Assurance

ɪɴ ᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇᴀꜱᴏɴɪɴɢꜱ ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇʀɴɪɴɢ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ꜰᴀᴄᴛ, ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴀʙʟᴇ ᴅᴇɢʀᴇᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴀꜱꜱᴜʀᴀɴᴄᴇ, ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ʜɪɢʜᴇꜱᴛ ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴛʏ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴡᴇꜱᴛ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴏʀᴀʟ ᴇᴠɪᴅᴇɴᴄᴇ. ᴀ ᴡɪꜱᴇ ᴍᴀɴ, ᴛʜᴇʀᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ, ᴘʀᴏᴘᴏʀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ʜɪꜱ ʙᴇʟɪᴇꜰ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴠɪᴅᴇɴᴄᴇ.

- David Hume, An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding

. . .

Ever since that day, everything made sense.

He wanted to love like a man, and oh, the surprise, he wasn't bad at it.

Deliberate were his actions. He was absorbed in gaining your trust, proving that you were deserving of his feeble affection - making you relax before him. Truth be told, he changed, far more than you did. Whereas his odd humor boomed, your teasing exaggerated. The both of you enjoyed it - you, however, did not dare let him come close.

Although you were wary, sometimes even defiant, he didn't try to force himself. Perhaps he was too patient, careful - scared, you could say. 

And this was one of the many traits that made you soften. Manipulation was no more - it was replaced with numerous apologies. It didn't take you much time to give in.

Intimacy soon paved its way into your lives as well, starting from small touches, more time spent together in silence, then moving onto grander things - cuddling sessions, preparing meals for each other (he actually tried, but failed), and an abundance of kisses.

Through time and effort, you met each other better. One of the many facts you've learned was that the house you were currently residing in used to belong to Fyodor's grandparents. The entire house held a history, and Fyodor loved explaining it to you. You were unsure if it was your own infatuation, or he was truly good at storytelling. Either way, you too enjoyed it.

There was a case, for example, of his old writing. He once dug those notes out, and gave them to you - in case they would interest you.

He had notebooks full of scribbles, doodles, many pages covered in chaotic handwriting. Some of them were empty, some of them had only a few words of content. You didn't bother reading them, although sometimes, involuntarily, your gaze would skim over a sentence, and you'd process it. It would end up being nonsense.

What remained in your memory was the amount of question marks those pages held. It was almost funny to you. Who was he asking? God, perhaps?

Or, it was directed to no one. He gave you nonsense to read, because it was worthless. Simple as that.

"Did you make any use of these?" You asked him, lifting one of the notebooks. He lifted his head above the monitor to look at you, and responded, "no."

"Maybe you could - although they don't make almost any sense to me..." You laughed. "But you certainly had plenty of ideas on your mind. You've written so much! Have you ever thought of becoming an author?"

"I'm more of a reader," he explained, "and although I do enjoy writing... I don't and can't see myself as an author."

"Have you even tried, though?"

"I have, actually." An absent smile was forming on his lips. "I wrote articles and essays online for fun. But you know what the internet is like."

"Full of brainless people?"

"Yes. And those who have any brains aren't using them right."

"So, your works weren't accepted online. How about real life?"

"Here?" He spread his arms, making a small shrug. "I doubt anyone would like to read those."

"There are plenty of contests out there. You could win something, and I, for starters, would love to read what you've written. Something that actually makes sense, unlike these... whatever they are."

He chuckled. "I don't have any need to prove myself, and at the moment, I don't care about it. I simply don't feel like investing in writing."

"Yes. And writing is about feeling. I understand you completely."

"Thank you. Though... you said you'd like to read some of my works?"

You gave him a nod, and he returned a satisfied smile. "Thank you for the interest."

"You're welcome!" You were about to continue flipping through his drabbles, when he spoke up again. "Could you come here, please? I'd like to show you something."

"Sure," you muttered, arriving from the couch to his desk. He motioned for you to come by his side, then asked you, "would you sit on my lap?"

He invited you with a tender expression. You accepted, giggling, and did as he wanted. He wrapped one arm around you, placed his head in the crook of your neck, and with the other free hand, moved his mouse around to show you something on the computer. He loaded a site, where a lengthy text was displayed.

