
”Ew. You guys are being gross now, get out.” That was his breaking point, calm facade fracturing as he doubled over in breathless laughter, barely registering that the visitor’s arm had curled under his chest to support him. It was nice to have Margo back, the kid was both witty and hilarious. For all her harsh words he knew that Margo was just picking at them, he enjoyed her company immensely. Her parents didn’t deserve her.
When all was settled, the couch made up and a late night dinner prepared, the teen was smoothing out her blankets adorned in fluffy pajamas and a pair of thick colorful socks.
“Listen, I’m super happy for you guys, but just so you know I don’t want to see anyone kissing. Like, ever.” It was the visitor who responded, seated in his armchair as he looked over his newspaper one last time before bed.
”Noted.” Midnight’s arrival was announced as the clock chimed twelve, a soft reminder that a new day had technically begun. He hadn’t meant to stay up to this hour, but that’s what happened when you made spur of the moment decisions that involved traveling to town and back.
”It’s late, we should probably all go to bed.” Everyone seemed to agree, Margo yawning loudly and the visitor eagerly folding his newspaper up.
“G’night old man, PB.” She wriggled down deeper under the covers, looking far more comfortable than he ever did when he had to sleep on that dreadful couch. As he was closing the door she called out softly to him, an earnest look in her eyes. “Thanks for letting me come over. Means a lot. Promise I’ll try to get along with your twerp tomorrow.” There was no malice in her tone, voice uncharacteristically soft. She was going to try and for that he was grateful.
”Thank you.”
***
The morning came far earlier than he would have liked, groaning as he sat up and untangled himself from the visitor’s vice grip. They had to get the day started, now providing for an additional mouth to feed. While he focused on breakfast the visitor eventually rolled out of bed, letting the dog out first before he rekindled the fire, swearing softly under his breath when reentered the house, the front door closing behind him.
To be truthful he was mostly tuning the other out until he jerked away from the stove, spine bowing backwards as he squealed, something colder than sin having dipped under his sweater and melding to his flesh.
”Borisgetyourfuckinghandsoffme!” The visitor held him in place as he writhed in his hold, both frigid hands now resting on his stomach.
”Cold,” was his only explanation, ignoring the homeowner’s very loud and girlish screams.
He couldn’t be blamed for what he did after that, the visitor now pretending to sulk at the table sporting a swollen bright red handprint across his cheek. He knew it was an act and honestly it was deserved.
Margo had been the first to join them, pointing and sniggering at the visitor as she took a seat. When it became clear that Daria was not going to come and greet the group on her own he began searching for her, praying that he hadn’t made a huge mistake. It was perhaps overly optimistic that the two would hit it off, they had completely different upbringings and personalities as well as a five year age difference, but it was the only idea that he could think of. His only desire was for the two girls to bond over the next few weeks.
Poking his head in the hallway he only encountered the cat, who as usual was lying in a puddle of his own fat rolls, completely oblivious to all his surroundings. He winced, remembering his last conversation with the girl. There had been a quick discussion about Margo’s arrival before he had left, most of it spent assuring the child that the teen was not dangerous or going to hurt her in any way.
”No please, I don’t want her here at all,” she had whispered, wringing her hands in distress.
”Why?” He has asked. “She’s only visiting for the holidays, this won’t be permanent.” She was slow to respond, clearly conflicted to admit this.
”What if she’s mean?”
”She’s not, I swear. A little loud at times but she’s a good kid.”
“I don’t know her,” she whined, taking a step backwards.
”But I do. She stayed here during the cataclysm and visited us again for fall break.” He had tried to kneel on her level but the girl had completely turned away from him then. “Dasha,” he pleaded, trying his best to convey his sincerity. “Margo’s not like those people at the quarantine camp. I’d never bring anyone here I didn’t trust. She even knows that Borya’s a visitor, she’s known for a long time. You can trust her.”
Daria, sensing that this was not up for debate, completely shut down after that, listlessly staring at the floor and ignoring the hermit no matter how hard he tried. In the end he had to leave her with Boris, hoping they could resolve this once he returned.
He could still hear Margo loudly talking to Boris from here, taking a moment to appreciate the odd sing-song lilt to the visitor’s voice as he responded. It brought him comfort even when his words weren’t directed at him. Just knowing that he was close by was enough, spending far too long just listening to him as he avoided what he really should be doing. Truth be told he was dreading this, once again feeling out of his element. How was he supposed to offer comfort and reassurance when those were two things he had gone without for most of his life? He might as well get this over with, knocking three times and waiting nervously.
No response. His father would have broken the door off the hinges by now. He pushed that memory away.
”Dasha?”
Still nothing. Everything in his brain screamed at him to turn and run, that there was nothing more he could do. By now he was aware that this was an unhealthy response he had to fight to ignore, a coping mechanism that brought him shame. When things got difficult he wasn’t the kind of man to rise up and be a hero, he was the kind to lock himself away and hide. He wasn’t like his neighbor.
But right now, that’s what Daria needed.
“It’s me,” he called, feeling a bit silly talking to a door. “Can I come in?” There was a small shuffling from inside the room, the sound of the armchair being scraped across the floor. The door opened just a crack, tiny footsteps growing quiet as she moved away. Grateful that she at least trusted him enough to let him in, he slipped inside, closing the door behind him. The room was so much more colorful than it used to be, various toys and drawings now occupied the space. It used to be one of the most drab rooms in the house, now it actually looked like a suitable living area.
Daria was currently sitting on the bed, Toto cradled close to her chest. He was half expecting her to be in tears, having prepared himself to greet anything but this. She was not crying. She was glaring at him, the angriest he had ever seen her.
”You okay?” She ignored him, letting out a little huff. Part of him wondered if it was too late to slip back out the door. This was far beyond his expertise, but he forced himself forward, taking a seat beside her. “Dasha please, tell me what’s wrong.” Furious little eyes turned on him, flashing dangerously.
”I told you! I don’t want that girl here and you didn’t listen to me!” She pointed at the door furiously. “Make her leave!” He swallowed thickly, choosing his words carefully.
”I can’t do that, I could never do that to her.” He folded his hands in his lap, unsure of what to do with them. “Margo means a lot to me and always has a place here.”
”What about me?” She whimpered. “I was here first, I thought you wanted me here…”
“I do,” he assured, trying desperately to understand why she was so upset. “This is your home too, I made a promise.”
“But you replaced me!” She pointed furiously at the door, tears threatening to spill over her eyelashes. “I was sent away and you chose her instead!”
”No,” he insisted, tone deathly serious. It hurt to think she thought so little of him. “That is not true. No one has been replaced.” He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face and pinching the bridge of his nose. This was a tricky conversation to have, racking his brain on how to explain himself to her. Should he tell her how he failed her? How the guilt kept him up at night and when sleep finally came it was filled with visions of her father staring down at him in disgust as he begged him for forgiveness?
“Dasha. I have so many regrets about that night. I wish I had stopped them or forced them to take me with you. Your father put his trust in me and I failed him. This has been such a heavy burden for me to bear and I am sorry that I did not do more for you.” She was watching him but he couldn’t meet her eyes. They looked too much like her father’s. “Margo came to the house shortly after FEMA took you away. I didn’t let her in to replace you, I honestly wasn’t thinking at all at the time. I was running on autopilot, just letting people into the house without much thought. It was reckless of me, I hurt people like that, but my head was all screwed up. Nothing felt worth the effort anymore.”
”But Margo was one of the first to force me to start caring again. She was sharp, always had something to critique me on, told me what all I was doing wrong. We didn’t get along at first, both of us were too stubborn to back down in a fight, but I realized how similar we were. It helped me somehow, made me realize I wanted to keep trying despite the world falling down around us. I don’t think I would have survived the cataclysm if people like Margo, Yesenin, and Luka hadn’t stepped in and snapped me out of that fog.”
He found the courage to face her. Daria was no longer angry with him, peering up at him with a strange expression. A mix of sadness and understanding.
“I care about you both, that’s why I brought her here. I understand if you blame me for what happened, I wish I could redo it all.”
“I don’t blame you uncle Mik,” she whispered, her voice tight. “They would have killed you. They killed lots of people.” She shuffled closer, the homeowner sensing what she was asking for and pulling her close to his side. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have said what I said, I didn’t mean it.” He could feel her tears dampening his sweater, the girl drawing in a shaky breath.
”I just didn’t want my things to be taken from me again, I don’t want to be pushed around…I like being with you and Boris and I don’t want that to go away. I know that Daddy would be upset with me, he always said not to judge people, but I can’t seem to stop it. I don’t know her and it makes me feel so…” she squeezed him harder. “Scared. And I don’t know how to stop it. I’m scared all the time, I don’t want to feel this way anymore.” He held her as she cried, smoothing the hair atop her head. All her fear was understandable considering what she had gone through this past year, yet it took him a bit to come up with a suitable solution to bring her some peace of mind. He waited until she had settled down, wiping her eyes with his sleeve.
”Tell you what. If things don’t work out and you and Margo just can’t see eye to eye then you can stay in our room, alright?” He watched her perk up immediately but he held up a finger. “But you need to promise me that you will give her a chance first, really try to get to know her. Margo went through a lot before she came here. When the cataclysm started she left her family, setting off completely on her own. Her parents weren’t like yours, they mistreated and abused her.” Daria was watching him, brows drawn together in deep focus. He took that as a good sign and continued.
“So before you cross it off completely you should come join us for dinner and say hi. Maybe make a new friend?” She twisted her hands together in her lap, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.
”Can I stay here just a little longer? I don’t think I’m ready…”
He stood up, ruffling her hair with one hand. She squawked at that, waving her arms to dislodge him. It made him smile, feeling as if for once he did something right. “Of course. It’s your choice, Dasha. Whenever you’re ready.”
”…Okay,” she muttered, chewing on her thumb nail. “I’ll try.” That was good enough for him, turning and heading for the door. As soon as his hand touched the doorknob the girl spoke back up, freezing him in his tracks.
”Thank you uncle Mikhail. You always make me feel better, Daddy was right about you.” His mouth went dry at the mention of his neighbor. Part of him was terrified to think of what his neighbor had told her about him, yet another part desperately craved it. He wanted to know the truth.
”Your father…he talked about me?” She nodded, her words soothing a guilt that he had carried for months.
”Yes, he talked about you all the time. He liked you lots! Said you were a quiet but kind man and if anything ever happened I should run straight to your house and you would help me. Daddy’s always right about everything.” It felt good to know his neighbor had thought so highly of him even though he hadn’t done anything to deserve it. For now he pushed those feelings away, enjoying the moment while it lasted. He could stew over his regrets at a later date.
He thanked the girl and closed the door behind him, feeling as if the divide between them had finally been addressed. He felt better knowing where he stood with her, having wondered for a while if the kid harbored resentment towards him or not. Daria didn’t secretly hate him for his mistakes, she was just a kid who had experienced terrible cruelty and loss. He would do all that he could to ensure she would never have to experience anything like that again.
***
Daria never made it to breakfast. Or lunch.
He was so conflicted on what to do, not wanting to push her away but it was also getting to the point of concern. She couldn’t afford to be missing meals, still not quite at a healthy weight again. Even Margo had asked when Daria would be making an appearance. He told her he didn’t know.
Right now he was sweeping the hallway, mainly just to keep himself busy as Margo leaned against the wall, eyes glued to a little screen in her hands. From his understanding it was some sort of game, tinny little beeps and sounds flittering through the hall.
”So that girl I was talking about from before, you know, the quiet one at school? We’re like totally best friends now! Sonya even reads the same books as me, we have sooooo much in common!” He nodded, honestly happy that Margo had finally made a friend at school.
”So you’re saying I was right and you should listen to me more often?” The teen narrowed her eyes, pointing at him sharply.
”Woah, let’s not get crazy now.” A door creaked open, the conversation pausing as Daria entered the hallway, Toto still squeezed to her chest. She looked around before landing on the teen, the two noticeably stiffening at seeing each other. It was clear the two were sizing each other up, he could almost feel the tension they were exuding right now. To his surprise it was the smaller girl who marched forward and thrust her hand out, maintaining eye contact with the older girl.
