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“You…what.” Alyosha gives the blonde traveler a deadpan look, leaning his head on his fist. Said traveler’s smile widens. She rarely smiles, or talks for that matter, but this seems to get her to act fine. Less detached from the world around her. They sit in her private train (that she apparently just found lying around), where it's much warmer than the falling snow superf-hell outside.
”You heard me. A blind date. I like to say that matchmaking is my specialty, and a hobby of mine. Used to do it all the time back uh…somewhere else.” The traveler huffs proudly, puffing out her chest like an egoistic duck. Alyosha quickly shakes his head.
”Absolutely not. Being perfectly honest, I don’t even have the money to really feed myself right now. There is no way in hell I can afford to pay for anyone else for a romantic dinner.” He looks away, as if forcing himself to put down all temptation. Even though the idea sounds nice, which he won’t admit, there’s no way Alyosha can have someone else deal with…him. This fucked up mess that he is.
”I’ll pay! Besides, the person I have in mind has loads. So much that they don’t know what to do with it all. Their words, not mine.” She smiles, taking a sip of her warm apple cider. Alyosha sighs, chewing on his lower lip. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, sharp pains digging into his organs and reminding him just how malnourished he was becoming. All he can do is hope that the prey starts to show up more than it had been recently.
Jobs were drying up, and the hunter couldn’t keep the pace.
“…You’re not going to reveal their identity?” Alyosha tries to keep his tone kind and non-interrogating, but the annoyance seeps through anyways. Not that the traveler minds.
“Nope. I know you like men though, you boy kisser (bleh),” She stuck her tongue out, as if the concept of kissing boys was so foreign it disgusted her, “-so I hope you’ll trust my intuition on this one. And if not, you just get a great meal on me. Has Tugarin been eating well?” The blonde lets her face relax at the mention of his dog, losing the playfulness it had moments ago.
”I’ve been feeding him most of the rations I have. He needs more food than me.” Alyosha crosses his arms, leaning back a bit. The traveler shakes her head.
”No, you both need food. Alyosha, you…don’t look all that great, ok? It’s probably best that you try and think about yourself more in this situation. Just so you don’t shrivel up from starvation or collapse in the subzero temperatures and die a slow lonely death.” She gives him a serious look, losing the funny demeanor she had moments ago. Alyosha just nodded half-assedly.
”…Sure. Whatever.” He scratches the back of his neck, trying to avoid irritating an injury he had gotten recently in a less-than-graceful fight against some ragtag fae gang. In reality, he was just lucky they didn’t have any real guns.
“And let me get you some meds for that- it’s, like, borderline infection territory. And if you end up getting laid tomorrow, you sure as hell don’t want to deal with pus on the bedsheets.” The Traveler, harboring no shame for her words, stands up to get the med kit. Alyosha can’t help but turn bright red, rubbing his nose to try and hide the fact.
“Thanks for mincing your words. Can you watch Tugarin then? I want to make sure he eats too.” Alyosha stands up, trying not to let his legs shake with the movement. The vertigo tries to take him, but he takes a quick inhale in the hopes of stabilizing himself.
“Yeah. Paimon’ll love that.” The Traveler smiles fondly, dressing the wound without much thought behind the actions. Alyosha appreciates the kindness- it’s a rare resource to come by these days, alongside medicine and Kresnik Krystal.
The rest of the day passes smoothly, and when Alyosha awakes the next morning, he gets on with his routine to wait out the hours until he gets to meet the mystery bachelor.
—
When Alyosha steps into the higher-end tavern in Sneznograd, the person he doesn't expect to see there in the slightest is Mitya. They don’t really know each other, but the hunter has to admit Mitya’s hot as hell, even if he desperately needed a haircut. (Not that Alyosha himself could be talking, since he cut his hair himself with a dull knife.)
Not thinking in the slightest that the traveler set him up with someone like the scientist, Alyosha walks over to his table to say hello. Mitya perks up from his soda, appreciating the surprise company.
”Alyosha! Heya~! How ya doing?” The warm smile accompanying the greeting makes the hunter smile, even as it was an action performed well against his will.