"Showing this to strangers was hard, and showing this to anyone I know was impossible. But for you... I believe I can make an exception." His voice was low, he pronounced with care, right next to your ear. Overcoming the shiver he caused you, you turned around, then leaned in to place a kiss on his cheek. He was adorable.

"If you're uncomfortable, you really don't have to..." You told him, worried.

Yet he responded, blunt from honesty, "you're the only one I'm comfortable with."

Your heart skipped a beat. It took you a couple of seconds to formulate a proper response. "You're the sweetest," you blurted out a compliment.

"I've learned from you," he whispered, then came closer to kiss your neck. You grinned, your eyes closed from sheer delight. "You flatter me too much."

Now he hugged you with both of his hands, leaned in to once again indulge in your scent. His warm breaths tickled your neck, and he said, lips grazing your skin, "of course, you deserve it."

And what was it that he wrote about, in the end? Controversy.

. . .

But the rest of the bunch didn't notice anything - except Nikolai, who was informed a long time ago. Either way, neither of them had seen you, let alone assumed that something was happening. Even Alexander, who you stopped going out with. Even Ivan, who was ordered not to interrupt Fyodor's privacy anymore, unless it was something urgent.

"Don't you ever pity him?" You once questioned.

"It was his choice to become like that."

"It was a bad choice, and you agreed on ruining him. Why?"

He threw his head backwards, staring at the ceiling. After a sigh, he looked back at you. "What would you like to hear? That Ivan came to me with no will to live, and I was his salvation? That I helped him, and he developed an obsession on his own? Out of gratitude?"

"All I want to hear is the truth."

"That is the truth. I made him incapable of feeling anything but joy. Before, the man had no reason to live. He felt endless sorrow. I helped him."

"And he had nothing else in his life to devote himself to, so he resorted to you."

"That, beside the fact that he is simply not too sane... he wouldn't survive in the world as it is."

You could only shake your head, while Fyodor could only shrug. No other comment was made on the matter.

Soon enough, a departure had occurred. First was Nikolai, who was sent to Europe to look into some tricky matters.

Fyodor was willing to explain even without your questioning. "There's an ability user of interest there, who will play a major role in Japan. His name, or to be more precise, his alias is Sigma. Does it ring a bell?"

You shook your head. "Absolutely not."

"I thought it might. You'll meet him someday, anyway, and once you do... I'm sure you'll like him."

"And what makes you think so?"

He ran his fingers through your hair, fondling it. "For his tragic position, I doubt anyone would dislike him."

"You plan to ruin the poor guy?"

"In a way, yes."

You shook your head a little, which made him move away his hand. "Then, I wouldn't like him. I'd simply have sympathy for him."

"I thought you liked broken people. In general."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Are you implying you are one?"

He let out a chuckle, brushing a stray hair strand behind your ear. "Even if I was, I'm healing."

This brought a smile to your face, not because he was good - no, but because he tried his best to fare well.

At first, you perceived it as a facade, for him not to be a burden to you. He never complained of anything, and did not ask for anything. However, to your pleasant surprise, he was capable of showing weakness.

You could hardly notice it, yet it was there! All the time, present, even so misconceived. It was manifested through his physical state, through his nervous habit of biting his thumb - and the way he cared, the way he threaded with heed, to call you his.

Where was the cold you were afraid of? Albeit his hands remained frigid to touch, there was no ice to harm you. You were dubious for no reason at all. Fyodor was a fragile man indeed, and the one to shatter would be him, not you. Not at all! You could manage well through anything.

He probably thought the same of himself. He did not crave company. He did not say, but by the fearful expression, through the most ridiculous questions of his, you could hear his worry. You loved the fact it was sincere, and that he did not point it out explicitly - yet it underlined each and every action of his.

Sometimes, usually in the evening, he'd come after finishing his assignments, and without saying a single word, lay down next to you. He'd wrap his hands around you, his face on your chest, or your shoulder, or in the crook of your neck - and he'd keep quiet. You too.