”Hi, I’m Daria. It’s nice to meet you.” Margo pushed off the wall with one foot, pocketing the game system in her back pocket.
”Margo,” she sniffed, the teen grabbing her hand and giving it one shake, the beads from the plethora of bracelets adorning her wrist jingling with the motion. “And likewise.” Margo didn’t let go of her hand, tilting her head as she eyed the other, her expression difficult to read. Daria looked uncomfortable, eyes darting to the floor and back to the teen, shuffling in place for a moment.
”Your shirt.” Margo pointed one colorful nail at her chest triggering Daria to move Toto aside and look down, as if she couldn’t even remember what she was wearing. A dragon was rearing up on its hind legs, flames swirling around its head as a tiny prince on a white horse held a sword up in opposition to the monster.
”You like fantasy?” Daria cocked her head to the side furrowing her brows. “You know, like, dragons and fairy tail stuff,” she clarified. Daria’s eyes noticeably brightened, nodding once. “Cool. Me too.”
And that was pretty much the end of their first encounter, Daria skittering off to the kitchen to grab a meal and Margo whipping out her game system once more. They had another small interaction at dinner, Daria perking up at something Margo had said and commenting on it. Both had froze when this happened, the two eyeing each other wearily before going back to eating, the conversation dying out.
It wasn’t until evening when they were all gathered in the office that the most notable change occurred. Daria sat on the floor with a coloring book as Margo read on the couch, brows furrowed at whatever was going on in her book. The younger had been glancing up a few times, usually once the teen had made a noise or comment as she read.
”Whatcha reading?” Margo paused and looked up, blinking a few times in surprise.
”Oh, uh… Lady Katina.” The two sat there silently for a moment, Margo fiddling with her bracelets while Daria tapped her marker on the paper.
”What’s it about?” Margo sat up a little at that. He could see the way the girl’s eyes flashed for a moment before visibly tamping down her excitement, her voice perfectly calm as she explained,
”A noblewoman who abandons her title and becomes a knight to protect the kingdom from danger.” There was more uncomfortable silence, the only sound being the cat’s loud purr, sprawled out across the visitor’s lap. For someone who claimed to find the animal ‘repulsive’ he was suspiciously affectionate towards him, currently scratching the animal under his chin.
”Do you, uh,” the teen started, picking at a scab on her chin. “Did you want to start book one? I can read a little bit to you, see if you like it.” Daria stood up, placing her markers on the coffee table.
”Okay!” The two sat beside each other, Margo reading aloud in a soft voice as Daria leaned closer, having sat too far away to see the book pages herself. It stayed like that for a while, and to be honest, he wasn’t quite sure when the shift happened. One minute the two were tolerating each other, sat a good distance apart, then he was walking into the room only to find Margo animatedly re-enacting the story, her baseball bat raised to mimic that of a sword.
”Halt, vile beast! You shall torment these people no longer!” Daria was hopping up and down on the couch in glee, fully enraptured with the story. Seeing that the two were actually making progress he let them be, choosing to pester the visitor instead by flopping onto his side of the bed. It knocked the air out of the other man, but soon enough a pale face was smiling down at him.
”To what do I owe the pleasure?”
”It’s happening,” he whispered, pointing to the office. “They’re finally getting along. So I thought I’d come annoy you.” The visitor hummed, repositioning himself to give the homeowner space.
”How terribly sweet. I believe I may be rubbing off on you, Misha.” He ended up having to force the two to go to bed, both moaning and groaning when he refused to let them stay up, and twice more he had to knock on Daria’s door when it became apparent that the two had disobeyed him, having overheard Margo continuing the story when he was on the way to go brush his teeth. Honestly he couldn’t be too mad, he was just happy the two were interacting with each other.
Things changed after that.
Wherever Margo was Daria was always two steps behind, arms always full of items that the teen had apparently stuffed her bag full of, the reason why the thing weighed a hundred pounds. Toys, books, games, arts and crafts projects, or even blankets to build a fort out of— which apparently he and Boris were banned from, a crude sign reading ’NO ADULTS ALLOWED’ with another line scrawled along the bottom clearly added as an afterthought, ’OR VISITORS’.
“I see they are taking after you,” the pale man said when he noticed it, two sets of laughter muffled under the lopsided structure. “Should I ask them if they are alone for old times sake?” Margo yelled something crude in response to that which landed her in trouble. He didn’t want Daria to start parroting ‘Fuck off’ if he could help it.
The two even commandeered the T.V., he was starting to think that Margo had crammed every movie in Russia into her bag. At this point he was considering just giving them the damn thing, tired of being kicked out of his room for the third time today.
Evenings were his favorite, a time when the entire household enjoyed each other's company. The girls either chatted together or conspired at the table, their schemes always revealed within an hour or two. Usually it involved a prank of some kind, aimed at either the visitor or himself. The pranks were harmless enough, leaving a toy face level in the fridge or plastic wrapping the bathroom sink so the unfortunate victim had a watery mess on their hands to deal with. It didn’t really irk him, even when he had a mess to clean up. He was just relieved that the two were getting along so well, and seeing Daria smile so effortlessly? Yeah, he’d endure a prank or two.
She approached him more often now, somehow their little chat had improved their relationship. Perhaps they understood each other better now, or with Margo’s presence she felt more comfortable these days. Whatever had caused this had also brought a noticeable change in her mannerisms as well. That spark in her eye had returned, one that hadn’t been seen since the fire. It was small and somewhat fragile but it was definitely there.
What shocked him most though was how much of her father he saw in her these days. She was kind, helpful, and so empathetic, giving little pats on the homeowner’s arm every time he got too lost in his thoughts, her way of comforting him. Truthfully most of the time he wasn’t actually upset, it was just that his resting expression tended to be severe, but he still appreciated the gesture.
Daria had also become quite the cook, jumping up to help the homeowner with every meal. Margo herself even felt compelled to help, though she grew frustrated quickly and made a mess of the countertops without meaning to. Still, he welcomed the company. The visitor on the other hand was a hindrance, either standing right where the homeowner needed to be or not so subtly moving something just out of reach. He knew this was on purpose, the smirk gave him away but he never said anything, his punishment came later.
The hermit had been on a winning streak at fool as of late, the loser forced to wash the dishes. The visitor himself was the one to dig out the cards, usually once the girls had already run off to play Margo’s new video game. The conditions were set because the bastard loved when something was at stake, he thrived on it. But to the visitor’s frustration his own stipulations had backfired, the past three nights it was the homeowner who had the pleasure of sitting back and smugly watching the visitor roll up his sleeves for once.
Though he knew this wouldn’t last, the visitor was not a graceful loser and had been eyeing him recently, a challenge brewing in his defiant stare. Maybe that was why he slid the deck of cards across the table before the plates had even been cleared, both girls perking up at the sight.
“Oh,” he smirked when the visitor started shuffling the deck. “Are you really that eager to get your ass beat again?” The visitor smiled, that competitive fire burning in his eyes once more. Eyes that were laced with exhaustion as of late.
”Not tonight, love.” His stomach did something funny hearing that pet name. A mix of panic and pure adoration. He secretly enjoyed their games immensely, feeling recently as though the visitor was too tired to do much anymore. He was quick to suggest turning in for the night, and yet the bags under his eyes seemed to grow even darker with each passing day. “The odds are not in your favor I fear.”
”Oh we’re gonna play a game?” Daria cocked her head to the side, the jeweled barrettes clipped through her hair glittering under the fluorescent lights. Margo had placed those clips there after the girl had confessed how self-conscious her hair made her feel. The teen had told her how much she liked it, calling her new look ‘fresh’ and pulling the barrettes out of her own hair to clip into hers. She hadn’t removed them since.
“Hell yeah,” the teen was already grabbing at the stack in front of her. “I’m down!” The visitor smiled so sweetly that to no one else they would have thought he was simply offering a friendly game. But he knew him far too well.
He was leading them to slaughter.
”Ah, well,” he started, voice way too saccharine and honey coated to be genuine. “Usually this is a game between Misha and I. There is a price for losing, I am not sure if you too would truly enjoy the experience.”
”Then we won’t lose, duh. Deal us in.” Margo unknowingly fell right into his trap, motioning at the visitor as if he were a moron. There was only one loser in fool, and the visitor had just drastically improved his odds by adding two more players. The hermit watched the visitor with a frown. Surely he would split them into teams? It was only fair. He couldn’t imagine the visitor would stoop so low as to dump housework on children…
Apparently he would. He lacked both mercy and shame, destroying them with careful precision and calculated brutality. And destroy them he did, round after round. Usually there were no rematches, but the visitor seemed to enjoy the teen’s mounting frustration, the girl screaming for a rematch each and every time she or Daria was made the fool. After another merciless defeat the homeowner leaned closer, using Margo’s wailing to cover his voice as he whispered,
”You know, these are children Boris. You could let them win.” The pale man smiled, shuffling the cards once more.
”Even children must learn how to outwit their foes. Builds character,” he winked. The homeowner pursed his lips. He believed he had an ulterior motive.
”You’re the worst,” he hissed. “You just don’t want to wash the dishes.”
”Rules are ruuules,” he sang, sliding the cards along the table. “I am simply playing the game.” Margo slammed her hands down hard enough to startle the cat, a wild look in her eyes.
”That’s it! Dasha, we’re teaming up to take this asshole down.” Daria nodded along, perfectly content even though she had been made the fool the most out of all these rematches. “We are taking you down this time. Mark. My. Words.” She emphasized how serious she was by tapping her nail against the tabletop as she spoke, shoulders squared and ready for a fight. The visitor seemed thrilled, evil glittering eyes peering down at the two of them.
“Lovely. Do your worst.”
The homeowner wanted no part of this game anymore, getting up at some point to tend to the animals and rekindle the wood stove before it was time to turn in for the night. By the time he returned the water from the tap was running and judging by the severity of the expletives being tossed around the visitor had won again.
***
The human’s friends had been visiting as of late, dropping off boxes and furniture to store for safe keeping. He was surprised to see the box truck pull up the first time, hackles raising at the thought of FEMA agents swarming the yard when the driver unlatched the back lever. Though he pretty quickly recognized the portly and rather loud human was another previous resident of the house.
”Been a while, buddy!” The bald man called, clapping one beefy hand on the hermit’s shoulder. His lip curled at the sight. “Haven’t seen ya’ around but ol’ Yesenin’s been keeping me in the loop. You should join us every so often for poker night at the bar, we need the extra challenge. These two are far too easy to read,” he laughed, gesturing at Luka and the taller man. He noticed how far apart the two men were standing from each other.
”He can’t,” Yesenin piped up. “He got his ass banned. He and ‘Grimace’ here got into a bar fight, remember?” The loud human, who his partner winced and admitted under his breath that he referred to him as ‘Stand-up guy’ because he hadn’t bothered to learn his name, seemed surprised for a moment before guffawing loudly.
”Little Misha here? Would’ve paid to see that.” He crinkled his nose but kept his mouth shut. In his personal opinion his human was quite the fighter. Powerful and dealt a nasty right hook, thank you very much. His partner must have made a similar face because the man shook his shoulder and reassured, “Hey, I woulda jumped right in there with ya pal. I always got your back.” The human finally turned to him with a grin, throwing out a hand for him to shake. He didn’t want to touch him. “Nice to meet ya pal! You must be the roommate, Luka mentioned you’ve been keeping our hermit some company.”
If he was going to endure pleasantries then he was going to perform the bare minimum, gripping the man’s hand between two fingers and uttering “indeed” under his breath. Yesenin chuckled and shook his head, leaning down closer to the stand-up guy.
”Borya’s a bit of an odd duck but he’s good company. He’s the one you really gotta watch for in poker though, the guy’s a shark. Played some of the best Black Jack I've ever seen too. Shame we can’t bring him along, he coulda been our secret weapon.” The round man frowned, clearly considering Yesenin’s words carefully.
