Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Valentines day, 2021. The midst of a pandemic has hit; freedom has only just come back, and you are wondering what your shy boyfriend Mathew has in mind.

If you are honest, part of you is not really expecting much. Alfred could get big gifts and plenty of sweeties. Kiku could get beautiful trinkets. Francis could go for ease with candlelit dinners and the same with Feli. But... your boyfriend?

Well, it took him several months just to ask you out. Almost a year even! And when he did, you had to complete most of the question for him.

So, there he burst through your apartment door. Blue hoodie on, dirty blonde hair a little messy. "Ah, y/n, I am so sorry I am late. I got held up with-" You stared at him intently, watching that look of horror on his face. "Did someone think you were Alfred again?" He did not speak. "Was it Cuba?" He shook his head frantically. "No... Ivan sat on me in the meeting again..."

You sighed loudly. "Damnit... you need to stick up for yourself more!" He looked down shyly. "Damnit I do! I'm Canada!" You only shook your head, pointing at his scuffled leg; the trouser cut a little.

"What happened?" "I fell when I was running from Ivan... that guy is scary." You ushered him to a seat, forcing him to sit and reveal his wound. Sighing, you collect some cotton and antiseptic liquid.

Pouring it onto his wound, he winced. "M-maple leaf!" You tut, rolling your eyes as tears form in the corner of his.

"C'mon... its valentines..." you smirk, "what do you have planned for me?" "W-well..."

~~~~

You held his hand lightly; cold digits intertwined with yours. "This is..." your voice trailed as you look up at the shop. A place to come and build your own teddy.

"Oh god," he panicked, smacking his hand out of yours, "you hate it?" You snatched his hand back, catching his big eyes staring back at yours; watching his glasses slowly slide down his nose- pushing them back up for him. "No, I love it."

Hand in hand, you walk into the establishment. Bright pastel colours blinding you both, and a friendly woman coming to greet you both. "Hello you two. Looking to make your own forever friend?" You nod awkwardly. "This way!"

She led you first to pick out a fluffy teddy skin. You chose a caramel brown bear shape. Then to the next set, where the woman helped you stick a hose into the teddy, slowly filling it with stuffing that flew around in a whirlwind of movement within this machine.

Lastly, she stitched your bear up for you, but you were busy looking around to see where on earth Mathew had gone. He just seemed to vanish, and you hoped he was not trapped against the wall- too shy to ask someone to move for him.

Bear complete, you admired the brown critter. Smiling at the heart patched on the front, smiling wider as you chose a cute outfit for the bear. A pink hoodie and bow for its left ear.

You wandered to the counter, shocked to hear the woman speak. "Oh, your companion paid your bill. He is waiting outside I think."

You wander outside, gasping.

There, sat Mathew. In his hand, a set of love heart balloons. In the other, a giant bear. Its skin was beige, like his, and fluffy! It had his round rimmed glasses, and a red checked shirt like he usually wore. A maple leaf on its heart.

"O.M.G Matty?!" "I... I made it for you... It... happy valentines!" He shoved it in your face, beet red and embarrassed. "Is this you?" You ask joyfully. "Yes... I j-just thought, y'know..." he couldn't even speak, stuttering, broken off when you kiss him cheekily.

Taking his hand, you began dragging him back to your apartment. He kept rubbing the back of his neck, shy and clearly happy you enjoyed his gift.

Chapter Text

The 1920s was a great time to be alive for some, yourself included. Dance music came to dominate all forms of popular music by the late 1920s. Dance clubs across the U.S. sponsored dance contests, where dancers invented, tried, and competed with new moves. The most popular dances throughout the decade were the foxtrot and waltz.

You were a popular singer that performed at one of the ol’ places up in the centre of town. And there, you had your Allen. Your fiery boy that would cut up any man just for looking at ya’.

‘I wanna stop all this Al, I wanna settle down. Start us a family of our own.’ You had said to your partner with innocent eyes.