For you felt his slow, heavy breaths - almost as if he respirated with difficulty. You'd glance at him, only to lay your gaze on his eyes, barely open. The little violet that would be seen, wouldn't speak much; it would be fixated on one spot, motionless, perhaps even lifeless. Even when you'd shift, or pet his head, he wouldn't budge. Not even a shudder. Nothing but his ghostly presence.

And at some point, all of a sudden, he'd speak up. Timid voice, almost hesitating, he'd ask about a matter completely alien to you, but without any doubt, connected to him.

It took you several repetitions to find out more. These questions of his weren't personal, and were crafted with much care. Forgiveness was the usual underlying subject of his inquiry. He'd use any figure at his disposal: saints, doctors, youth, even Igor the beggar. He'd ask, and he, he couldn't figure the answer himself.

So you helped him. With your affirmations and support, accompanied by gentle pats. Because it was evident he didn't need your knowledge - he was looking for your love. To hear and be heard, to talk and be talked to. All so simple cravings he was drained of.

The brilliance of his mind couldn't aid it - neither could his dark heart that worked on gears instead of vigor. He didn't name any reason why he would suffer, but he was in pain. It came as a natural obligation he acknowledged and informed you of.

And once these illogical periods would come, he'd come to you, remind himself that you would be there for him. And you were - and he, once again, irrationally, would find a shift in his heart. Right then and there, he would feel better.

Which is why he demanded for your own opinion. You soon understood. Fyodor definitely was broken - had there been one perfect man, after all? But what amazed you was the way he handled it. As something normal that shouldn't be dwelt on - that should be rid of, in order to avoid unnecessary complications. Through these talks, even your own little turmoil would abandon you. He gave his own sensible advice. It was an approach worthy of praise.

Because, no matter the complexity of existence itself, despair was unknown to Fyodor.

. . .

Then, one day, Alexander disappeared as well. He was sent to Japan to finally collect his pay - and get "prepared" for the next phase of Fyodor's plan, apparently. You were glad that your friend got what he was promised at last.

Another week, and Fyodor informed you of something rather unusual. He walked up to your bedroom, peeked inside to find you reading, your legs lifted towards the ceiling, your back on the bed, and the book above your face. He coughed, and you looked up to him. Judging by the face he made, he was... surprised to find you in that pose.

"We've got a guest."

You slammed the book close, shaking your head in disbelief. "I thought you can't stand people," you joked.

He blinked. "Not this one. You know him, so you'll understand why."

"Oh? Then let me see," you told him, already up on your feet. Fyodor however asked you to stop for a moment.

"I have only one wish, please. I'll tell one lie during the conversation with our guest. Let it slide. I promise it's harmless to both you and the guest."

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a long "okay". He told you that the visitor is expecting you in the living room. So you continued walking downstairs, into that room, where stood a tall man of dark hair and a beard, and he -

He was your father.

You couldn't believe it! You ran up to him, almost screaming, and you practically jumped onto him - he didn't even realize what was going on, but upon recognizing you, he began laughing like crazy. You hugged each other with immense force - paralleling the emotion you felt at the moment. "My little baby girl! I've missed you so, so much!"

"Oh my God, dad! I can't believe it's you! I've missed you, and... I, I love you so much!"

"I love you too! I'm so sorry I couldn't reach you, there has been a lot of trouble and..."

"Don't worry, I forgive you! I know you've been having problems! But the important thing is, you're fine! And you're here!"

"I am, I am! I'm so happy to see you!" He pat your back rather violently - you coughed, which made him utter a few quick apologies. "And I'm fine as long as you're fine. Speaking of which," he paused, stepping aside. "I can't believe who's responsible for this reunion! Come!"

Your father waved for Fyodor to come, and he dragged himself to stand beside him. Once there, Arkady smacked his back with so much force that Fyodor almost fell.

"Fedechka over here is such a capable man! Even I admire him!" He once again hit his back. "(Y/N)! You couldn't have found a better guy to cooperate with. He's dangerous, he's popular, he's , and his agenda is absolutely gorgeous! Look at him, he even looks smart." Another smack. Fyodor's eyes were so wide that you could swear his eyeballs could've fallen out.

"Mister Arkady (L/N), I kindly ask you to stop hitting me." Fyodor's plea came off as desperate.

"Why, I can see (Y/N) is amused." And you were. You barely held back your laughter.