“Ya know fellas, I think I can get ol’ Anton to change his mind. I heard those knuckle heads haven’t been by ever since you two kicked their sorry asses in front a’ all their buds. You know everyone’s mighty grateful to see them gone, I’m sure we can get that ban overturned. Just let me do the talking, yeah?” The visitor in particular didn’t care if he was banned or not but it was cute how his human seemed to perk up at the other’s words. He’d endure some drunken humans if it made the him happy. Besides, Mishenka was precious when drunk, emotions so clearly visible on his usually stoic face and that darling crooked smile? Yeah, it didn’t sound like a bad idea at all.
The visitor against his will was instructed to call this new human ‘Buddy’ (he refused) and after deflecting several friendly shoulder touches and hugs the man got to work, passing out boxes for each of them to take back to the office. Overall he found the new human to be a bit irritating but he sensed a genuine loyalty towards the hermit and so he was tolerated. It also helped that the man adored Anya, his entire demeanor softening every time he encountered her.
It became a constant sight to see that box truck pulling into the driveway. The stand-up guy had landed a gig as a large haul delivery driver after he left the hermit’s house. Since then he managed to keep in contact with a few other members of the group that survived the cataclysm. He seemed excited to be invited to the New Year’s get together, offering to bring several dishes as thanks. His human explained it was only fair to extend an invitation after everything he did for his friends and so the visitor accepted it.
They did get a new sleeper sofa out of it at least, Luka insisting to keep it even after they left, a gift for allowing them to stay at the house on such short notice.
”No offense Misha,” the cheerful man gestured apologetically to the old couch. “Sleeping on that thing was a nightmare. It was better than the floor but not by much. I don’t think my old back can take that again.” So the new sleeper sofa was moved in, officially upgrading the house to have three functioning beds. They had taken it from the apartment, everything was going to be demolished anyways, and it looked like something his mother would have adored, the upholstery consisting of nothing but garish sun faded roses.
He enjoyed the new furniture while he could, lounging on the plush cushions with the human tucked against his side as he read, knowing he’d have to give it temporarily back up once Luka and Yesenin moved in. Stand-up guy made his final delivery at the end of the week and told them that if either of them ever needed help moving something to give him a call and he’d be there free of charge. The visitor nodded but left the talking to Misha, he still preferred as little interaction with the other humans as possible.
The visitor was feeling pretty knackered as of late. He sacrificed half of his usual sleeping hours to plan countermeasures against FEMA and the vigilante. He had started to run tests on himself, strength training, how much heat was needed before he felt a shift, and if there were other means to evoke a reaction. Hot showers were almost a waste of time, the effect minimal and fleeting as soon as the water cooled against his skin. Fire was more effective but if the visitor pressed himself against the wood stove long enough to feel a change there was only a small window of time before he grew ill, shaking as his body rejected the sudden temperature shift. He managed two breakthroughs though.
The first was the infection was not always correlated with temperature, it could be aroused with an emotional response. It took something extreme to invoke a response, the first time he had realized it was possible was after waking up from a nightmare where his human had been shot through the door, the madman peering back at him as he watched the life bleed out of hazy green eyes. The panic, fear, and pure rage he had felt was so visceral that he had tumbled to the floor, muscles still shifting and trembling underneath his skin. Having watched the meat of his forearms roll underneath the skin and fingers twitch as they snapped back into place he realized the emotions from his dream had caused this. Thankfully Misha hadn’t awoken, still snoring peacefully on his side of the bed.
He carefully catalogued each time he had managed to draw forth that power successfully. Terrible images were needed. Misha in various states of agony, battered, mutilated, and dying. Watching him crumple at the hands of another, failing him when it mattered most. Anya’s broken body lying out in the yard, the looter standing over her smiling. As much as it hurt him, those were the only things that had managed to set him off, doubling over as the skin contracted painfully against his spine. It was only a brief flash of his previous self, his height remained unchanged yet his skin grew tight around his arms, legs, and chest. In those few minutes he was far stronger than that of a human. He could bend metal, break bones, and without a doubt end the life of a certain nuisance who paraded himself as the hero of his own delusions.
Though he discovered there was nothing he could do to regain his invulnerability. Using a thumbtack, he tested his skin after each transformation. It bled every time. Then, once the reaction had dissipated and his muscles, bones, and sinew rolled back into place, he was so sore it was difficult to move, sometimes left panting on the floor until the waves of nausea passed. Still, he continued to push himself every night praying for better results.
The second breakthrough came to him one afternoon after Anya had stretched out on the carpet, sharp fangs on display as she yawned. It was a sudden epiphany, throwing his newspaper to the side. Of course. Anya was fifty pounds of solid muscle and highly trained in home protection. She could adapt to this specific threat, he just needed to tweak her technique. He began drawing up a training schedule, planning to start as soon as possible. During daylight he was working with the dog, at night he pushed his body to its limits. Finally the visitor felt useful again, he refused to let his human down.
There was one last evening before Luka and Yesenin arrived where he managed to selfishly secure his beloved for the night, the tiny humans having fallen asleep earlier than usual. He was curled around the hermit, enjoying the warmth that radiated off of him, just patiently waiting for the other to fall asleep so he could slink off and continue his training when the human brought up the New Years gathering again.
”You should invite Tanya.” It took him a few moments to remember what they were talking about, his mind already drifting off to other places. Confused, he sat up a little and peered down at the human who wasn’t looking back at him, too busy skimming over the newspaper advertisements. Every night he looked for deals and coupons for potential gifts for New Years even though he insisted that he didn’t want anything in return.
”Why?”
”It’s only fair,” he shrugged, flipping the page. “My friends are coming over so you should invite yours too. Don’t want you getting lonely if I get called away.” The hermit had been joking but the words rang true. He hadn’t put too much thought into the actual New Year’s party itself, yet the more he sat with the idea the more he realized that the human couldn’t stay by his side the entire evening. He was the host, that meant everyone would be vying for his attention as much as it irked him. Luka and Yesenin would hopefully be on better terms by then and which meant he would be third wheeling to their sappy conversations which would be torture. The kindergarten teacher more than likely was going to be a no show and he’d rather freeze out in the snow than deal with ‘Buddy’ for more than ten minutes. Daria and Margo were literally children and he didn’t exactly feel like spending the entire evening sitting alone in a corner of the room. The visitor had never been a social person, but Tatiana was familiar and tolerable. He decided to call her the next day.
”Of course I’ll come,” she squealed from the other end of the phone. He held the receiver away from his ear with a frown. Why were humans so loud as of late? “Should I bring anything in particular?”
”Misha says no gifts and I don’t require anything. Food is appreciated though.”
“You got it! But no promises on the no gifts thing,” she giggled. They worked out the exact times and details, Tatiana taking notes as he gave her directions to the house. “Fantastic! This’ll be so exciting, can’t wait to see you again Borik!” When he hung up the phone it oddly enough felt like he was human again.
***
The morning greeted them with the sound of that rickety old box truck rumbling up the driveway one final time, Luka and Yesenin stepping out into the yard. Both looked worse for wear, a bone crushing exhaustion etched into their features. Moving out had been hard on them, and the stress of getting out before the building was leveled even more so. Apparently the two had been helping their neighbors pack and escape as well, Yesenin cursing FEMA’s name as he recounted the events.
”The bastards didn’t even keep their promise,” he grumbled. “They were already tearing down the western wing when we were leaving. Fucking evil, the lot of them.”
”I hope that everyone got out safely,” was all Luka uttered, the man’s eyes struggling to stay open. Even though the two were haggard, they both thanked the homeowner earnestly, patting him on the shoulder and giving him a one armed hug as they passed.
”Promise I’ll be in better company tomorrow my good man. I feel like a dead man walking. I just need to rest my head for a bit.”
”No problem,” he assured, opening the door for them as they trudged inside. “I’ll let you both get settled.” Before he left he watched the two stand for a moment in the office doorway. The smaller man hunched in on himself while Yesenin’s hand hovered awkwardly over his shoulder. He looked torn, somber eyes glancing over his companion before letting his arm drop to his side, the two stepping off in separate directions.
***
“That one!”
”Nope. Still too tall.” The homeowner scratched at his nose, watching the girls wander between the trees, both with unrealistic expectations of what could fit in his home.
”Yo!” Margo gestured at a pine that was easily four feet taller than the visitor. “What about this one?” He shook his head, earning a dramatic groan from the teen. “God you’re so picky! We’ve been out here for hours!”
”Fifteen minutes,” he corrected. “And no, I’m not being picky. I don’t have a twelve foot tall ceiling.” Something warm pressed against his back, a weight settling on top of his head. He didn’t even react knowing immediately who it was, the pale man’s bony chin only slightly cushioned by the hermit’s winter cap.
”We could always cut a hole through the roof,” he rumbled, tugging the homeowner closer by his jacket. He grit his teeth and ignored him, he didn’t have the patience to entertain the visitor right now. Daria was mainly waddling after Margo, the snow so deep she was having trouble keeping up with her. After watching the two zig zag by them two more times the visitor sighed, turning his face so that his cheek was resting against his head.
Thank God, he noted. This felt a whole hell of a lot better without his chin digging into his scalp. He choked back a cry when the visitor’s hands dipped into his coat pocket, ice cold fingers finding his own. They were shaking ever so slightly.
”This is a lot of effort for something that will be discarded in a few weeks,” he grumbled, voice low enough the girls couldn’t hear. The homeowner hummed in acknowledgement, moving his hands so that his palms were pressed against the back of the visitor’s, interlocking their fingers as best he could.
”It’ll be up longer than that, we’ll keep it for at least a month.” The visitor’s skin was slowly warming up, the tremors easing to a stop. “Besides, this is for them,” he gestured at the girls with a nod, the two currently locked in a heated debate over yet another massive tree. “If all it takes is a tree to make them happy then I’ll gladly go through with it.”
When the pale man made an unhappy grumble he continued, rubbing his thumb along his fingers as he spoke. “I appreciate you offering to help, Boriska. I was worried how I was going to drag this thing home but now I’ve got you. Thanks.” He gently squeezed the visitor’s hands to really emphasize his words, hoping that the other was not immune to flattery. He felt him slump against him instantly, a purr already vibrating along his back. The homeowner couldn’t help a soft smile, his chronically negative thoughts slipping away as he focused on the warm sensation.
”This one! Uncle Mikhail, over here!” Daria was hopping up and down in front of the first reasonably sized tree so far, looking rather pleased with herself. Upon closer inspection it was actually quite a good match. Not too short, not too tall, and just the right amount of greenery, not a bare spot in sight.
”Nice job, Dasha,” he called, giving her a thumbs up. She was positively beaming from the praise. The teen on the other hand was still eyeing a massive pine a few paces to her left. There was no way she really thought that would fit, right? “Thank you for being reasonable,” he emphasized. Margo, realizing who he was referring to, retaliated by flipping the bird. He prayed she wasn’t teaching Daria rude hand gestures.
It only occurred to him once he pulled away from the visitor and really looked at the width of the trunk that he didn’t have a way to cut it down. The homeowner had been in such a rush to get everyone out the door he’d left the house empty handed, not even remembering a hatchet or saw.
The truth was his brain had malfunctioned after being pulled in two directions, the girls had been yelling for him on the porch to hurry up, caught up in their excitement to pick out the perfect tree and the pale man had been taking forever to get ready. After the third time knocking on the bathroom door he had pushed his way inside, ready to give the bastard what for but wasn’t expecting his yelling to be cut short by a hand grabbing his jaw and roughly pulling him forward.
”You are soooooo impatient,” the visitor had growled, his frustration bleeding into his tone. His brain had shut off at that moment, mind and body completely frozen on the spot. Worse, he couldn’t see since the lights were off and the door had closed behind him, only able to barely make out the pale man’s silhouette in the dark room. An uneasy feeling prickled across his skin, his body an odd mix of contradictions, torn between excitement and instinctual fear. He had no idea what the other was thinking or what he was planning to do with him.