‘Baby-girl, honestly, you don’t believe I would betray your wish now, eh?’ He had stuffed the usual cigar past his lips, grinning at you as you watched him sharpen his suit, stepping out the door with a subtle wink.

With dreams of your own- land, a family maybe, self sufficient happiness- Allen was the man you wanted to end your days on this damned world with. But still, he was so hellbent in hanging out with the lads of the town.

Yeah, you scowled. You’d seen his sorry ass drinking up with that ol’ blonde Canadian boy. The one with the unkept stubble, those big suspicious shades to conceal his dark gaze. Both of em’ hitting the town, reeking of beer and tobacco, always returning with a buck or two more than they’d left with.

And, here, in your humble city of sin, Allen would wind up with the most unlikely people. That Asian man covered in that tattoos, his crisp suit white and clean. The big intimidating man with the thick Russian accent. All of them, crooks.

Sighing, you held your breath as you pass through the clouds of tobacco smoke and enter the shack. Rowdy men grinning at you from their seats, smirking and raising their glass a little at your figure concealed by a big expensive furry coat. Rolling your eyes at all of them, you entered your dressing room with a scowl.

The last thing you’d said to Allen was you needed to talk to him. That you were going to leave the town sooner than expected, and he should come. Well, if he chooses to wise up his actions first of all.

“Y/n, you’re on in five.”

You looked over your shoulder to one of the workers, blowing off steam as you let your coat fall to the ground. Admiring your shiny white dress like it meant nothing, eyeing the withering dried rose bouquet Allen had left for you days ago- on a day he decided to actually turn up, that is.

Refusing to cry, you clench your fists and step past the velvet curtains to the stage. Hands on your hips as three attractive young girls in skimpy outfits come to your sides, one leg forth from each. The crowd quickly noticing the four beauties on stage, all hushed excitedly as you grabbed the big circular mic and pressed it to your lips.

Singing your heart away, you kept your mind on getting out of this forsaken town. To going somewhere where you could make yourself some real cash. Maybe even become a true singer...

And then, your heart leaps from its bony cage. Allen, grinning with a cigar in mouth, hands in his suit pockets, let out a weak apology as he stepped through the crowd to take a seat directly opposite where you were performing. Almost excited, you sent a subtle wink his way.

But, instead of him gawking back at you in your outfit, he eyed one of the barmaids shamelessly. Your grip on the mic tighter, glaring at him- but he seemed to not notice. Watching him lean back in his seat, taking out his cigar to breathe out deeply, you had this wicked smirk on your face as you looked to one of your best girls, nodding in his direction.

She, knowing who he was to you, understood. And, you watched as she cuddled up to him, gladly accepting a cigar from the handsome Allen, only to empty the ash right onto his lap- making him cry out angrily. And, like the idiot he was, when she scarpered away, he winked right at you, and you winked back... innocently.

You changed the song to one of unfaithful men, and the things you’d want to do to such a man. Unpleasant things, to say the least... But, also words of your heartache. And there, you had decided that this jerk had to go.

Finishing your act, you jump from your skin when someone places your coat on your shoulders for you, spinning and growling to see James, Allen’s blonde pal, smirking back at you. “Get out!”

“Take it easy, little fawn.” He rubbed the bottom of your chin, “Al’s got a suprise for ya. I’d say he’s gone soppy.”

“Huh?” You stutter out, confused. Allen, soppy? You doubted that very much. Hardening your features, you spat: “I will call the cops if you do not get out now.”

“Take it easy doll.”

You span round to see Allen confidently strutting into your space. His coat looking oversized against his lean and muscular frame. That cheesy grin on his lips as he placed his hands on your hips, tucking you closer to himself.

“Get off-“

“Whoa, baby, take it easy...”

“Where were you, Allen?”

He studied your eyes, patiently smirking. “Listen, babe, I know you’re angry-“

You tried to storm out, “angry?! ANGRY?! Of course I am angry!”