"I can see that very clearly as well," Fyodor murmured, staring at you, and you allowed a single, oppressed giggle escape you. "Anyway, you are free to take your seats. Unless you want me to leave you for a proper family reunion?"

"No need! Fedyara! Something tells me it would be better if you stayed here," Arkady explained, waving to Fyodor to sit down, as if he were the host. Your father sat on the sofa, both hands on its arms. He was getting comfortable already - and he looked so confident, so safe in a stranger's house. Like a king in his seat, he watched you with almost looming interest. Was it because you sat too close to Fyodor on the couch, you were unsure - but you eyed him with equal curiosity.

"First of all! (Y/N)! Tell me about you, I hope you've been doing alright while I was away."

"I'm perfectly fine, actually. I live here, do the errands for Fyodor's organization... which I'm sure he explained to you."

"He did! I was pretty surprised to know you messed with him. Or rather, that he found you and messed with you. So skip that part. I'm interested in how you feel. How are you? Did you get any better after Japan? Tell me, please."

A simple question, yet it caused you much consideration. And the realization was followed with great surprise - you had gotten much better. You began reading once again, you had a stable home, a comfortable life, a decent boyfriend and a few other friends. Nothing caused you trouble, and you found out that after so much time, you were at peace.

Your hand slowly made its way to your chest, resting on your heart for a while. Raised eyebrows, you managed to talk at last. "Actually, now that you ask, I realized I'm way better here..?"

"This is what they call character development in books" your dad commented, "and even I can even see that you're better. Japan really took a toll on us both, huh?"

You shrugged. "I'm back on the right track now, but... you? How are you?"

"Just like you, frankly, I'm perfectly fine. Had a few fights here and there, had to eliminate a whole lot of evidence on my own... they actually tracked me down, did you know?! That's actual absurd right there."

"I know, right? Tracking you? Sounds like a death sentence."

"And so it was!" The laughter that followed was short lived, for he decided to apologize. "But (Y/N), please, forgive me for not being there. I had a lot going on."

"I know. You did it because you wanted to protect me... but, surprise, surprise, I've literally done the most reckless thing possible." You chuckled awkwardly.

"Of course, that goddamned Japanese mafioso turned your mind upside down. I won't ever stop telling you how much I hate him."

"Yeah, I'm aware," you mumbled, already knowing your father would lecture you.

"He gave you so many weird ideas! God, I'm grateful we left Japan. Otherwise, I don't know what would happen to your sanity. The guy would -"

"Dad, you sound like a mom now."

"Then I'll stop. But at least it gave birth to one good thing. Your reckless decision to join Fedsha."

"You support it, that much? What have you heard about his organization?"

"Certified murderers. Complete control on the web. Maximum rate of success. Modern, stealthy, dangerous."

"How come I've never heard of them, then?"

"They're brand new. Since we parted, you had no way to hear about them. But boy, I did. Imagine my surprise when their leader found me! Now, Fedyuska actually did it, which is a great feat. You know how? He hacked into an ATM, made it shoot out money. I naturally came, and he was on the display! That's talent. I applaud you!" He did actually applaud. You glanced at Fyodor, and saw nothing out of the ordinary - he seemed dead on the outside. He thanked your father, of course.

"That's all... very cool," you began, "but why did you two want to meet in the first place? Fyodor?" You turned around to face him. "What's the reason?"

Fyodor took out a name, pronouncing it with great eloquence, "Mikhail Petrovich Artsybashev." Not before adding, "I can get rid of the man who caused your father all the trouble."

You heard of Mikhail. He used to be one of your dad's subordinates, an ability user - you remembered him because of the way your dad spoke of him. With disapproval, disgust even. You were unaware however that he played a major role in your father's downfall.

"This is an interesting offer! But what makes you think I can't do it myself?"

You sank into the couch. This would be a complicated conversation.

"Most of your loyal subordinates are dead. You are no longer in your prime. You also don't have much information on Mikhail."

Your dad clapped his hands together. "Oh, Fedya, the last thing is where you're wrong. I know his current whereabouts."

"Give me the location. Let me eradicate him for you."

"What's the price?"

"Proof that I've met you."