The one unexpected downside that started with Daria’s arrival and was made more apparent when Margo moved in was the lack of quiet moments between the two, never really catching the other alone for more than a second or two. Then there was moving all of Yesenin and Luka’s belongings in the office. How the two managed to acquire so much after losing everything to the cataclysm he didn’t know, but it looks like they weren’t willing to part with any of it. By the time that evening came around, his eyes felt heavy, body uselessly flopping onto the mattress with no energy to spare. It wasn’t the girl’s fault or his friends, he knew this, but he couldn’t help but feel like he’d lost something.
He remembered a time where he could sleep in for as long as he’d like, tangled hopelessly between the sheets and the visitor’s limbs. Mornings spent exchanging quiet words and gentle touches, sometimes advancing into tender intimacy. Pulling his partner closer with a sigh, knees falling open when he moved to slot themselves together, their movements slow and unhurried.
Or the heated evenings that were a culmination of the incessant teasing and aggravation the two subjected the other to, both trying to see who would crack first, barreling towards the climatic finale. All the buildup was worth it the moment he found himself pinned, the visitor panting in his ear as clothes fell to the floor, sometimes they didn’t even make it to the bed.
Even outside of physical intimacy he felt like they struggled to find time for each other. Stoking the fire, feeding the animals, shoveling pathways, clearing the roof and porch of snow, laundry, excursions to town, cooking for six three times a day and putting everything back in its place after… It was a lot and a part of him was exhausted just thinking about it. Of course Boris helped out, either by aggravating the piss out of him or assisting when he felt like being sweet which was always a gamble, impossible to predict, but he wished they had more downtime to spend with his partner.
He missed those moments and for that he felt guilty, ungrateful. He wouldn’t trade Daria for the world, but it wasn’t exactly like he could hire a baby sitter and take another man out on a romantic evening in town. In public they had to be careful, watch their words and stand an acceptable distance from each other. He never realized how much that would hurt until recently, having reached for his partner’s hand instinctively before having to stop himself, a sour taste in his mouth. Their home was the only place it was okay to be together, but with the holiday coming up neither could give the other the attention the other deserved.
This was the new normal, one he just had to get used to. Though now he wondered if his sentiments were shared. Could the visitor feel it too? This longing… this frustration burning him from the inside out. Or was this anger genuine? He could wriggle out of his grip but here he was staying put because he wanted to know where this was going, always craving more of the other’s touch.
Before he could form a coherent sentence the visitor moved closer, the corner of his mouth quirking into a smirk, his teeth glinting off what little light there was. His breathing stuttered, a rush of heat flooding his face as the hand holding him squeezed him tighter.
What the pale man did next caught him completely off guard, but not in the way he would have liked. The bastard licked him straight across his face like a depraved maniac, slipping out the door with a laugh and leaving him alone in the dark sputtering, unable to form words. He was messing with him. Riling him up only to deny him what he really wanted. He wiped at his face furiously, ready to strangle the fucker.
In the end this resulted in a blind chase after the visitor thereby leaving every tool he needed in the shed behind the house. He cursed to himself, turning back the way he came.
”Alright, everyone back to the house. I’ll come back for the tree while you two warm up,” he pointed at the girls.
”Not a chance. You’ll forget where it is, old man. I’m not leaving.” Margo crossed her arms and planted her feet in front of the tree, Daria moving to her side mimicking her pose. He pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting back a fresh wave of anger. Why did everything have to be difficult?
”Fine,” he snapped. “Borya, keep an eye on them. I’ll be back in a minute.” He knew he shouldn’t get so frustrated but he couldn’t stop himself, stewing the entire trek back to his tool shed. This was his own fault, he shouldn’t let the visitor bait him so easily. By the time he arrived he was wrenching the doors open with more force than necessary, cursing as the snow fought to keep them closed. “Goddammit,” he hissed, yanking so hard the wood creaked in protest. Inside was a jumbled mess of useless machines, no doubt destroyed by the heat of the cataclysm, and rusted tools thrown haphazardly where they lay.
Yard work notoriously pissed him off. There were many occasions where he worked himself up so badly that when things would break, malfunction, or take longer than they were supposed to, it would result in the homeowner launching the tools in a blind rage across the yard, Vera often watching in amusement from the window. She always gave him hell for it later. Though his anger was not entirely related to his forgetfulness, the tree, or the girl's refusal to come inside. His emotions were all over the place lately, still reeling from a recent discovery. One that worried him more than he cared to admit.
The visitor was leaving him at night. It had started with the homeowner waking up and realizing he was alone in bed, the visitor nowhere to be found in the room. He ended up locating him in the office, curled up on the couch. He looked just how he did before they were a couple, tucked in against the cushions. He choked the panic down the first time, trying his best to not overthink things. Perhaps the pale man had just been restless that night, choosing to leave in order to spare the homeowner from his restlessness.
But then it kept happening, finding him in the most random places. Sometimes the kitchen, the bathroom, or even curled in front of the woodstove. Every night this week he confirmed that Boris snuck away only to be found the next morning asleep on his own. Waking up to his partner had been something he cherished profoundly having spent so many years in an empty bed. It hurt every time he opened his eyes.
Then he realized he struggled to find him during the day, searching for him endlessly only for him to walk through the door with the dog in tow, having been missing for hours. The behavior was abnormal and yet it continued daily. Though the visitor still reached for him, pestered him during dinner, and kissed him goodnight. So why was he leaving? He wasn’t leaving the house, that much was clear, so it wasn’t like he was breaking his promise and pursuing the vigilante.
As much as he wanted to press him he was terrified to hear the answer. A terrible voice whispered that the visitor was growing tired of him, that this was the early signs of the beginning of the end of their relationship. It was inevitable after all, the visitor was sharp minded and abhorred boredom. Meanwhile, he had to be the most uninteresting man in all of Russia.
He shook his head, begging his mind not to continue down this rabbit hole. The pain it brought was so intense it left him breathless, his throat burning as he swallowed thickly. He was overthinking things, he had to be. Boris had always protected and cared for him. He wouldn’t just leave after everything they’d gone through together.
He’s left you before.
He trusted him.
He’s withheld the truth as well.
He…loved…
No. No more. I can’t do this. Think of anything else, anything—
Just when he located the axe he heard something outside that made him pause. Was that… Daria’s voice? He poked his head out the door to see her trotting across the yard, singing to herself with a smile.
”Daria!?” She paused, eyes wide as she looked around trying and failing to locate him. He marched out of the shed towards her, panic already taking hold. “Why are you here? Where’s Margo and Boris? What happened?”
”Oh they’re right behind me uncle Mikhail, see?” She pointed to the tree line and sure enough Margo was stepping out next, her fluorescent knitted hat and yellow jacket standing out against the barren landscape. He was confused, just a bit ago they were determined to guard that little tree. Why did they suddenly change their mind? When he saw the visitor next he suddenly realized why, mouth going slack at what he was seeing.
The tree, roots and all, was being dragged through the snow by a very proud and very filthy looking visitor, dirt smeared across his entire body.
”Wha—how?”
“He pulled it outta the ground! Like this,” Daria mimed a motion similar to pulling a carrot out of the ground. Except what the visitor had slung over his shoulder was not a carrot and was instead a five foot tall tree. It shouldn’t be possible and yet the image in his mind was so vivid he could easily see him doing something as insane as this. Then there was the fact his form supported this, his skin and parka stained from head to toe with mud. The girls, now satisfied that the tree had been safely brought home, were already running off somewhere together, mentions of a ‘fort’ and ‘snowball death match’ were heard as they ran past. He realized far too late that the visitor had every intention of dragging the tree directly into the house, mud, dirt, and snow included.
The rest of the evening was spent wrestling a handsy visitor into the bathroom and cleaning puddles of pine needles and dirt off the floor. At one point the bastard nearly pulled him into the tub as well, playful mischief in his eyes. He entertained the other more than he usually would, curling into his space instead of playfully smacking him away as the pale man smothered him in wet kisses and mud, soaking in every bit of affection he could. He needed this right now, hiding his face into the visitors neck when he felt his expression falter.
He was being irrational, there were literally a thousand sensible answers to his behavior that didn’t involve him leaving him, but his thoughts were horrible, endless and dark. He hated it, hated that his brain was broken like this. He could never just enjoy something, could he? It was in his nature to take a good thing, fuck it up, and live with the consequences. Maybe if he held him closer, squeezed him tighter, he’d stay.
Fucking Hell he needed to pull himself together, stiffening when the visitor suddenly stopped laughing, his voice changing to one of concern and a hand slowly coming down to cradle his neck. He couldn’t let him see him in such a state, struggling to fight back tears of frustration and his own insipid insecurities. His escape came in the form of Daria calling for him from the hallway, slipping out of strong arms as he wiped at his face with the sleeve of his sweater. He hated that he could see the disappointment in his partner’s eyes, his gaze was too perceptive for his liking.
By the time the pale man joined them for supper he had regained some control over himself, glancing up to see his partner standing in the doorway. That odd itch in his chest was spreading through his core, growing so much more difficult to ignore. Boris was unequivocally beautiful, he couldn’t even properly describe it. He loved his eyes, his voice, his mannerisms, and his shitty little smile. He loved how he got into things he shouldn’t and how he asked for forgiveness by crawling into his lap while he was trying to read. He loved that he hummed unfamiliar tunes when he thought no one was listening and how he got irritated whenever he found a grammatical error in the morning paper. He was stubborn. He was charming. He was flawed. He was perfect. He wished he could be more for him.
Supper descended into chaos, Margo getting the bright idea to make ornaments for the tree before the table had even been properly cleared. Plates were surrounded by piles of craft paper, glue, and crayons. It was loud, messy, and required a lot of clean-up, both Luka and the hermit forced to constantly pick up scraps and wipe down the table every few minutes.
Eventually things calmed down, Luka and Yesein turning in for the night and the homeowner finding himself fiddling with an ornament of his own, calloused fingers catching on the crinkled paper.
”They should mean something,” Margo had said. “What if we made ornaments that represent ourselves?”
”I already made you though,” Daria stated as she glued an orange strip of paper across the lopsided bauble in her hand. “This is your hair,” she pointed. “And this is your sword so you can fight dragons with Lady Katina and Rurik. Oh and I gave you wings so you can fly away from danger.” She passed the paper craft over to the teen who held it gingerly between her fingers, like it was the most precious thing in the world.
”Okay, new, even better, idea. We make ornaments that represent each other.” She threw several papers his way as she started scribbling on her own. “You make something for PB of course and I’ll make one for Dasha. PB, you can make Mikhail’s. No slacking!” The visitor, until then, hadn’t been paying much attention to his surroundings, but perked up when the stack of construction paper was pushed towards him.
He stole a glance his way, nervous as to what he might find. Boris was using his arm to block his view, his brows furrowed in deep concentration as he struggled with a marker, shimmering golden glitter staining the tips of his fingers. He had no idea what to expect and knowing the visitor it was either going to be hilariously bad or something that should be displayed in an art museum. Meanwhile he was holding nothing but crumpled paper, ruined with his own clumsy hands. He had never been a creative person, in fact he was pretty sure he failed every category of art in school. Though for some reason he couldn’t put the paper down, continuing to fold and glue pieces together until he was holding something that vaguely resembled a house, a crudely drawn man standing in the window.
”Okay done!” The teen announced, slapping her ornament down with her chest puffed out in pride. “Dasha, I made you into a fearless princess who is secretly the best sorceress in the kingdom. See your magic staff there?” The two were bent over the ornament, fawning over the rhinestones glued to the wooden pop sickle stick in paper Daria’s hand.
”It’s beautiful,” she whispered, pulling the ornament close to her chest. “I love it.” Margo beamed at that, setting her ornament to stand beside Dasha’s.
”Alright you two, let’s see what you got.” The visitor sat upright and uncovered his project, a bright beaming sun with a perfect silhouette of the homeowner centered right in the middle. His heart dropped in his chest. It was stunning, pipecleaners coated in glitter gave the illusion of sun rays haloing around his head, his outline standing out vividly against the bright colors.