”Not incredibly horrible. How about you?”
“Also not bad.” Mitya grins. “Making progress on a breakthrough right now. If not for the traveler’s nagging, I’d probably still be at home working my ass off…” He laughs, a sound so sweet and honey-like and — wait an archon-damned minute.
”The traveler?” Alyosha tilts his head, pulling up a chair, and trying not to let himself fall into it. He really was super unstable on his feet these days, wasn’t he…
”Yeah. She sent me here tonight for a ‘blind date,’ whatever that’s supposed to mean… Actually, you’re not here often. What’s your reason?” Mitya gives him a curious look as the hunter grows increasingly flustered at the situation.
“…Me too. T-to the blind date, I mean. L-like I’m…” Alyosha trails off, averting his eyes to save himself from further embarrassment. Mitya’s own eyes widen, as if he was witnessing a miracle happen.
”Really? Do you think she tried to set us up together?” Even with the curious tone in the scientist’s voice, Alyosha definitely would’ve appreciated a little less bluntness in his statements. At least he now knew Mitya wasn’t one to mince his words.
”Have some decency, man. Hell if I know what she thinks about it.” Alyosha sighs annoyedly, before waving down a waiter. “Can I get some fire water?” A glass of something would probably do him enough good to clear his head. Maybe it would even make him interesting to talk to. Not like he could afford anything here, even with the bit of allowance the traveler oh-so-kindly gave to him…
”I didn’t know you drank.” Mitya gives him another one of those puppy-like curious looks, violet eyes shimmering in the dim lighting. Alyosha shrugs, leaning back a bit and shrugging his coat off.
“Sometimes. I don’t have the money to do it often, but it’s a guilty pleasure of sorts, alongside maintaining my rifle and getting Tugrain the good stuff.” He sighs. “Not that I have the money to do either of those things nearly as much nowadays...”
“Maybe you should— ah, Nevermind, I forgot that you kind of hate the Fatui, haha.” Mitya lets out a boyish laugh, dismissing the thought before he could let it fester. Alyosha just shrugs.
”I don’t hate the Fatui, I just hate what they’re doing. There’s not enough supplies to go around because of project Stuzah. I’m sure you know that, anyways.” The waiter comes back with Alyosha’s Fire Water, of which he quickly takes a sip of. It burns as it goes down his throat, but it only takes a few minutes to kick in.
“I do, yeah. I’m excited for it all to be over, anyways. Hoping that it all goes to plan…” Mitya knocks on the wooden table. Alyosha raises his glass to that, understanding the scientist’s worries.
If something like that goes wrong in the worst ways, everything will get so much worse. Alyosha can’t imagine eating less than he already had been.
The sun begins to set, drenching the bustling restaurant in a golden light unrivaled by any other. And as the day gives way to the night, Mitya notices just how much of an alcoholic Alyosha really was.
“N-Nother glass of Fire Water, waiter.” The hunter waves over the poor young man unfortunate enough to be stuck as their waiter, who can’t do much beyond giving Alyosha a concerned look. Mitya is trying to hold a conversation with him, but every sip has the hunter losing more and more focus.
“Hey, Alyoshaaaa. You’re spacing out again.” The scientist sighs, propping his head up with his elbow. “Have you eaten anything today?” The hunter blinks at him slowly, processing the question, before it finally registers.
“Oh, uh, noooo… Nah I don’t think so.” Alyosha giggles quietly to himself. “It’s all going to my cute puppy…he’s so funny and cute…have you seen how cute Tugarin is? He’s so adorable…” Mitya chews on his lip. For a blind date with his crush, this was definitely a bit more awkward than he thought it would go at first. But a scientist was never one to back down from a challenge.
”Hey, it’s already getting kind of late. Let’s…you’re ok with staying at my place, right? Warm bed and warm house on government money?” Mitya gives him a hopeful look, but Alyosha doesn’t answer, instead going on a drunken tangent on how adorable his dog was. “Yeah you probably are. You know what they say, beg for forgiveness not permission, haha…”
Without another second to doubt himself, Mitya goes off to settle the bill, paying for the both of them, before helping Alyosha stand up. The hunter leans on his shoulder, and for a second it feels like a dream come true. Mitya also quickly comes to realize the reality of the situation-
This is what relationships were. They weren’t pretty. Nothing like the rose colored fairy tales. And if he and Alyosha got together, in that unlikely, near impossible scenario, chances are this would become a common occurrence- Alyosha getting shit drunk. Mitya carrying him home.