Arkady grinned. "I like you very much, Fedushka. Alright! It's a deal."

"Pleased to know," Fyodor told him, he too smiling out of courtesy. The constant nicknames didn't annoy him too much, but it was evident he was overwhelmed by Arkady's liveliness.

So, the deal was already sealed? You raised an eyebrow. You could only hope that the both of them knew who they were dealing with - but you didn't dare inquire. Who knew what was going on in their heads! You didn't want to mess up any of their plans. If they even had one.

"And about you two! For how long now have you been in a relationship?"

Fyodor coughed, and you gasped. "A relationship? What made you think that," you had to ask.

"You look at Fedyusha over here as if he was your brother. While he, he doesn't even bother hiding his stares while you were talking. Adorable, really."

"That doesn't mean we're together," Fyodor joined, shifting in his seat.

"I just wanted to get the conversation going, oh dear. You can't hide anything from me. Now tell me, I'm interested."

You weren't too sure. You didn't know the date, and... was there a date, really?

"About a month?" You looked at Fyodor, who nodded.

"Only! Tell me, is he treating you well? Should I lecture him about anything?"

"Well, now he's fine." You glared at Fyodor who looked away.

"What did he do?!" Your dad clenched his fists, and you began waving your hands in panic.

"Nothing special! We were just idiots, the both of us, so the fault isn't only his."

"But it is partially his," your dad pointed out.

"Still!"

"Don't defend me," Fyodor meekly spoke up.

Arkady began hollering from laughter. "My daughter hooked up with one of the most dangerous men on Earth!"

"We didn't actually hook up," you protested, and Fyodor repeated after you, "we really didn't."

"Honestly, I don't care. What I do care about is that you found yourself a decent partner."

"Huh?"

"Just look at him. Does he look like a man who would ever be in a relationship? He'd be too scared to end one. Look, he's angry, he reacts like any normal person would."

Fyodor was frowning indeed.

"Hell, he's no ordinary man! I've heard all about it! He's... just look. "

Fyodor stared at the ceiling.

"He's practically a demon! Therefore, more human than any of us."

Fyodor sneezed.

"But his goal is so pretty! His reputation, flawless! If I had any assets, I would certainly join him. He's a man of culture."

Fyodor was getting ready for another sneeze.

"You know, you can find out a lot about him from his ambitions. He could be a psychopath, or he could actually care about the world. Whatever is his reasoning. But I trust you were able to find out yourself, which is why I'm thinking of letting this pass. Not to mention rumors do him good, and my own intuition says he's alright."

You were amazed by the amount of information your dad managed to gather. "You heard a lot about him, and I must admit, I was never aware of Fyodor's fame... but dad, how much more do you know about Fyodor? I'm interested."

"That which I told you. You know him better, so I want to trust you. Besides, I can already tell he's better than that Japanese you actually hooked up with. By a mile."

Your eyebrows furrowed at the mention of your ex. "Don't be so unfair. You didn't want to give him a single chance. Heck, you would've killed him if you could."

"I seriously would. Because that guy wasn't safe for you. He doesn't even give off the right vibe. Fedulenka seems way safer than him. And he's Russian! Better stick to our own people."

Your boyfriend, "Fedulenka", sneezed again.

With a sigh, you finally allowed yourself to agree. "Well, I have to say, after all this time, after everything that happened, you are right."

"Finally you admit it! Ha!"

"Come on, dad, he was something special, you can't deny it."

"Special means nothing," Arkady stated.

You rolled your eyes. "How wise. But let's stop talking about this." You didn't want to embarrass yourself in front of Fyodor.

"That's very alright. All was said a long time ago." Arkady paused, nodding his head. His lips were pressed together, eyebrows furrowed in no ill manner, as he looked down to his shoes. He suddenly switched his gaze to Fyodor.

"There's one thing I'd like to know. What's your ability, Fedyulka?"

"Manipulating consciousness by locking the victim into my own," Fyodor responded like a machine. It took you a moment to realize it was the lie he spoke about earlier, but until then, you were sure you expressed your confusion.

"Interesting. Now tell me why my has my daughter stared at you as if you were crazy," your dad demanded, and you jumped in to save the situation. There really wouldn't be any harm in this disinformation, so you played along.