But, he had already wrapped you in a hug from behind. His chin resting on the top of your head. “You’re pretty cute when you’re mad, cutie. But... I know why... and I am sorry.”

Calming down quickly, you spun around and looked back into his eyes. “I... you understand?”

“Well,” he flashed his teeth in a charming grin, “cant’ say I’ve been too present lately, huh?”

He crouched to your height, hands in his pockets. “But, if you’ll hear me out, I can give a good excuse.” He gave puppy dog eyes. “I promise...”

“No.”

You began marching away, head held high in anger and dismissal. Hearing Allen sigh, you let out a small whimper when he grasped your hips, lifting you off the floor and practically throwing you back into your seat.

“Let me go. I have to get out of this-“

Allen silenced you by shoving a wad of cash in your face. Your eyes widening. “How... this is so much...”

“I just-“

You cut him off. “You’re a crook! I knew it! Get away from me!”

“Ha,” the Canadian scoffed, “told ya she won’t believe us.”

You jump when Allen places both hands on your shoulders, smouldering you with his hard gaze. Your heart is beating rapidly when you look back into those reddish hues. “Y/n, listen to me, babe, please.” You whimper when he leans forth, kissing your temple.

“I am listening.” You fold your arms, angry.

“Honestly, you don’t believe I got this by bad means, eh, doll? Not when it comes to ya dream, sweetcheeks.”

“My... dream...?”

“You are bloody useless,” a new voice cut in.

You turn to see the short but intimidating looking Asian man, eyes like fire, hair like coal, staring back. Swallowing thickly as the three men surround you, silent before he speaks again. “Your friend here, Mr Jones, has been using his money to create a... suitable environment. One you had wished for.”

“Huh?” You were inevitably confused.

“Doll.” Allen leant closer again, brushing some of your hair from your face. “I have been cashing cheques, scrubbing down walls, working freelance- all of it, while decorating that lil’ cottage you lay your pretty lil’ eyes on those months back in May.”

“Wha- I do not... understand...”

“Then, allow us to show you.” The asian man spoke again.

“Ah, Kuro, that is too much to ask of you-“

“Nonsense.”

You followed the men out, gasping at the most expensive looking black car you’d seen in years. Gasping again when ‘Kuro’ opened the door and motioned for you to step inside- which you did, gladly.

Biting your tongue, feeling uncomfortable, Allen was quick to wrap his arm around your shoulder and inch closer to your seated form. “Ready doll?” He cooed, pecking your lips quickly.

Over the town you went, ending up in the country lanes. Where flowers marched the valleys, and animals minded their own business cheerfully. And, from hating him to being in awe, you were shown the cottage you’d set your mind on those months back. Your dream of your own land here, coming to life so quickly.

You stepped out of the vehicle, unable to speak.

“Ya like it, doll?”

“Yes!” You jumped excitedly, yelping when Allen picked you up bridal style, carrying you closer to the small cottage. “It’s got a lotta work to be done, but you just say the word of what your pretty heart desires, and I’ll see it done.”

You look around, blushing. All those men, Kuro, the Russian man, Allen’s closest Canadian pal, all raising their sleeves to help you build your dream home. And, you couldn’t help but lean on your toes and kiss Allen.

“Thank you so much, Allen.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, actually blushing for once! “A-Anytime dollface.”

Chapter Text

Two months ago, my boss had asked me to attend an outing with him. But, when I had arrived, he was stationed in a expensive black suit, luxurious leather seated camaro car waiting for me. Along the neon lights we had driven, seated in the back of his car while his paid driver listened to his every single command. No God on those streets, in the heart of the city, I followed my boss into the most expensive restaurant in town.

Losing my mind amongst the city of lights, I was taken up the flashing marble stairs, settled in the corner on fancy black leather seats; just me and my boss, Kiku Honda. The only break from him being a waiter bringing us both a bottle of wine to share, which I declined, since we were working.