The worst part was how readily the scientist accepted that truth.
They get about half way to Mitya’s apartment before Alyosha fully collapses, all his weight falling onto the scientist. Mitya’s scarf supports him long enough for the scientist to pick up the hunter, letting Alyosha rest on his back. Each inhale was soft and strained, as if there wasn’t enough energy in the hunter’s blood to handle anything more.
Mitya felt a little sick at how malnourished the hunter was.
”Why would you choose to spend your money on fire water, you dummy…” An uncharacteristically exasperated sigh escapes past Mitya’s lips, but he holds Alyosha close to his back regardless.
Arriving at the apartment, Mitya was quick to unlock the door and lie Alyosha down on his couch, covering him up with a blanket. Normally, he would’ve gone to get into something more comfortable or take a bath before settling into a good book, but instead he got a plate of food ready for the hunter. Not wanting to make anything too crazy in seasonings or flavor, he settled on a charcuterie board of cheese and bread and meat.
Mitya worried it wouldn’t be enough, or that the hunter wasn’t a fan of the meal, but he couldn’t be bothered to think about it too much now. Alyosha would probably accept anything as it was. He thought about waking up the hunter to get him to eat something, but he felt exhaustion gnawing at his bones.
A quick nap couldn’t hurt, could it?
Mitya. A name famous among teachers, yet far from beheld by students. Smart, adaptable, handsome. Some said he could solve any equation in under 10 seconds. Others said he could fistfight a polar bear while drunk. And while rumors were rumors, everything required of him, he could do and better.
At least he thought so at first.
And then he realized, all too late, that he was burning out. Not dissimilar to a candle without enough wick, endless hours upon hours of working and studying and lacking any real connections broke down upon his pathetically fragile psyche. No creative outlets. No breaks. Only studying and fighting to be the best. The smartest.
He had to be the person to solve all the problems, to save everyone. It’s all he was good for, anyways. Without that, he was nothing.
He wanted to understand why. Why he had to be the one who the responsibility fell upon. Why other people refused to share some of the burden. He hated it. Constant eyes on him, burning holes into his chest so searing hot the wounds flaked apart at night. If he didn’t do enough, he might as well sell his heart and lungs to another dying life to give it more meaning than his own worthless one.
Sometimes, Mitya felt fine. He felt unstoppable. A force of nature, a maiden of beauty. Something that no one could ever forget about. He did so much, helped so many people, made breakthrough after breakthrough in his research. No one doubted his skills, or made him into a joke. But when the momentum is broken, and the collision results in whiplash so great his spine snaps, he sinks down, back into reality, back into the rotting gray matter of his brain.
The cold realizations that he doesn’t matter. Nothing does. And yet he worries that he pushes away everyone he meets. Not an angel, not a boy, not a scientist. The sinking feeling that if he didn’t rip into his chest or tear apart the skin on his limbs, he’d be worth nothing because he couldn’t even handle a fraction of others’ pain.
Mitya felt worthless some days. He wants to stop. Recharge. It felt so tempting these days, to just sink down into the depths of his ever-decaying mind and not bother to swim back out. But he couldn’t. They would never let him. They needed his skills too much. Not him, of course, but what he could do, because your worth is measured by how others benefit off of you.
They shame him for tears, so he refuses to shed any, even when his eyes were the only ones present to bear witness. Human emotion is a sin, and the sinners repent by being hung at the gates by their rotting intestines.
Mitya was scared.
He was scared of dying. That’s why, when standing in the shooting range all alone, he was too scared to take the pistol in his hand to his head. He was desperate to die, so much so that any mistake caused him to spiral, and every thought be consumed with the same “I want to kill myself, I want to kill myself, I want to kill myself.” Some nights, Mitya would pray to the Tsaritsa for her to give him enough strength to finish the job.