"Because he usually doesn't tell people about his ability. It should remain a secret... and it causes distrust when brought up. You too probably had a moment of doubt," you explained calmly.

"Yes! Clever man." Your dad nodded with approval, tapping the arms of the sofa. "Another thing though, before we get finished with the formal matters... you won't simply kill Mikha, will you?"

"No." Fyodor smirked, finally showing some life. "I will also take hold of his property and hand it over to you."

"And however shall I repay that debt?"

"By linking me with Agatha Christie."

You saw your father's eyes widen - he definitely wasn't expecting that. You however had no idea who this Agatha was.

"How interesting. I'll do that, of course." Arkady reciprocated Fyodor's smirk with a cunning one of his own. "Just what are you planning, son?"

"You know my plans, not the means, and I won't reveal them."

"No problem. Not like I care." You internally screamed. Your father would kill for any information - this was a blatant lie.

"Then, sir, when and where am I supposed to find Mikhail?"

"I'll write it down on a paper for you. Is that all, concerning the jobs and stuff?"

Fyodor nodded.

"Then let's talk about... anything and everything!" Your dad's suggestion was welcomed well, and not too long after, the three of you had a lively discussion going. You could barely speak up without your voice being too loud - you were in the company of your two favorite men. Ivan would occasionally come in to serve you, but in the end, all went well, and you were euphoric.

. . . 

But the time of departure had to arrive. Your father had some suspicious business to attend to, in a city down the railway, as he said, and he wouldn't like to be late in case a ruckus occurred. The three of you were in the hall, saying goodbyes to your father.

"I'm sorry to leave your wonderful company, Fedushka, and I'm full of sorrow for once again abandoning my lovely daughter. (Y/N)! Come here for a hug!"

You smashed yourself against him, embracing him with a huge grin. The very fact he managed to visit you was enough to brighten you for days.

"Dad, please, just take care."

"You know I will. Don't you worry about me. I'll come back! I assure you." He ruffled your hair, and you giggled, staring up at him.

"I can't wait to see you again!"

"We'll go eat ice cream and I'll share the latest gossip with you." He winked. "Just like in the old days."

"Yeah. Just like in the old days, huh," you repeated in a whisper, melancholy painting your voice. It took you all your might to hold back tears of happiness.

"Scratch that, we'll make it even better." He beamed, giving you a pat on the back. Your head on his chest, you laughed. His enthusiasm was one of a kind. "I love you so, so much."

"I love you too," he muttered, a heavy sigh escaping him. He planted a kiss on your hair, then parted from you, moving to Fyodor with what seemed like zest.

"And you! It's been an honor meeting you and talking with such a genius."

"The honor is mine, yet the pleasure is far greater."

"Oh, you charismatic guy!" Your dad laughed, offering Fyodor a hand to shake it. But upon taking it, Fyodor was pulled close to your dad, whose voice suddenly turned low, demonic even.

"If you dare mistreat my daughter, your life will become living hell."

Fyodor's eyes widened from the sudden intimidation. Yet, not only did he smile, but he responded, "I've been to hell and back, Arkashenka. It's cold, which didn't do me any good due to my poor health. At least it wasn't too humid."

Your dad was well prepared to hit him, but Fyodor continued. "As for your threat, it's useless. I wouldn't do her one bad thing anyway."

Arkady let go of Fyodor's hand - you could see it turned red from the grip - and inhaled deeply. "Good, good. But if you remain a good partner, and take care of (Y/N) well enough... I assure you, I'll do my best to survive to see your wedding."

You were watching everything from a safe distance, but upon hearing the last sentence, you had to join. "Dad, a wedding? That's a bit too much."

"Or maybe just enough! We'll see. It all depends on you two, and I can actually see this happen." He made a weird gesture with his hands, backing away towards the door. "I'll come back anyway! Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoyevsky, you better take care of both yourself and your daughter. And (Y/N), my dearest, only daughter! You have my kindest of wishes with you. I'll be thinking of you."

"The same goes for you, dad! I'll miss you! Take care!"