The moment I realised that this was no work exhibition at all, I fled. And, since that day, Kiku had been calling upon me. Surrounded by dozens of colleagues, it was only ever my name called. ‘Do this, do that,’ I was on the verge of tears at almost every hour.

Walking towards John, my friendly colleague, I smiled and greeted. “Hey, another day at the office, huh?”

“Tell me about it,” he scoffed back, “Honda incorporated won’t be running itself though.”

We both exchanged a small laugh at the boss’ expense. Smiling to one another as we looked up, the crackle of the intercom resounding overhead. The feminine voice of the boss’ secretary calling to me, upon Kiku’s order of course: “Miss L/n, please file subject 27, 28 and 29 by the half hour directly to Mr. Honda.”

I sighed, shoulders slumping. “I gotta go, bye,” I stammered, rushing to my desk. Tucking some hair behind my ear as I took a seat and logged on quickly, sighing and rolling my eyes as I saw my emails backlogged- the majority of them being Kiku spamming me with work. He was still salty that I had run from what anyone else, anyone normal, would have seen as a date. But, taking it as a punishment, I hurried to complete my work obediently, sending the emails one by one.

By the end, I was so dehydrated and tired, I took a small stroll to the water fountain. Bending a little to place my lips to the fountain, I shuddered at the sound of the camera behind me moving. The electronic sound following the lens as it focused on my legs and lower half. I felt vulnerable, swallowing as much water as possible while tugging the back of my skirt.

Heart beating rapidly, I hurried to the toilet to do my business before my small break would be finalised. Even then, I tried to conceal my lower half. I just... I had reasons to not trust my environment.

One time, I had found what looked like a recording device strapped to the bottom of my desk. It was an accidental find; having dropped my bottle beneath my seat, I had fallen to my knees to reach for it, only to find something listening to me... or rather, someone.

Walking back to my seat, I felt a cold shudder run along my spine. Looking up into that cold gaze that looked right through me, the black hair dancing with each confident stride he took, Kiku... walking by me. Too afraid to walk the long way back to my seat, I took a detour, choosing to take the elevator down a floor, then the steps on the other side back up to the floor I worked on.

I basically threw myself inside the elevator, shutting my eyes and releasing a sigh as I heard the door slowly shutting- and then opening.

Pale fingers prying the doors open, I tried to hide my fear as Kiku stepped inside. Suit crisp, attire neat, clipboard in hand, I hid my heavy breathing well. Knees shaking, I kept my gaze ahead as he took a stand at my side; the two of us staring back as the door trapped us both inside. Trying my best to avoid the fact he was staring at me in the reflection of the closed door, I tried to count numbers, or suck my lower lip- anything to distract me from this situation.

“Miss L/n.”

“Sir,” I stuttered, turning to face him with a fake friendly expression.

He clicked his tongue, admiring my skirt for a while. “Your skirt is too short.”

“Ah!” I let out a gasp, red faced and pulling it down a little. “S-Sorry, Sir... I did not know it was!”

“Your sister.”

Two words and I looked up at him with wide eyes, following his gaze to the clipboard. He stared down at the paper in hand for a long while, humming; and I swear I saw the corner of his lip turn upwards a bit.

“M-my sister, Sir?”

“Please, call me Kiku. After all,” he turned to face me, precise black shoes clicking as he moved, “we ARE on first name bases, I thought?”

“Y-Yes, sorry, Sir- Kiku! I... my sister?”

Calling his name felt weird. Nobody else could do that... so why should I?

“She applied for a position here.” My blood ran cold as he stifled a small laugh. “It is... rather tough, for newcomers, you’d agree I am sure?”

I kept silent. Was this some sort of threat? I turned back, ignoring him. But, I could feel him inching closer to me.

“Are you not worried about her, Y/n?”

“I... she can handle herself.”

He clicked his tongue again, smirking at the papers. “A pity. She applied for such a low position. She will struggle... I will see to it.”

I turned round, eyes angry. “Sir. And yes, I said Sir. I will not call you Kiku, when nobody else will!” He placed his hands on his hips, amused clearly. “Are you threatening my sister right now?”