”A sun for my Sunbeam,” he cooed, holding the ornament out for him. He was afraid to touch it, wiping his sweaty palms off on his pants before taking it. The thing was even more impressive up close, it was apparent that the visitor must have literally been watching him for reference by the way his neck was bent down, no doubt wrestling with the disaster that was his own ornament.
Speaking of which there was no way he was going to give that to him now, cheeks already flushing at the thought of the ridicule he’d receive after. Any other day he’d roll with it, probably offer a few quips back as they bickered, but not today. He felt raw at the moment, hiding his poor attempt at arts and crafts underneath the table.
”Thank you, Borya,” he murmured, unable to look him in the eye at the moment. Margo and Daria were reaching for it next, carefully handing the piece for them to look over. For a second he thought he was going to get away with it, both girls busy chatting to each other as they pointed at the little details hidden within the visitor’s ornament.
”Okay your turn, Mikhail. Cough it up.” He froze, the silly paper house crinkling between his fingers. The visitor was looking at him expectantly and to his horror there was excitement in his eyes.
”I didn’t make anything. Sorry.”
”Yes you did! You got it under the table right now!” Clenching his jaw he contemplated crushing the ornament and calling it day. But when he looked down and saw the little visitor in the window staring back at him he couldn’t bring himself to do it, running his thumb over the uneven folds. A sadness he couldn’t explain settled over him the longer he looked at it, probably because he knew he was the only one that understood the intent behind the poor execution.
”It’s not very good,” he admitted. “Best to forget about it.” A hand settled in front of his field of vision, the visitor waiting patiently. He grimaced, realizing he wasn’t going to stop until he got what he wanted. Releasing a sigh he plopped the paper house onto the visitor’s palm, leaning closer to point at the chicken scratch drawings on the sides. “That’s supposed to be you,” he muttered, his ears burning under his gaze. At least he wasn’t laughing yet, risking a glance to see the visitor carefully turning the ornament over in his hand.
He was emboldened when he noticed how his eyes softened when he saw himself in the window, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. “And the house was meant to represent you too. Because…” he paused for a moment, feeling rather foolish, “…to me… You’re home.” That didn’t make any fucking sense and he needed to go crawl under the nearest rock to recover from this humiliation ritual. But before he could run away there were hands tugging him closer, catching a brief glimpse of blinding white teeth before his face was smushed into fabric, the air suddenly being squeezed out of him. He almost couldn’t hold back a shiver when the visitor’s voice spoke into his ear.
”Thank you Mishenka.” He felt the kiss against his head rather than saw it, his vision currently limited to the pale man’s chest. He could hear the teen shriek, ”Ew! You guys are being gross,” to which the visitor responded by administering several over exaggerated kisses to the top of his head until she couldn’t stand it any longer.
“You guys suck. Let’s go Dasha.” He heard the sound of them leaving the kitchen in a flurry as the visitor laughed. Now that they were alone he was pulling him even tighter, his lips grazing his skin as he spoke.
”I feel the same.” He froze. Boris understood what he was trying to say?
”You do?” His voice was muffled, still trapped in the others vice grip.
”Yes. I am not attached to any city or structure. If you woke up tomorrow determined to move to Barcelona, I’d follow you. All I need is you and I’m home.”
Then where are you going? You’re never here anymore… He kept the thought to himself, wrapping his arms around the visitor and appreciating his warmth. Stop overthinking this, he begged himself. Stop making this into something its not.
In the end the two eventually rejoined the girls in the hall, both were sat by the yolka making rather ornate paper chains to act as garland.
“Hey PB,” Margo called, glancing up from the links in her hands. “Here, make yourself useful and put this at the top, yeah?” She passed him a red star, the glue still drying around the edges. Like everything else it was made mostly out of paper, but the girls had figured out a way to fold it such a way that it looked three dimensional, the discarded scraps sitting on the floor by their feet. Although the yolka was nearly complete it felt like it was missing something, the homeowner cracking open the storage room and rooting through the shelves searching for a specific box. Covered in dust and hidden between a stack of photos and miscellaneous paper work he found it, peeling green paper encasing the cardboard.
”Uncle Mik?” Daria had wandered inside, looking curiously at the box in his hand. “What’s that?”
”An ornament.” It was the only decoration he had kept, chucking the rest in the garbage bin by the road. The girl shuffled closer, curiosity getting the better of her.
”Oh really? Can I see?” He lifted the lid and looked over the glass frame, a face he hadn’t seen in many years smiling back at him. He still recalled the day she surprised him with it, sliding the box across the kitchen table one evening.
“It’s our first Novy God together,” she had said, waggling her eyebrows at him. ”I want to be able to look back on it when we’re old and grey and get a good laugh out of it. Maybe by then I’ll have convinced you to grow your hair out. Darling, you’d look fetching in a ponytail.”
”Yeah and you’ll have stopped dying your hair by then,” he answered, his tone oozing with sarcasm. Vera had snorted at his response. ”You’re gonna have to give up on that fantasy because it’s not gonna happen.”
Now it was just a trinket and a memory. Gently he lifted it from the case and leaned down to show the girl.
”Wow,” she breathed, the glass catching the light filtering through the hall. “It’s beautiful. You look so young.” It was one of the few photographs where he was smiling, having not known there was a camera nearby. “Who’s that next to you?” She pointed at the woman to his right, sharp eyes scrunched up from her laughter.
”That’s Vera. She was my wife.” The girl looked up for a moment, brows knitted together in thought.
”You were married?” He nodded. “How come I never saw her?”
”You were too young to remember her before she passed. She held you once when you were a baby.” A flicker of emotions passed through Daria’s eyes at that, reaching to take the ornament from him with careful movements.
”She’s very pretty,” she murmured. “What was she like?” He was surprised for once when the words came out freely, recounting how she loved Novy God, it was her favorite holiday, and how she made it a tradition to stay up until midnight to make a wish. He almost never made it, nodding off due to the champagne she kept handing him and waking to the feeling of her lips against his temple, her laughter echoing lightly off the walls as the chimes signified the new year. If he had known how little time they would have together he would have dumped that champagne down the sink and lived in the moment.
Vera’s ornament was placed near the top, the visitor having done so once it was passed his way. Boris paused at first, taking the time to look over the photo in great detail. He seemed to do this every time he found something that held a piece of his past, curious eyes inspecting the story within. He appreciated the way he handled the bauble, like he could tell how many memories were encased in such a fragile item.
When it was finished he had to admit it was the most beautiful yolka he’d ever seen. Despite nearly every decoration being made from paper and lacking any string lights whatsoever, it was the brightest thing in the house. The visitor had placed their ornaments together and while he was still embarrassed by the sheer difference in craftsmanship between the two, it brought a sense of serenity in his mind that was a welcome relief, leaning against the visitor’s shoulder in exhaustion. Margo even took a picture with the digital camera she had packed in her duffle bag, a proud look in her eye as she looked over her work.
After they turned in for the night he shuffled closer to the visitor, trying to escape the chill that seemed to be seeping in through the window. If he held him tighter than usual he didn’t comment on it, yawning loudly before returning the action, settling the homeowner against his chest. Don’t leave this time, he begged, moving so that his face was tucked against the other’s neck. Stay with me. It took some time to quiet his thoughts but eventually his eyes slipped shut, the outside world fading around him.
He woke up to an empty bed once more.
***
A lot happened at once. Tatiana called him out of the blue and insisted he come to town at his earliest convenience and emphasized repeatedly not to bring Boris. He agreed only because he suspected it had to do with Novy God, the visitor having called and invited her to attend a few days prior.
He hardly ever saw his friends at the same time, if one was home the other was almost always out in town. Though the few times where the two ran into one another the tension was so palpable even someone as clueless as him could feel it. Luka’s smile never reached his eyes and Yesenin had lost that hopeful spark that had been growing over the past few months, replaced by a sullen quiet that permeated whatever room he was in. Luka was even worse at times, he had walked in on Luka holding his head in his hands looking almost as haunted as he did during the cataclysm. Other times he’d stand out on the porch long after the sun had gone down and watch the stars. Most of the time Luka was able to put on a brave face and push through it, spending a lot of time cooking or keeping the girls company. They both loved him dearly. Meals were awkward however, neither Yesenin or Luka spoke during them, and half the time he felt like he was walking on eggshells in his own home.
The cat had a name now, one he despised openly. Of course it had been Margo, the harbinger of chaos since she arrived. He had mentioned getting something for Anya after Daria insisted she couldn’t be left out, either a new toy for her to mangle or some treats next time they went to the store. He wasn’t opposed to including her, after all, she had valiantly tried to protect him from the looters and guarded the girls every night without fail. It did worry him how quiet she had been lately, asleep almost every time he laid eyes on her. He should probably bring it up to Boris.
Margo held up the cat to his eye level, the plump animal’s eyes unfocused and glassy as usual.
”Don’t forget Naperdish! He deserves a gift too.” He crinkled his nose at that.
”Naperdish?” She rolled her eyes as if this was the most obvious thing in the world.
”The cat, duh!” He could hear the visitor chuckling from across the room, shooting him a warning look when he heard him mutter ‘that’s perfect’.
”We are not calling him Naperdish,” he insisted, plucking the animal out of her hands and pulling him close to his chest as if that would protect him from that dreadful title. “He deserves something proper.” One preferably not involving a crude bodily function.
”Too late old man, that’s his name. Get used to it.” And to his horror the name stuck, the cat even waddling over obediently when he was called. Luka loved it, it even brought a smile to Yesenin’s face. He was the only one who was opposed to it, so he decided to drink to make himself feel better. At least the visitor had tried to console him between his fits of laughter, immune to the homeowner’s attempts to swat him away.
”I should’ve named him when I had the chance,” he groaned, downing his third beer that evening.
”Well,” the visitor cooed, folding his hands together elegantly. “I did tell you to, but you never listen to me.” He dropped his forehead against the table with a ‘bang’, knowing that the visitor was right. He’d never tell him that though.
***
Winter seemed never ending, the cold seeping into every corner of the house, snow continuing to pile up outside every day. Luka and Yesenin had brought their own ration cards so as to not ‘burden them further’, but it was still difficult to provide for so many people. The homeowner told them that he didn’t see them as such, they were his friends and because of this they were always welcome here. After everything they had gone through together, the cataclysm, caring enough to keep in touch after, and helping him unravel his own tumultuous thoughts and feelings that even he himself was hesitant to delve into? This was really the least he could do. Still he was thankful they were willing to help, food was a constant worry for him as of late.
That was why he found himself in the woods today, shotgun slung across his back and grouse snare at the ready. The visitor had wanted to come as well but after a rather heated discussion he managed to talk him into staying with the girls, arguing that they needed someone to watch over them in case someone approached the house since Luka was out in town and Yesenin had business with stand-up guy today. He wasn’t happy about it, the homeowner could tell the pale man would rather it to be the other way around, but he was slower these days, downright sluggish most mornings.
It was not like he could disappear for a few hours and return with a mangled deer carcass like he could before. He was more sensitive to the cold than the average human and lacked the strength or speed to hunt like a visitor. So it was obvious who needed to make the trip into the woods.
The day was already proving to be much better than he anticipated, three grouse currently hanging over his shoulder. Usually he would have turned back by now, already securing more than he had hoped for, but he had stumbled upon deer tracks and by the looks of it they seemed fresh. One deer could feed a lot of people, especially when prepped correctly. Even though Daria had been added to the ration card and Margo had traveled with her own, that didn’t mean they were out of the woods just yet, supplies were just as scarce as a few months ago as the world struggled to rebuild trade networks and infrastructure. Meat in particular seemed to be few and far between this winter. He may not get a chance like this again.
And so he continued on, wading over snow banks and ducking through overgrown brambles, all the while keeping an eye on the direction of the tracks and where he had come from. He had learned the hard way that it was easier to get turned around in the snow, familiar landmarks now warped or covered completely.
A twig cracked nearby, the homeowner freezing completely as his eyes darted in the direction of the sound. A large doe was rooting around in the undergrowth, snowflakes dappled across her tawny pelt. She was perfect. Plump, healthy, and young, her movements showing no sign of illness. Carefully, he slipped the shotgun off his shoulder, hands sliding into position along the stock and underside of the barrel. If he made any sound, any indication that he was here then all this effort would be wasted.