He was sure of his worthlessness. He was terrified that without bringing anything of worth to the table, whether it be the few genuinely funny comments he’d be able to make in a year or the worthless scientific discoveries he’d send off to Pierro, he’d be thrown out like trash and left to become one with the mold growing on the fruits in his fridge. That the few people he’d grown so pathetically, naively attached to, like Odette and Vodyanitsa and Valeriy and Alyosha, would realize how horrible of a person he really was and finally decide he wasn’t worth the effort. He shouldn’t have forced himself into their lives to begin with, but he took advantage of their pity and now he doesn’t know how to live without them.
He didn’t know what scared him more- the thought of being alone or the thought of caring about it too much. Perhaps so much that it was in reality nothing at all.
Mitya wasn’t empathetic.
He had lost the ability to feel such things long ago, when he realized suffering belonged to the world as a god-given gift, and the emotions he thought he felt were naught but wastes of energy. He viewed sadness as a drawback. Other people lacking in efficiency or showing passion about issues were weak. Annoying. Mitya couldn’t stand to be around anyone anymore.
He wanted to be around the people he wanted to believe liked him. Like any human, he dreamed of having a large social circle- loads of friends, people who liked him for more than the lustrous gem he sold himself as. People who would stay even as they saw the dirt and imperfections floating in the crystal. But very few people like that existed.
Mitya had made peace with that.
Mitya had made peace with everything.
He at least liked to think so.
But how can a mortal make peace with something so incomprehensible such as death? How can a mortal even dare to try?
Such an act was blasphemous.
What was Mitya but a sinner?
Mitya was not just a sinner, after all. He was sin itself, manifesting in his dusty bones and ripping apart his tissue the way one would cut along the lines of a lined notebook. A golden ratio, twirling and dancing like a dancer. An ode in the background sings a beautiful tune as it calls for his dismemberment. They wish to take his limbs and recycle them.
Mitya would let them if they asked.
Mitya sits on his bed in the dead of the night, using an old whittling knife he got as a poorly thought-out gift to slice lines on his wrists. Sometimes, he craved pain. Sometimes, he wanted a canvas to draw out his anguish on. More often than not, he just wanted the blood to show he was still alive and not just a pathetic husk of a human.
He usually didn’t bother to bandage the wounds, shallow as they were, finding it to be too much work and an effort to go through after an already exhausting day at the energy bureau. When he did, he used fun bandages. Colors to remind him that he still had a chance in life.
How narcissistic of him, to think that he deserved happiness over everyone else.
Mitya had never tried to test himself for illnesses both mental and physical, never tried to figure out why he was like this now. It had been so long since he had felt real, weightless joy. Now the idea felt offensive, like experiencing such an emotion meant an affront against the gods themselves. For a sinner such as Mitya, such a thing could never be repented for, could it?
He chose to simply live with the pain. He liked to pretend everything in his head was as dandy as it was on the outside, even when such a choice felt like an insult to the pole who Mitya so desperately wanted to call friends. Mitya didn’t deserve joy. He didn’t deserve anything.
He wasn’t working hard enough.
He had to work harder.
He couldn’t work anymore.
He wanted to die.
He had to die
Mitya needed to die so bad it hurt. He felt it in his ribcage, like bugs chewing on his liver and laying eggs in the crevices of his stomach. But he knew, in the bottom of his heart and in every notch of his spine, that he was too scared. He hated being human for this- death was something that would take his mind and lay it to rest somewhere amongst other sinners so similar to himself.
Maybe Mitya just needed someone there. He never wanted to actually consider romance- he wasn’t sure he could handle something such as another being. But he ended up with someone anyway.
Mitya discovered that he wasn’t worthy of being with anyone. He was scared of anything new that the other brought, which was uncharacteristic of him as a scientist. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to help or comfort or love the unfortunate soul that seemed to love him. And then he saw that they trusted him as much as one would trust a train to carry a palace full of secrets.
Mitya didn’t deserve to feel betrayed, so he decided to ignore it all together. Ignorance is bliss, they say. And yet, it ate away at him, forcing him to realize all too many flaws in the people around him.