“No. I would more say... threatening you.”

“B-But... why-“

“That night in the restaurant, you left. Why?”

“I... I felt uncomfortable, Sir. I thought it was... a work outing.”

“It was, was it not?” He smirked.

“The wine,” I began, “the club atmosphere... I...”

He stepped closer to me, basically cornering me against the wall as the elevator continued upwards the large building. “I did that as a treat, to my best employee.”

I pushed him away, scowling. “Get any closer, and I will quit!”

“Go ahead,” he cooed, “who else will pay you this much an hour?” He pulled out some notes from his pocket, placing his hand on the space between my hips on my lower back, pulling me closer as he tucked the notes into the hem of my skirt; pulling the fabric as I inched my face away from his coming ever nearer, his hot breath fanning my chin as he grinned. “How about this: you visit that place with me, a date, if you must... but this time, just us, no work facade, me and you. A nice dress, I’ll have you picked up tonight.”

I felt my heart tingling with anticipation, his fingers still tugging my skirt hem a little. “Or w-what?” I stammered.

“I think you know ‘what.’”

He let me go, dusting down his suit as the door opened. Walking out, chipper and perfect as always. I went to follow, to show my rage, but he waved me off. “Deliver me the files I just sent to you too, and by the hour.” He turned, grinning where nobody else could see or hear. “Do as I say, and I am sure your sister will fit in just nicely.”

Chapter Text

It was raining that night. The streets of Moscow were slick with cold, glistening puddles, and the sky was blanketed with heavy, oppressive clouds. You gazed out the large window of Viktor's estate, your hands wrapped around a mug of tea that had long gone cold. The flickering light from the fireplace cast soft, dancing shadows against the polished walls, but nothing about the room felt warm or comforting. It never had.

Viktor sat in his study, as he did most evenings, his posture rigid and his face a picture of icy calm as he perused his latest stack of reports. His sharp, blood red eyes skimmed across each document with a practiced, mechanical efficiency, and he would occasionally make a note in the margins with swift, controlled strokes. Viktor was methodical, painfully intelligent, and always so painfully silent.

The arrangement between you two was a calculated decision on his part. You’d been swept into his world with little choice, drawn into his rigid, frigid embrace like a flower pressed between the pages of a book and sealed there forever. In his mind, it was a necessity, a calculated move, a connection that provided a veneer of stability or respectability. For you, it had become an increasingly painful trap.

You were painfully aware of his intelligence; it was something you admired, something that even drew you to him in fleeting moments. But Viktor wielded that intelligence like a weapon. He had a sharp, biting wit, sarcastic and often cruel, slipping beneath your skin like a winter chill. He would pick apart your thoughts, your words, and he never seemed to miss any opportunity to remind you of his own superiority. He never shouted; his voice rarely rose above a murmur, but his words lingered with an icy sting, and you found yourself retreating more each time he spoke.

Every night, you would sit alone by the fire until it burned down to embers, until the silence in the room was too heavy to bear. You waited, perhaps, for something—for him to join you, for him to look up from his work and simply see you. You couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked at you with anything more than passing acknowledgment. You remembered only the cold indifference in his gaze, a distance that felt insurmountable.

It had become a ritual of sorts. Every evening, you would muster up the courage to approach his study, to stand in the doorway and watch him. Every evening, he would offer you a brief, distant glance before returning to his work. You would linger in the doorway, sometimes clutching a book to your chest, sometimes simply looking at him, searching for even a hint of warmth.

Tonight was no different.

You found yourself drawn to the door of his study, hesitating just outside it. The hallway was dimly lit, and your fingers traced the polished wood of the doorframe as you took a steadying breath.

"Viktor," you said softly.

He didn’t look up. His pen continued its steady, rhythmic motion over the page.

"Is there something you need, Y/N?" His voice was measured, devoid of any hint of warmth.

You swallowed, clinging to your resolve. "I just… wanted to spend some time with you."