He didn’t dare move from his position even though it was less than ideal, evergreen needles partially obscuring his view. Taking another step forward would give him away, the snow crunching loud beneath his boots. This would have to do, shouldering the rifle in a careful even motion. There was a slug loaded in the first chamber, finger already applying the slightest bit of pressure. She was facing away from him, if only she would turn a bit more he’d have a decent shot through the shoulder—
The doe’s head jerked upright, body going completely rigid as her large ears perked in his direction. She had seen him, muscles drawing tight in fear. Before her hooves even left the ground he pulled the trigger, shot ringing through the dense tree line. She stumbled over herself before her legs buckled, heavy body slamming onto the frozen ground. He stayed where he was for a moment, waiting for that squirming feeling in his guts to ebb away.
Ever since the cataclysm, pulling the trigger did something to him. Breathing became impossible, his throat closing up as visions of those slain by his hand flickered through his mind. Some human, some visitor. Before those days he had only turned his muzzle towards animals, hunting was both required and a necessary part of surviving such desolate winters. His family had never once owned a car, and his father made the trip to town as little as possible. This meant he had dispatched many animals in his lifetime, playing both the executioner and the butcher.
For some reason he had thought this would make the cataclysm easier, he had killed before after all, but how foolish he had been to think this. Taking a human life was far different than killing a deer or a grouse. He remembered how distraught he had been the first time, collapsed in a pool of his own vomit as he continued to retch, dizzy and weak while the blood dripped down from the ceiling, landing on his neck.
His hair.
His hands.
The shame that came after had been hard to bear, tossing their remains out into the yard to rot in nothing but a plastic garbage bag. There was no funeral, no burial. They died without dignity or reason. That was how he learned that a sign or two did not make someone a visitor. It was more complicated than that, the decision to shoot was not a light one to make and his failures seemed to follow him whenever he pulled the trigger. Even when it was necessary, like when the body eater was bearing down on him he had still felt it, a quiet disgust within himself. He wasn’t sure if that feeling would ever go away.
Releasing a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, he shook his head, slinging the gun back over his shoulder. There was no time to lament over past mistakes, a job needed to be done. Like it or not there were people counting on him now. That is what kept him moving, pushing hard to trudge up the slope to her. Dragging her back alone was going to be a bitch without a sled but he couldn’t risk leaving her here to retrieve later. Not only were there wolves, scavengers, and bears, but who knew what else could be skulking around nowadays. He had seen monsters roam the night, staggering through the streets outside his window. The most notorious one was living in his house now, and while he lov—cared— for the pale man, he wasn’t eager to meet another like him.
He worked quickly, tying the doe’s legs to her head so he could drag her through the snow with minimal damage. It was hard work, the homeowner drawing in deep icy breaths that burned his lungs, the rope digging painfully into his shoulder and hands. Sweat was dripping into his eyes, forcing him to stop and wipe at his face just to get his bearings before continuing. It took a moment for him to realize that his footprints were not the only ones present, a smaller set alongside his own. The hermit froze, heart jolting in panic. Upon closer inspection the footprints followed his own for as far as he could see, combat boots by the looks of it. Whoever this was had been watching him for some time.
Shit. He was careless, too focused on the deer to notice anything out of the ordinary. For a moment he couldn’t move, pinned by the fear of what could be creeping within the shadows, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling as he realized he was likely being watched at this very moment. The gun had only one remaining shot, the first chamber still containing the spent shell. Just as he ejected the shell, a new cartridge balanced between his fingers, his stalker’s identity became clear, raven hair swirling around him as he stepped out from the tree line.
”Hermit,” he grumbled in greeting, his own rifle in hand.
No.
No no no.
He was supposed to be gone, miles away investigating whatever the fuck FEMA wanted him to. The rage he felt as the madman drew closer was all consuming, fighting hard to school his expression as best he could.
”So you do leave the house. How unexpected.”
”I thought FEMA needed you elsewhere.” He hadn’t meant for it to come out so accusatory, regretting it the moment the words left his mouth. Something shifted in the vigilante’s face, as if he had just unknowingly revealed something damning.
”Trying to get rid of me?” It wasn’t said as a joke.
It was a threat.
His mouth felt dry, forcing himself to hold the other’s gaze. Were his hands shaking? That would be mortifying. Swallowing down his fear he resumed loading the chamber, making a conscious effort to seem unfazed by the madman’s sudden closeness.
”I don’t care what you do. Leave, stay. It doesn’t matter to me.” The forest was quiet for a moment, like it could sense the tension bleeding into the air around them. Unexpectedly, it was the Vigilante that stepped away, propping his rifle onto his shoulder.
”I went where they said but it was a waste of time. Nothing left to pick through other than corpses and embers. Besides, radio reports claim it was your guy,“ The vigilante snapped his fingers a few times, face scrunched up as the name eluded him. “What was it? Tall fella… pale… nearly naked…” His stomach dropped, realization finally dawning on him. The vigilante had visited the quarantine camp. He was forced out of his thoughts by the madman’s cheer, his beady eyes glittering in glee. He hated that look on him.
“Ah! The pale visitor! That’s the one.” He chuckled to himself, yellowed teeth on display. “Once I realized he was behind this, I turned back around. After all, I saw him out this way not long after the camp was destroyed. Thooough,” he drew out the word as he paced, moving his hand as he spoke. “That night he was carrying something, a kid by the looks of it. I thought I was imagining things at the time but I know what I saw.” He glanced back at him with hollow eyes. “Now… you wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
”No,” he grunted. “I haven’t seen him since the cataclysm.”
”And the kid? Haven’t seen them either?” He shook his head, repositioning the rope in his hands.
“Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.” He pushed off, intending to end the conversation there. While he hoped this would be the last of the vigilante he had to accept the very real possibility that he was here to stay. Still, if he managed not to raise any suspicion and walk away from whatever the hell this was unscathed, he would consider this a win, this was a big deal considering who he was dealing with.
Just when he took a few more steps forward the other paused, tilting his head to look at something by the homeowner’s feet. He bent down to pick whatever it was up, turning the item over in his fingers. It was his discarded shotgun shell.
”Haven’t seen this brand in years,” he noted with flat interest. “Military edition. Where’d you find these?” He stiffened, instinctively on guard. Why did it matter?
”My father. He always kept the house stocked with them.” He rolled the shell between two fingers, his frown deepening the longer he looked at it. He tossed it up in the air as he spoke, catching it effortlessly without looking.
”Did you know I found my brother recently?” A horrible feeling gripped him, too stunned to move. The vigilante’s demeanor had shifted, dark eyes regarding him with even coolness. There was zero emotion in those depths.
His neighbor… he didn’t want to know how he suffered or where he found his body, he didn’t want that mental image—
“He’s here,” he murmured, pointing deeper into the woods. “I couldn’t believe what them visitors did to him, gotta be the worst case of infection I’ve ever seen. His corpse is unreal, twenty feet long and missing most of his head. Never woulda recognized him if he hadn’t been wearing his jacket.” He whipped around suddenly, holding up the spent slug. “Now, care to tell me why he’s surrounded by your shotgun shells?”
…What?
The weight of his words slowly sank in, his vision growing dim.
The body eater… was his neighbor.
He was going to throw up, dropping the rope to clutch at his face, his stomach rolling painfully as he fought the instinct to wretch. No. No it couldn’t have been him, it couldn’t…
…
It could have. He died. Daria watched him get back up. The fire. Oh God, he killed him, he killed his friend.
His head snapped to the side, the homeowner not even realizing he had been struck until the stinging started. Why were his cheeks wet? Men didn’t cry, he couldn’t—
“My God pull yourself together,” the vigilante spat in disgust, yanking him forward by his collar. “Stop your blubbering and start talking!” He couldn’t feel his extremities, everything had gone numb. He wasn’t sure how he managed to speak, his voice sounding foreign to his ears.
”He…attacked me… Didn’t know it was him…”
Wait. He was wearing his jacket. The vigilante would only know that if he… He looked at the body. He looked at the body and didn’t lose his mind. The homeowner bit his lip so hard it bled, the iron taste filling his mouth as his vision grew blurry.
The visitor lied to him. He told him not to look, that even if it was dead that seeing it would only cause him pain. The realization struck him hard, his breath wheezing through his teeth.
Oh.
He knew. The identity of the body eater had been known from the start. The visitor chose to hide it from him.
”You really didn’t know it was him, huh?” He could barely register that the other man was laughing, dirty fingers digging into his shoulder. “Listen kid, I’m proud of ya. If my brother had half the guts you did then maybe he’d be standing here with us now. His weakness made a real mess out of everything, now you and I are left to pick up the pieces. Shame I wasn’t the one to pull the trigger.” The madman stepped over the deer, pocketing the shotgun shell as he walked. “Good work hermit. We’ll catch that pale freak soon, I can feel it. Until next time.”
The only way he could explain how he got home was that his body was on autopilot, the rope no longer hurt as he dragged the carcass behind him. His eyes glanced up towards the front steps, Luka waiting on the porch with a cigarette. He couldn’t understand what he was saying, all he knew was he didn’t want to go inside right now. He didn’t want to see Boris. Just how much was the visitor keeping from him? There were voices around him, he tuned them out. A hand came down on his shoulder forcing him to stop but once he realized who it was he yanked himself away, whirling on the visitor with a snarl.
”Don’t touch me!” It gave him some perverse satisfaction to see the pale man recoil instantly, withdrawing the hand as if it had been burnt.
“Mishenka what is—“
”No,” he hissed, jabbing his finger in his direction. “You don’t get to call me that now. You knew. You’re nothing but a liar.” His brows furrowed as he looked down at him, the visitor looking completely lost. Oh it was too late to look concerned now, he wasn’t falling for the dumb puppy dog eyes.
”What are you talking about?”
”The fucking body eater, Boris!” The way the visitor’s expression faltered told him everything he needed to know. “When were you planning on telling me, huh? That I fucking murdered my neighbor!”
”It wasn’t him anymore,” he tried to jusitfy. “Body eaters are too far gone—“
”It doesn’t matter Boris!” His throat felt raw. “You knew and you kept that from me.” He rubbed at his face, fingers trembling against his skin. “You can’t keep doing that,” his voice broke, unable to look at the other any longer. “You keep me in the dark when it suits you. That still makes you a liar! How can I trust you when you do shit like this. I can’t take it… I can’t.”
“No, let me explain—“ The visitor tried to lunge for him when he turned but he smacked his hand away.
“Don’t,” he warned, moving further from him but that didn’t stop him from speaking.
“Misha. You are correct, I didn’t want you to know. I never planned to tell you because I knew how much it would hurt you. I thought I was protecting you. I am sorry.” He winced at his words, shaking his head in an attempt to clear the turmoil in his mind.
“Just stay away from me.” He wasn’t in the right frame of mind to be having this conversation right now, yanking the rope over his shoulder and leaving the visitor alone to sit with his thoughts. He didn’t look back, only pausing once he made it to the shed to the back of the property.
Perhaps it wasn’t a smart move to be handling a knife in the midst of a mental breakdown but he sure as hell wasn’t facing anyone in the house right now. The good thing about hunting your entire life was that you could gut an animal with your eyes closed, bloody hands working quickly to discard the entrails in the snow. He needed to keep his hands busy right now, otherwise he would succumb to the tight feeling in his chest and he didn’t want to think about what he would do in that state.
He hadn’t the slightest idea how long he had been out there, only that the sky was getting darker and the stack of processed meat was growing to his right. The anger, the despair? It had faded into a suffocating despondency, the only feeling left was the crick in his neck from looking at his hands for so long. Footsteps came crunching across the yard, the homeowner looking up from the mess of feathers in his lap to see Luka approaching. He looked away but stayed where he was. He supposed Luka was his preferred choice of company at the moment.
”You okay?” He pursed his lips, yanking another handful of feathers out to let them fall to the ground. Luka accepted that as an answer, taking a seat on the stump across the way. “I’m here if you need to talk.” The best thing about Luka was that he never rushed him, just sat there patiently as he plucked feathers in silence.