"And I'll miss you even more, sweetheart. Oh! Almost forgot!" He put on his brown coat. "You can't trick your dad, (Y/N), but I know you let Fedechka lie for a reason. You wouldn't choose any man above me, I hope... which made me trust your boyfriend. Anyway, you want me to tell everyone about your fake ability, huh Fedya?"

As you were staring in shock, Fyodor nodded, and your dad laughed, jolly from triumph. "Then I'll spread the lie for you, my friend. Have no worries. Goodbye, the both of you!"

With one last smile, he left. It was over at last - but your joy, it was only beginning.

You jumped in spot, then launched yourself at Fyodor to give him a tight hug. He barely remained on his feet.

"You, you! You have no idea how happy I am," you told him, your arms still crushing him.

"You're right, I don't." He managed to laugh. "But I'm glad, and could you... let go of me?" You did so, and stepped back, still grinning like a fool.

"I like your father a lot," he then said.

"Oh! He liked you too."

"As I could see." He lifted his hand which was still red. "He's... strong."

"He used to play water polo professionally when he was a student, in case you were wondering," you told him.

"That's admirable. It's... effective, even in old age." You could see him clench his jaw.

"Are you maybe jealous?"

"No! I'm strong enough," he quickly responded.

"Yeah, sure. You exercise on a daily basis and eat your veggies."

Fyodor didn't know what to say, so he walked upstairs. You rushed after him.

"When are you going to get Mikhail, again?"

"November 14th, and the date today is..."

"November 11th?"

"Mhm. In three days, then. And since it's a tricky matter, would you come with me?"

"Oh! That's nice. I'll come! Could you fill me in?"

"Why, of course."

So, the target, Mister Mikhail Artsybashev was the ringleader of a weapon smuggling business. These weapons used to mostly belong to your father who was supposed to make a fortune out of them, but got betrayed because of reasons so simple - money.

"And once again, everything revolves around money," you commented.

Artsybashev's ability was called The Sanin and it would allow him to decompose anything on touch. Fyodor added that this man had the habit of telling people of how he named the ability - after his brother.

You were supposed to find him at a party of sorts, in an extravagant mansion. Attend the event like a couple, isolate Artsybashev, kill him and get his phone. That was all.

And after all the talk, you realized he wanted to go with you, because he couldn't kill him with his ability, and neither of you would be able to bring weapons. Your ability was a long-range type, so, it was just right for the task.

"The event could possibly turn into something distasteful. I apologize in case that happens."

"Why do you apologize, though? It's not your fault."

"I'm dragging you with me, so it is."

"Don't worry. It's going to be alright, I'm sure of it. I can handle it." You gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "And could you also tell me about Agatha? I've never heard of her."

"Surely! It's a long story, so... would it be alright if I explained tomorrow?"

"No problem." You glanced at the clock out of habit, and upon noticing it was almost midnight, you decided to do some good deeds yourself.

You barely convinced Fyodor to go to sleep early. What proved as an even harder task was to get him to sleep with you - because, he, for some reason, was refusing, as always. In the end, he gave in - he couldn't possibly go against your pleading.

"Are you busy?"

He looked up to you, intent drawn on his face. "No, I don't have any work tonight."

You brightened. "That's great to hear!" And after brief hesitation, you gathered the courage to ask him, "would you like to sleep with me, then?"

The offer surprised Fyodor. After the initial shock, during which he stared at you, he managed to nod. Then came a faint smile, the slightest of curves curling his lips. But the real joy laid in the wrinkles around his eyes. The lids almost came shut, but under no pressure - look at the eyebrows, how relaxed they were - instead, it was relief that let his sight darken.

You had gotten adept at reading his expressions. This one was clear as it could get: Fyodor was glad. Tired, perhaps, but very glad.  "You'll probably take a while to get ready, so... once you're done, come to my room," he uttered, voice reaching just above hush.

But he was so bashful! It caused you a snort. "Alright then. And it won't take me too long! I'll be as fast as possible."

He tilted his head a little, nodding with closed eyes. His mannerism turned irresistibly docile. "Don't worry, I'll wait. There's no need to hurry."

"You are the best," you assured. You took him by his hands, massaged his palms - and thought, thought wildly of how much you wanted to thank him. He had brought you your father, at last, he managed to do it. Fyodor, that silly man - was he aware of what he had done?