There was a pause, a silence that stretched long enough for you to start feeling foolish. Finally, he looked up, his pale gaze resting on you with that same detached calculation. His mouth twitched in what might have been a ghost of a smile, but it was bitter, sardonic.

"Time spent in silence is hardly beneficial, Y/N. Surely you know that by now."

Your heart sank. "It doesn’t always have to be silent, Viktor."

He arched an eyebrow, his expression turning coolly amused. "Doesn’t it?"

A bitter laugh almost escaped you, but you bit it back. He always twisted your words into something smaller, something insignificant. You wanted to argue, to fight back, but you knew it would only end with his sharp, cutting remarks and your own battered spirit. So you simply nodded, lips pressed into a thin line, and turned away, feeling the weight of his gaze on your back as you retreated to the empty, quiet solitude of your room.

For weeks, this dance continued. You lingered in the doorway of his study, searching for even a flicker of emotion, some acknowledgment, some trace of affection. But it was always the same: Viktor would glance up, answer with biting sarcasm or thinly veiled indifference, and you would withdraw.

One night, however, the silence broke.

You were sitting in front of the fireplace again, curled into yourself, eyes unfocused as you stared into the dying flames. You hadn’t noticed Viktor enter the room until he spoke.

"Y/N."

Your head snapped up, heart racing. He was watching you, his expression inscrutable.

"I wonder," he said, his voice soft, almost a murmur, "why you continue this pointless charade."

You frowned, his words cutting deeper than usual. "Charade?"

"This… waiting," he said, motioning toward the fireplace. "Every night, you sit here as if… expecting something."

A flash of anger sparked within you, fueled by months of loneliness, by the countless times you’d tried and failed to reach him. "I don’t expect anything from you, Viktor," you replied, your voice breaking despite your best efforts. "But I… I thought that maybe, eventually, you’d… care. Even just a little."

He blinked, taken aback. For a moment, his composure slipped, and you saw something there—something raw and uncertain—but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. He looked away, the faintest shadow of regret crossing his features.

"Care is… not something I have the luxury of indulging in, Y/N."

"But why?" The words left your mouth before you could stop them, an aching, desperate question. "Why did you choose this life—why did you choose *me* if this is how it would be?"

He took a deep breath, his jaw tight, and his eyes met yours with a steely resolve. "Because it was necessary. I am not a man given to whims of affection, Y/N. I chose you because I believed you could withstand… my nature."

You swallowed, forcing down the lump in your throat. "But I don’t *want* to merely withstand you, Viktor. I want… more. I want something real."

A silence fell between you, tense and heavy. Viktor’s gaze softened, just for a moment, and he took a small step forward, his hand half-raised as if to reach for you. But he stopped himself, his expression closing off, and he took a step back.

"I’m sorry, Y/N," he said, his voice barely audible. "I am not the man you wish I could be."

Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving you alone in the dim light of the dying fire. And for the first time, you felt a strange sense of finality, as though a door had quietly closed between you, separating you from him in a way that felt irreparable.

It was the first time he had apologized, but it wasn’t enough. Perhaps, in time, he might come to understand the cost of his choices, the emptiness of a life lived in calculated solitude. Perhaps, in time, you might find peace with it.

But tonight, you only felt the quiet ache of loneliness, lingering like the cold embers in the hearth.

Chapter Text

The carriage creaked and groaned as it moved along the cobblestone streets, pulled by strong, black horses with coats that shone under the glow of street lamps. The night was dark and crisp, the air sharp with the chill of winter, and you found yourself pulling the heavy fur-lined cloak around your shoulders more tightly. The dress Viktor had provided was exquisite—dark crimson with intricate embroidery and delicate lace that swept elegantly down your shoulders. When he had presented it to you, he had made it very clear that this was no ordinary outing.

“Remember, Y/N,” he had said, his voice cold and clinical, “tonight is important. You’ll represent me, and I expect you to be on your best behavior.”