”How much did you hear?” The other man rubbed his hands together for warmth, he had to be freezing in what he was wearing right now.
”Not much,” he admitted. “I got Boris when you stumbled into the yard and weren’t responding to me, I was worried you were hurt. But then the fight broke out. All I could hear was you yelling from outside but I don’t know what it was about. Your boy has been pacing through the house the last few hours about ready to come out of his skin.” He frowned. Good. The visitor deserved to be one in emotional turmoil for once.
”And the girls,” he muttered. “What do they know?”
”Nothing, other than that you two got into a fight. Daria wanted to come out and see you, she’s been worried sick. I told her I would come see you instead.” His shoulders slumped forward in relief. The last thing he wanted her to overhear was that he killed her father.
”Misha,” the usually cheerful man sat forward, concern etched into the lines of his face. “Please talk to me. It hurts to see you like this.” He stared at his lap, collecting his thoughts before he spoke. Luka couldn’t know the full truth, but he could ask him for advice.
”What would you do if someone kept the truth from you because they knew it would only hurt you?”
”That’s… a really tricky question,” the other confessed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “The appropriate answer depends on the person and the circumstance, which I unfortunately cannot pass judgment on because I do not know the details of what’s happening between you two and I am not you.” He frowned. Figures. At least Luka tried.
He resumed cleaning the bird, waiting for his friend to get up and return to the house, though he assumed prematurely that Luka was done speaking. “Is this a fidelity issue?”
”No.” He was almost offended at the question.
”That’s a relief. Got a little worried there for a second.” A few seconds ticked by before he asked, “Do you feel better knowing what you do now?”
”No,” he grit out. “I wish I could forget and go back to how I was before.” He rubbed at his face with his sleeve, the knife slipping through his fingers and settling in the snow. “I’m so mad at him for keeping this from me but at the same time I wish I had never learned the truth. Doesn’t make sense, does it? The worst part is I understand why he did it, but now I’m worried he’s keeping even more shit from me. How can I trust him?”
”You need to sit down and talk to him.” His tone was firm leaving no room for debate. “This is something that can only be resolved between the two of you.” Luka sat forward, leaning his elbows on his knees. “And I need you to understand that if you look inside yourself and realize that you don’t want to do that, then the best option for the both of you is to end this now. Without trust, there is no love.” He stiffened, tired eyes locking onto the other man.
”I don’t want this to end.” He should have been ashamed at how weak his voice had been admitting that but he couldn’t muster the energy to care.
”Then you’ll have a serious discussion. Tonight.” He nodded but didn’t look up, too defeated at the moment to care. “Hey.” Luka stepped closer, placing a hand gingerly on his shoulder. It left him with a sour taste in his mouth, like he was a timid animal that needed consoling. “Would it help if you two had the house to yourselves? Yesenin and I can take the girls to the fair tonight, they set up a bunch of rides and games for the kids in the center of town. I think they’re trying to keep their spirits up after everything that’s happened.” He thought about it for a moment before nodding. It would be best considering the nature of their conversation. He couldn’t risk anyone overhearing the body eater’s true identity. “Then leave it to us. Good luck. I know I don’t have all the details but see how much you guys care about each other. I know he’ll listen.” He was probably listening right now, a brief pulse of anger flaring up before dying back down. He was tired of being angry.
Luka coaxed him back into the house, the homeowner shuffling into the bathroom to clean himself up as his friends promised to put everything away into the freezer. He watched the blood from his hands circle the drain, another wave of nausea clawing up the back of his throat when he thought about whose blood he could add to the list.
When the house fell silent and he knew it was just the two of them he exited the bathroom, not shocked in the slightest to find the visitor blocking his view the moment the door opened.
”Misha—“ He held a hand up, the visitor’s mouth snapping shut at the action.
”Not here. We’ll talk in the bedroom. I wanna lay down.” He ended up just sitting on the bed, the visitor hovering awkwardly in the doorway. His eyes felt heavy, he dreaded this conversation in more ways than one. “I know why you did it,” he started, his tone so deadpan it nearly startled him. He hadn’t spoken to him in this way in a long time. “It doesn’t excuse your actions though. I don’t want you keeping things from me because you think I can’t handle it.” There was a little more heat to that statement than he intended, spitting out the words with obvious resentment.
”No, that’s not why.” The pale man took a step forward, his fingers twitching at his sides. “You are the strongest man I have ever known, Misha. I mean that.” He wished he could believe him, ducking his head at the words, fighting another wave of irritation. It hurt to hear right now when he felt so weak. “I knew you could endure the truth, but I didn’t want you to have to. I did not keep this from you out of malice, though I realize it may seem like it to you. You cared for him, I knew this, so what good would it have done to tell you how horrible his end was?”
”That’s not for you to decide,” He snapped, shooting him a quick glare before dropping his gaze. He worried that if he looked at him for too long he’d cave and forgive him. “I should have been told from the start. Yes, it would have hurt, but finding out now is so much worse. Now I have to live with what I’ve done while his daughter sleeps in the next room over.”
”You are mistaken if you believe you killed that man,” the visitor insisted, voice lowering an octave. “He was gone the moment those flames engulfed the house. What you slayed that night was only a lingering shadow, a walking corpse.” They sat in thick silence for a while, the homeowner stewing in his discomfort. He knew he was right, his neighbor was a kind man and what he sensed from that creature was nothing short of feral desperation. The betrayal and guilt still lingered, sowing doubt in his heart.
”It’s more than just the body eater,” he admitted. “You realize this isn’t the only time you’ve done this?” A strange noise bubbled up from the pale man’s throat, the sound laced with pain. He squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn’t be tempted, he needed the truth. “Remember when you ran off without telling me where you were going? One time’s a chance but two’s a pattern, Boris.”
”I deeply regret how I handled my departure,” the words were rushed, spoken in frenzied desperation. “I swore to never leave your side again. If there is any question regarding my past decisions I will answer it. Whatever you want to know I will tell you,” he pleaded, taking two more steps into the room. His next words embarrassed him to his very core, spoken before he had a chance to stop himself.
”Then why do you leave me every night?” The visitor paused, the shaking in his fingers suddenly diminishing. The noise he made next had him glancing up by accident. He almost looked relieved.
“Sunbeam.” He glared at the tenderness in his tone.
“Don’t mock me,” he growled, bristling under his gaze. “And don’t you dare try to say it's all in my head because it’s not, I kept track.”
”No, you misunderstand. I will show you what I have been up to.” The visitor sidled over to the nightstand, pulling open the drawer and removing a well worn journal before placing the heavy book on the hermit’s lap. “I have been working on a solution to our little ‘problem’. Through this I discovered another way to recover a fraction of my strength.” He flipped the pages, stopping on a set of neatly drawn diagrams and pictures of muscle, clearly done as a representation of himself.
“The vigilante’s visit I admit disturbed me, I wanted to see if there was any way I could replicate the results of the Heat Chamber to protect you from him. You recall your theory that the cold is a direct cause of my illness? By that same line of thinking I thought I could run some tests, see how well my body responded to the opposite. The results were mixed, I require too much heat in order to make a difference and the withdrawal symptoms are severe.” He pointed to a set of notes that mentioned dipping his hands in boiling water and pressing against the metal of the wood stove. His stomach turned at the notes, some of these ‘tests’ resulted in injuries. It got worse the further he read.
”I am no use to you if I collapse at the first gust of frigid air, but I made a discovery that changed everything.” He flipped the page, a new set of diagrams scribbled hastily across the paper. “Strong emotions are enough to incite a reaction. With concentration I have achieved great results, all that’s required is a little imagination and repetition. At first I could only hold it for a few seconds but over time I have managed five minutes or more. In four hours I can typically induce two to three reactions. More than that and I fall unconscious instantaneously, which is less than desirable.”
Now he really was going to be sick. Boris was literally putting himself through mental anguish every night in order to scrounge up enough strength to protect him should the time come. The descriptions were vivid, the pale man taking extreme care to diligently record the exact scenarios he imagined in order to trigger a reaction, gauging the amount of time it lasted and how powerful the response. Almost all of the scenarios involved him in some way. His worst nightmare was losing him.
”I don’t want you doing this anymore.” He meant it, the thought of the visitor torturing himself as he slept in the other room was truly horrific, there had to be another way. Though in his typical stubborn fashion he refused, stating it was a necessary precaution. Before he could continue to argue his case he pointed at a schedule, mainly to get him to stop describing the process. If he continued he really would lose his lunch. “Why did you choose to do this at night?”
“To minimize distraction and avoid disturbing your sleep pattern. I know you have been oh so busy with your guests and holiday plans, I in no way want to take away from that. Though I never intended to fall asleep during these excursions, it was an unforeseen consequence. The one drawback to this method is the longer the reaction the greater the cost. I have only just recently discovered my limits, I was pushing myself too hard before. That’s why you kept finding me in strange places, the exhaustion sets in so quickly I rarely even have enough time to sit down. I have not yet managed to remain awake long enough to return to bed. As far as what I have been up to during the day, I have been busy training Anya. Your friend Luka can attest to that if you doubt me.” Boris was training the dog? To do what? If it was anything like his nighttime ritual he was going to blow a gasket.
”What kind of training?”
”Circling has been a big focus as of late.” He said this as if the homeowner should know what that meant. When he was met with a vacant stare he explained, “It is a technique where the dog skirts around a target as quietly as possible and strikes from behind. It is useful in both disarming and distracting an opponent long enough for you, the handler, to attack from the front. It has been trickier to master than expected but surprisingly Luka acting as the decoy has been quite helpful for her. Now if I can eliminate spoken cues completely…” He stopped him, realizing what he just said.
”Luka assists with this? Why?” The visitor shrugged, tilting his head as he spoke.
”I believe he is bored. I did not ask him to join but to my annoyance he kept inviting himself. Might as well put him to use.”
So the visitor wasn’t avoiding him. He was putting more thought towards protecting the house than he was. His silence must have been interpreted as anger, the homeowner jumping when he realized the visitor was bent over him now, nuzzling hesitantly into the side of his face with a soft trill, almost as though he expected to be pushed away.
”Mishenka,” he pleaded, his hands inching closer to his own. “I never meant to deceive you, I only want to protect you. Every decision I make is with you in mind, there should never be a moment where you doubt that. You are so precious to me, I find it difficult to stand by and watch from afar. All I have ever wanted is to be by your side, please tell me what to do to make this right. I need you.” His fingers twitched forwards, the desire to feel the other’s cool touch was hard to ignore.
”Don’t keep things from me anymore. Even if you know I won’t like what I hear.” The visitor nodded, pressing in even closer. He was struggling to stay upright, the pale man’s weight pushing him to one side, the taller practically curling into him. Suddenly it hit him how this looked, face flushing crimson. The visitor was submitting to him.
”I will tell you everything you wish to know,” he breathed, pressing a gentle kiss on the side of his neck. He felt all the blood in his body rush down south, unable to tear his eyes away from the scene in front of him. In all their time together the visitor had unconsciously fallen into a leading role in their relationship, especially during their more… intimate moments. He hadn’t minded before, willfully allowing the visitor to take the reins. Boris was more experienced and the hermit had definitely been out of practice. In a way giving up control had been freeing, his chaotic mind blissfully clear until his sole focus was on the pleasure his partner drew from him. But now, seeing him stooped in front of him like this, it was doing something strange to his brain. Shit, he was getting hard. How long had it been since they—
The pale man’s voice interrupted his thoughts, an urgentness to his tone that was building beneath the surface. “But can you tell me something in return?” He swallowed hard and nodded, trying and failing to ignore the fingers dipping underneath his shirt. “I want to know what you were thinking,” he withdrew, dark eyes analyzing his own. “When you saw I was not here in bed with you, what did you think I was doing? Surely my faithfulness was not being called into question?” He cringed, all his arousal morphing to shame and embarrassment. What was the visitor hoping to hear? That he was jealous? Lonely? No, the answer was so much more pathetic than that.