Perhaps. All you knew was that he was happy. You saw it in front of you, in the momentary emotion that softened his expression. The two of you formed an eye contact, locking your stares at the spot.

Sight was no longer a mere sense, but a string though which he murmured: "I trust you." And on the other side of the line, you remained still, whispering back: "I care for you." The both of you were heard, and the both of you responded.

He had no one else to turn to - but as impossible as it seemed, the ethereal instant had to be broken. Escape for just minutes, in some childlike, clumsy rush - God knew what he was doing, but you had to hurry. A glance or two to the mirror, while you were brushing your teeth and wearing your pajamas, and you saw, glistening in your eyes like genuine glee, glee itself.

Who dared say, now, that Fyodor was a monster - he would be right. You straightened the notion like the clothes you were wearing, with a couple of  energetic swats. But this monster, the one whose door you were about to knock on, he wasn't undeserving of love. He had to prove it, and you had to give him a chance. It was a both sided compromise - you knock, he opens the door. Both sides call for action. Nothing would happen without the first step being taken, or with endless pondering. So long the trade was equal, balance would be there, everyone pleased, and wouldn't you look at that!

He was hugging you. Fragile arms around you, his head nudging yours, cheek against cheek to nuzzle tenderly. And once his chest came closer in embrace, he began laughing. You felt there a faint rumble of his lungs as his heart burst free, joy running away from him to you. You had to laugh - had there been a merrier scene than this? Where he simply saw you, and turned bright, for he saw you. And had you in his arms! And all of it was true, sincere, with no motives but the plain satisfaction of being in love.

And did he, did he love you? You came to the bed, hand in hand, shut down the lights, and laid down. You fiddled with the question in your mind, like a toy - grinning at it with utmost interest. To make yourself less lame and simply redirect all the pent up energy inside you, you took a pillow and hit Fyodor with it. He got up, immediately fighting back (something you did not expect!) and winning in no time.

"No fun. You let me win," he pointed out, laying on the pillow that was sandwiched between you two. Although he said it was no fun, he was smirking - what a hypocrite.

"Well, your bones would snap in half if I didn't go easy on you," you joked and stuck your tongue out. He rolled himself away, taking the pillow with him, then hitting your head with the same weapon. You yelped.

With a plop, he laid down onto the cushion. "I'm too exhausted to celebrate, so I'm handing over this victory  to... you!"

"That's so kind of you, thanks!" You were rubbing your forehead in the meantime. "You didn't have to smack me, though."

"Small price to pay for the title of the victor." A chuckle followed. You however huffed, trying to act angry, but already failing. So you asked, remembering what he said, "but are you tired? You sound a bit tired. Would you like to sleep?"

"I... actually yes, I would, if that's okay by you."

"By me? Dammit, you're the one whose health is nonexistent."

"Oh. Well." Without any other comment on the matter, he shifted a bit closer. "There's one thing I have to tell you - no, demand of you before I pass out."

You turned to face him, sensing yet another dash of butterflies in your belly. "Yes?" 

"Please remember, my angel, that you are the greatest gift life has bestowed me. And something else." The light helped him find your warm cheeks. He cupped them, bringing you closer to himself, and it the scarce darkness, you saw. There, in the purple of his eyes, laid glee.

"I love you," he stated once and for all.

"My dearest, I love you too," you told him.

As if words could ever express that which you felt! As if the kiss that followed could seal it. As if your lives would be enough to prove it. What a privilege, to love and be loved!

. . .

A/N: Is this a little fluff I'm adding? Wholesome stuff? Finally? I'm surprised myself. I hope Artsybashev won't become a canon character in BSD because he did exist. His novel "Sanin" was frowned upon (it's basically erotic nihilism), and he seemed pretty wild (he'll get wild here as well). Now that I've finished it - I hope you liked the chapter. The next one will be rather aesthetically pleasing. To cite that one song, "...blood, guts, and chocolate cake."

Also, I have a feeling I made a lot of mistakes while writing this. The chapter is almost 7k words long and I don't have the energy, or the time to proofread it. So if you could, I kindly ask you to point out any possible mistakes. Thank you in advance.