As always, his words were laced with that quiet, insistent demand for perfection, one that seemed to chill you far more than the winter air. There was no warmth in his gaze, no compliment hidden within his approval of your attire—just his ever-present, calculating stare.

Now, sitting across from him in the carriage, you turned your head to the window, watching as the city lights flickered by, casting strange, ghostly reflections against the glass. You couldn’t help but be drawn into the world outside, imagining, for a moment, what it might feel like to be someone else, someone free, with no obligations tethering you to this man who watched you with such intensity and yet offered you so little.

As you stared, Viktor’s gaze settled on you, his eyes narrowing as he observed you. He took in every subtle shift in your expression, every flicker of emotion that crossed your face as you looked out the window, your thoughts clearly far away from him. He didn’t interrupt your silence, his cold eyes calculating, studying you with the same detached scrutiny he gave to his work, and it only added to the weight in your chest.

Finally, you took a breath, daring to break the silence. “Viktor…” you began, your voice soft, almost swallowed by the rhythmic clattering of the carriage wheels. “Why did you… take me?”

He blinked, a glimmer of something like surprise passing over his face, though he quickly masked it. “I already told you. It was… necessary.” His tone was dismissive, almost as if he’d expected you to understand that by now.

You shook your head, feeling the ache in your heart deepen. “But why take me if you were only going to keep me like this, if I was only going to get… little slivers of you?” You forced the words out, knowing he’d see them as weakness but feeling you had no choice but to ask. “If you don’t have any love for me… could you find it in yourself to let me go?”

For a moment, Viktor’s face was unreadable, his icy gaze fixed on you with that same detached curiosity. He didn’t answer, and you could feel his silence sink into the small space between you, heavy and oppressive. It was as if your question had struck something deep within him, something he had hidden away for so long that even he didn’t know how to respond.

Finally, after a painfully long moment, he spoke, his voice low and clinical. “You’ve changed, Y/N,” he said, his words almost a murmur. “When you first came here, you were… defiant. You fought against me, against your circumstances. But now…” He paused, studying you with a keen, unsettling focus. “Now, you don’t even seem to consider it. You’re quieter.”

You felt a pang in your chest, and you realized he was right. The fire you’d once had, the fierce determination to escape, to resist him—it had dulled, worn down by months of icy indifference, by his subtle, cutting remarks that reminded you of your place. Somewhere along the way, you’d lost pieces of yourself, becoming quieter, more subdued, and you hated that he had noticed.

“I’ve had no choice,” you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper. “You’ve taken everything, Viktor. My freedom, my choices, my…” You stopped yourself, shaking your head as the ache in your chest intensified. “It’s like I’m just a shadow here.”

He watched you, his face still and impassive, but you could feel something stirring behind his gaze, something he was fighting to keep hidden. It was the same look he’d given you before, that fleeting, ghostly softness that you could never fully grasp.

“Love,” you said softly, looking away from him, “is not something you can simply ration out in small doses, Viktor. It’s not something you can withhold and expect me to survive on scraps of it.” You took a shaky breath, your gaze fixed once more on the passing streets outside the window. “If you don’t care for me… why not let me go?”

He was silent, his gaze burning into you, but you refused to meet his eyes. After a moment, he leaned back, his posture rigid, but his silence spoke volumes. You could feel his inner conflict, his mind working through your words with the same cold, methodical logic he applied to everything. And yet… there was something else there, something beneath the surface that he couldn’t quite suppress.

“I don’t expect you to understand,” he said finally, his voice barely more than a whisper, and for the first time, you detected a hint of vulnerability, a faint crack in his icy demeanor. “But letting you go was never an option. You belong here, with me. Whether or not I choose to indulge in… sentiment,” he continued, his voice growing colder again, “is beside the point.”

The words stung, his dismissal a final blow to the fragile hope you’d harbored. He was right, in a way—you no longer fought him. But perhaps it was because, somewhere deep down, you already knew the answer. Viktor’s world was one of cold, precise order, of intellect and strategy, of calculated relationships and alliances. Affection, warmth, and love—they were weaknesses to him, liabilities, things to be locked away and kept under strict control.