”I thought you lost interest,” he spoke, voice barely above a whisper. “It made the most sense.” That was not what the visitor expected to hear judging but the way his face fell, brows drawing together suddenly. He didn’t get a chance to respond, his back hitting the mattress with a thud as the bed dipped under the visitor’s weight, climbing to hover over the homeowner with burning eyes.
”No,” he growled, tugging at his clothes. “That won’t do. My precious human, please allow me to make my interest clear.” He found himself desperately needing that, craving comfort in the form of intimacy, surrendering himself willingly as long as those hands tugged him closer and cradled his aching mind and body.
“I’m still mad at you,” he croaked, hands coming up behind the visitor’s neck to pull him closer. “But I need you right now.” The admission was true, clawing at rippling muscle as they barreled towards a reunion long overdue, nearly weeping when he felt the visitor’s hands splay across his skin, his lips sealing over his own. The loudness of his own thoughts was finally fading, pleasure taking the forefront as his senses were overloaded with loving touches, searing flesh, and teeth tugging at his sensitive skin. He keened when he felt the other sinking slowly into him, hooking a leg round to pull him completely flush. He needed to feel wanted, to feel loved, even though the word both frightened and taunted him.
Though they had done this many times before, the pale man made sure to wait dutifully for his breathing to even out, idly stroking his face with a thumb as he panted, fingernails digging into his shoulders. “Mishenka,” he purred, lazily kissing a trail up the side of his face. “Let me show you how much you mean to me.” He groaned, barely registering the other’s words, the visitor having pushed his knees up and further apart. He hoped he drew this out, he didn’t want this to end just yet. Fingers traced over his lips, slowly mapping out every tiny detail between every exhale. “Let me show you how much I love you.”
It was like being dropped in an ice bath, physically recoiling from the word.
”Don’t say that,” he hissed, voice coming out in broken heaves. “Don’t you fucking say that unless you mean it.” He was shaking now, heart rolling painfully in his chest. That word, he used it so freely— The hermit struggled to breathe, vision growing dim at the edges. Boris didn’t mean it like that, he couldn’t—
The visitor’s forehead knocked against his own, the homeowner hating how small and disgusting he felt at the moment, blinking back at the visitor with blurry eyes. How could he even bear to look at him right now? Falling to pieces over a single word, but it was a word he wanted to hear him say again, and again, and again, needing it more than anything. That strange feeling in his core was bursting at the seams, its warmth threatening to consume him completely but kept in check by that terrible fear that it was a perfunctory remark. People often said things they didn’t mean in the heat of the moment. It wouldn’t be the first time this happened to him.
His grip tightened on the other, throat burning as he fought to keep his composure. He was stronger than this, he didn’t need to hear it again—
“Shhh Mishenka, quiet that silly mind of yours.” He was cradling his face between both hands, looking down at him with unadulterated reverence and adoration. “I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time.” Shit. He turned his head away, throwing an arm over his face. He didn’t want the other to see how his expression crumpled completely. The visitor didn’t let him hide, tugging his arm away to kiss at the dampness on his cheeks. He wasn’t crying. He never cried. “Misha,” he sang so sweetly, dipping down to nip at his ear. “I love you so much. So precious. My partner, my love.” He couldn’t take it, choking back a sob as he fisted the sheets, rolling his hips down hard.
”Show me,” he demanded, a fire burning in his eyes. “Prove to me you mean it.”
The visitor didn’t let him escape that night, pinning him down with an arm bent behind his back, making sure to take the time to fervently describe just how much he loved him, driving the point home with each frantic thrust.
***
In the early hours of the morning the visitor stirred, an arm laying across his chest. His human was fast asleep, one leg hanging haphazardly off the side of the bed. The sight brought him immense relief, shuffling closer to hold him properly. Yesterday had been Hell on his nerves, those hours spent pacing the house had been some of the longest in his life.
Admittedly when his human had pushed him away he had been distraught, for once feeling utterly and completely lost. He had been unsure how to proceed, he couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. He had wanted so badly to go to him even after being told to leave, but he knew the hermit well. If he had disobeyed and overstepped then he would never have forgiven him.
Yesenin had been the first to try and talk with him after their argument, which he pointedly ignored. He was too busy trying to control himself, his fear of losing Misha had wreaked havoc on his body, accidentally tearing the kitchen door off its hinges in his distress. He was going to have to answer for that when the human awoke.
Luka had tried as well but at least he had the forethought to try his luck with the hermit when he realized he wasn’t getting anywhere with him. He was appreciative of the man’s help in the end, his advice and willingness to allow them a moment of privacy had led to a deeper understanding between them.
The body eater’s identity had been a secret he had planned to take to the grave, part of him deeply resented that he didn’t get to do so. The truth sometimes wasn’t worth it, Misha certainly wasn’t better off knowing it now, but he was a visitor of his word and had meant what he said. Should Misha ask, regardless of the question, he will provide the answer.
Had he known that his nightly experiments would lead to such a misunderstanding he would have scheduled his tests after Anya’s training sessions. He hadn’t even meant to intentionally keep them secret, if the human had asked what he was doing he would have given the information freely. It was hard for the visitor to wrap his head around Misha’s thought process, the man truly thought so little of himself. He was fascinating, hard headed and ill tempered, it riled him up in the best ways. The way he spoke to the madman through the door? Hell, he wanted him to use that tone of voice on him! He loved when he was gentle, he lost his mind when he was rough. How could he ever lose interest in this man?
He also hadn’t expected the human to react so strongly when he expressed what he thought had been obvious for quite some time, though he would be lying if he said he hadn’t enjoyed it. His tears had aroused him more than he could say, part of the reason he was so eager to fuck even more out of him until he was reduced to a leaking mess. Despite the human’s obvious refusal to say it in return he did not hold it against him, his actions spoke the truth in a way that no words were needed. Judging by his strange reaction he suspected it would take quite some time before he was comfortable saying it back, as much as he’d like to hear it from his human. The visitor didn’t mind waiting though, he’d wait for however long it took. If that day never came then he would learn to live with the disappointment.
His human was adorable, he cherished every moment spent with him. He watched him softly as he snored, his neck sporting a rather beautiful bruise courtesy of himself. Though he missed his hair, running his fingers over what little remained. Maybe if he tossed the clippers into the woods he would grow it back out. When his eyes finally cracked open he saw just how much his human truly missed him, squinting blearily at him for a moment before registering he was actually there, the way the corners of his eyes crinkled with a smile.
”Morning,” he slurred, voice still heavy with sleep. A light shined in his gaze that hadn't been there before. From now on the hermit wouldn’t have to worry about waking up to an empty bed, the visitor would ensure it.
The morning was spent quietly conversing with each other, the human admitting that the vigilante was the one to reveal the truth to him, having cornered him that afternoon in the woods. There was a quiet sadness in the way he spoke about it, he could tell he still blamed himself for his neighbor’s demise. He listened as he talked, anger mounting under the surface. The fact that the self appointed ‘vigilante’ had approached his human not once, but twice was unacceptable. It solidified in his mind that he was doing the right thing training Anya. Still, he prayed it wouldn’t come to that.
The entire house breathed a sigh of relief when it was clear the two had worked something out, both Luka and Yesenin looking much more at ease than they had yesterday. The girls even made a comment, Margo saying something along the lines of ‘they weren’t allowed to get divorced’ and that she already came from a broken home, she didn’t need to relive that again. After breakfast he began writing up a new training schedule, which Misha wasn’t thrilled about but allowed in the end. Unfortunately until the madman was no longer a threat to their home, these precautions were a necessary evil.
Luka really had taken an interest in Anya’s training as of late. It had started one morning where he was going over the basics, first focusing on engaging a combatant head on, then switching to circling behind. She was slowly catching on to what he wanted from her, quietly weaving her way around as he motioned where he needed her to go. The signals were far too obvious but he knew that with practice he could alter them to be more subtle. By the time he felt confident enough to tweak his hand movements he was called back in, having spent hours out in the yard. It was the recently not so cheerful man who had been waiting for him on the porch, a cigarette between his fingers.
”I didn’t know you trained dogs, Borya.” He nodded to placate him but his mind had been elsewhere, thoughts already going over the training plan for the next day. Luka had leaned further over the railing, a faraway look in his eye. “I don’t know what you two are practicing but it’s amazing to watch.”
“Home defense,” he’d responded. “Misha and Dasha’s safety is top priority.”
After that more often than not Luka came out to watch them train. He mostly ignored the other but he knew why he was out in the cold instead of basking by the fire inside. Sometimes stepping away from the source of your yearning brought temporary relief and it was more than obvious how dysfunctional the two had become now. A conversation needed to be had, but the visitor had more important things to worry about than two silly humans at the moment. Besides, he already knew how to fix them, he just needed a little more time to execute his plan.
Anya was getting so good at circling and striking with just the faintest of hand movements he was starting to feel better about his chances against the vigilante. If he threatened his human Anya could slip around and immobilize him by latching onto his arm, hopefully giving enough time to disarm him. If FEMA was called in he was half tempted to suggest abandoning the house entirely and starting over. Maybe they could start a farm in the countryside together or live in a solitary cabin at the top of a mountain away from everyone.
Today Luka had offered to go with him into town to pick up a few things for Anya, the visitor pausing to plant an exaggerated kiss on his human’s cheek before he left just to hear the teen scream at him from the other side of the room.
”Oh, heading out already?” He admired how the warm firelight accentuated the vivid green depths within his eyes.
”Yes. We may be gone for a few hours, love. I’ll probably run Anya through a few exercises while we’re out.” He didn’t miss how the human ducked his head at the new endearment but he knew by the way his heartbeat stuttered in response that he liked it.
”That’s okay, I promised I’d visit Tanya today.” Oh really? The visitor’s interest was piqued, suddenly wondering why the homeowner was heading in her direction. The hermit held up a finger before he even opened his mouth. “Before you ask, just know she called me and said you couldn’t come. These are her orders, not mine. And no, I don’t know what she wants.” How disappointing. He withdrew with a frown, the human’s quiet laughter filling the foyer. He supposed he’d find out what it was about in the evening.
All in all, the day was considered a success, the visitor managing to secure a bag of treats for training and a few props. He needed to try and teach Anya to go for whichever arm was holding the weapon, and for that he needed a little help. Luka was pretty good as a decoy, his thick jacket the perfect material for practice attacks and he never reacted in fear, remaining calm throughout the entire process. Still, he made sure to call Anya off the moment she landed a successful bite and hold in order to prevent any unplanned injuries.
Luka called it quits far earlier than he did, wishing him well and saying that he’d see him later at dinner. The visitor wandered through the busy streets, wanting to see how well the dog handled noise and distraction before he did the same. Her performance was excellent other than a brief slip up where she got distracted by a man walking by with a sandwich in his hand.
By the time he was satisfied with his work he wondered if his human was still at Tanya’s, half tempted to drop by on the way home before remembering he wasn’t supposed to. He crinkled his nose, kicking the built up snow off the soles of his boots. If he were to guess she was running a gift idea by his partner. Funny thing was he didn’t want anything, he had Anya and he had Misha. What else was there?
Stepping off the bus he could see smoke rising in the distance, no doubt coming from the chimney of their little home. He’d grown fond of the smell of the wood stove, it always carried the promise of warmth. Anya was glad to be home, shaking herself furiously before trotting off towards the kitchen, more than likely off to go take a power nap. She slept more often now that her days consisted of more than lounging around the house. He hung his jacket on the coat rack, hoping that Misha had made it home before him.
“Misha?” He called, smiling when he heard him shuffling around.
”Yeah?” He followed his voice, tugging off his scarf as he went.
”So tell me what Tanya wanted. I’ll feign surprise later.” The visitor was morbidly curious about what his old coworker was planning, hoping that he could press the human for details if he was sweet enough. Rounding the corner he caught sight of the hermit but froze suddenly, noticing the furniture had changed while he was gone, eyes settling on something he never thought he’d see in his home again.
There, pressed against the wall outside their bedroom, was an antique upright piano.