Every time Mitya thought he was getting better, he’d go back to his knife. He’d go back to hating himself and the world around him and praying to some god out there to make things palatable.
How selfish of him, to think the gods would even give him the time of day when there were so many issues already present in lives more anguished than his.
Mitya lived in luxury.
Mitya gave it all away.
What can a dead man do with money?
Mitya left a resignation letter on the desk of the officers he cared most for.
What work can a dead man perform?
Mitya gave out all his possessions, and gifted his stellar linchpin to his eager colleagues.
What can a dead man do with magic?
Mitya stood on the edge of a snowy cliff, letting the blizzard crust his face in frost.
What can a dead man do with a life meant for someone else?
The scientist, if one can call an over-worshipped kindergartener such a thing, stands on the edge of a cliff. The blizzard, raging with ferocity and violence, whips snow onto his lashes and freezes his neurons. He can’t think clearly, but he doesn’t want to.
Mitya holds the knife in his hand, drenched in his own blood. A hole in his hand from where he had carved the sharp blade into his fragile skin bleeds like a waterfall. He doesn’t mind, nor find himself upset by the idea. The fat in his hand, the bone, the disgusting rot in his muscles, it’s all normal to him.
Nothing is more disgusting in the human body than the way it holds itself high, and treats itself like it is so much more important than anything else.
Mitya was not important.
Mitya was a walking sin.
Mitya took a step off the cliff, and when nothing caught his foot, he let himself free fall.
They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die. That you relive all the beautiful and horrible moments you had experienced. Mitya discovered that was indeed false.
The only thing he felt was relief, glad he could finally experience something beyond the soul-consuming depression.
His body crunching against the ground, imploding into millions of shards of bones tearing into meat and flesh, didn’t send a signal to his brain fast enough. His spine broke in two, all nerve connections severed.
You could suppose it was a painless death, though the body was a mess to deal with when thawed.
Mitya is awakened by the forceful shaking of his shoulders, almost hitting his head as he shoots upwards. His breath catches in his throat, choking him, but the steady presence of a comforting hand on his thigh brings him back to the present.
”Mitya.” Alyosha sits next to him, with one of the scientist’s old blankets draped across his shoulders. The scientist forces himself to breathe, clutching his hands into the fabric of his duvet, which he brought out from his bed.
”H-hey…” He laughs awkwardly, trying to alleviate the tension. Alyosha nods his head towards him, but his brows furrow slightly in concern. “You feeling any better?”
“I sobered up a while ago, don’t worry. And the food was delicious. You can’t beat cheese and bread and meat.” Alyosha lets out a huff that could be considered a laugh if you were delusional enough, but luckily for Mitya he was indeed delusional. “What about you?”
”H-Huh?” The scientist freezes, turning to look at the hunter.
”You were crying in your sleep, so I woke you up.” He gives Mitya a concerned look. The scientist shrugs, unsure of how to reply. He wasn’t fine, and at this point it was painfully obvious, but admitting it was like chewing on sandpaper.
“Uh…I’m fine.” He smiles at Alyosha, hoping he was being convincing enough for the hunter to drop the conversation. Mitya could talk about it later, yeah. Maybe.
Instead of dropping it, however, the hunter just opens his arms, offering a hug. No words, just physical comfort.
Mitya was a weak man, but he let himself selfishly fall into Alyosha’s hold without resistance. Instantly, he was enveloped in a warmth unlike any other, held with genuine love.
He tried to prevent himself from crying, because he didn’t want to seem all gross and ugly while Alyosha was already offering so much of himself up, but he couldn’t hold back. Luckily for him, Alyosha said nothing, instead simply running his hands through the scientist’s overgrown, tangled hair.
Love wasn’t anything like the fairytales made it out to be. It was idly. It was a knife in the chest. But it was also a warm fire, there for you when the howling winds were too cold to stand and the darkness was too dim to make anything out.
Mitya decided that being alongside Alyosha would be worth all the pain and discomfort.
Because Alyosha would do the same for him.
And I don’t care and I don’t know why
Maybe I’m no good inside
All this wasted time to see your fucked up life become mine