You turned back to the window, your heart heavy, and in that moment, you saw your own reflection staring back at you, a distant, hollow figure framed by the city lights. This was your life now—a silent, empty existence, with only fleeting glimpses of the man Viktor might have been if he’d ever allowed himself to be vulnerable. But as long as he continued to bury that part of himself, to shield himself from even the possibility of love, you would remain trapped in this cold, passionless prison, a mere accessory to his life.

In the silence that settled between you, Viktor continued to watch you, his gaze lingering on your face, on the sadness that you no longer tried to hide. For a brief moment, you felt his hand hover near yours, his fingers twitching as if he was tempted to reach out. But he pulled back, his face hardening once more, his gaze turning back toward the darkened streets outside.

Neither of you spoke for the rest of the journey.

Chapter Text

The snow crunched softly underfoot as Sweden trudged up the slope, his boots sinking into the fresh layer of powder that had fallen overnight. The night sky was a soft blue-purple, dotted with stars, and there was a quiet anticipation in the air that he knew Finland loved. Every few feet, he glanced back to make sure Finland was right behind him—and he always was, keeping close, smiling even when he stumbled over the occasional rock or uneven patch of snow.

"It's beautiful out here, isn’t it?" Finland’s voice was gentle, yet full of excitement. He looked up, pulling his scarf a little tighter as a gust of icy wind passed. The cold wasn’t something he minded, not here, not with Sweden beside him.

Sweden gave a small nod. “Ja,” he said simply, his low voice rumbling with warmth.

After a while, they reached the top of a gentle hill overlooking a frozen lake. The expanse of ice was perfectly still, blanketed by snow, and the moonlight cast a silvery glow over everything. Finland gasped as he took in the view, his eyes wide and shimmering with childlike wonder.

"Berwald, look!" He pointed toward the sky. Sweden followed his gaze, and there, creeping over the horizon, were faint ribbons of green light. The northern lights were starting to dance across the night, beginning as a gentle glow before slowly intensifying into brilliant hues of green and blue.

Finland sat down in the snow, as if mesmerized. "I can never get tired of this," he whispered, eyes fixed on the sky.

Sweden settled beside him, glancing down at Finland, who was practically glowing with happiness. He hesitated for a moment before reaching out and pulling him a little closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Finland relaxed into his warmth, his cheeks tinted pink from the cold—or perhaps from something else.

They watched the lights in silence, both of them feeling the stillness and peace that came from being alone together under the vast, open sky.

After a while, Finland leaned his head against Sweden’s shoulder, sighing contentedly. "I’m really glad you came with me, Berwald."

“‘Course I would,” Sweden replied softly. “Always would, Tino.”

They shared a comfortable quiet, the cold forgotten in the warmth between them. For Sweden, these moments were few and precious, rare times when words didn’t feel necessary. His hand found Finland’s, fingers lacing together without either of them even looking down. The grip was familiar and steady.

"You know," Finland said, squeezing Sweden’s hand lightly, "sometimes I feel like we’re just two little snowflakes, drifting together out here in the north. It sounds silly, I know…"

Sweden shook his head. “Not silly,” he murmured, his voice low but full of conviction. He glanced at their hands, joined in the snow. “Snowflakes’re… unique. All different.”

“Kind of like us?” Finland laughed softly, his breath forming a little cloud in the air.

Sweden’s lips curved up into the smallest of smiles. “Ja.”

They stayed there, together, as the northern lights grew brighter, painting the sky with every shade of green, blue, and violet. Eventually, Finland drifted off, his head still resting on Sweden’s shoulder, completely at peace. Sweden didn’t move, not wanting to wake him, and simply watched the lights until they faded into the dawn.

The world was silent, wrapped in snow, and in that quiet moment, Sweden knew that no matter where life took them, they’d always find their way back to each other, like snowflakes, drifting together in the northern sky.