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ANNA ROSLYA was a beautiful woman. She was tall, slender, yet the muscles in her back rippled when she moved. She hardly smiled, but her eyes glinted with mirth when she found something particularly amusing. And she was Y/n L/n's bodyguard.

"Your family has served my family for a long time. I doubt that I will have to give you a talk on loyalty, but should any harm befall upon the male before you, you will have to answer to me."

Anna nodded her head, and cast a swift, fleeting glance at Y/n. Her eyes twinkled with curiosity—despite the hard line her lips were pressed into, she seemed friendly enough. Y/n breathed a sigh of relief.

"I have never seen the Tsar act like this," Anna's voice was svelte yet clipped, "you are his new lover? His beloved?"

The two were walking down the hallway. After eating the meal that Andrei had served him, Y/n had quickly excused himself—and thankfully, the Tsar seemed to also have matters to attend to. With them, Bizet's Carmen played.

"...Ah," Y/n paused. He contemplated his words—what should he say? That they were long time friends? That Y:n was a victim? That they were truly lovers? No, that wasn't it. And Andrei's affections would soon disappear, like all things did. Love and Russian Mafia did not belong in the same sentence. "...no, I am not. I am sure this is just temporary, Madam."

"Anna," The bodyguard supplied, "I have a name, so use it. There is no need to tiptoe around me."

"Anna," Y/n fixed his answer, and he offered a polite smile. "Thank you for...agreeing to this."

"There are very few people who can say no to that man." Anna said wryly, "if I had to be honest, I could have said no—I am the strongest assassin known in Russia—but...well, he seemed awfully fervent in his desire to have me as your bodyguard. The second best in Russia is a man."

Y/n blinked for a second, before he gave a lengthy sigh. "He told you about my...taste, I'm assuming."

There were certain people who were not the most friendly to those who liked people of the same sex. Some viewed them as dirty, impure, tainted. Of course, they would not dare to touch Andrei, for he was the ruler and the mighty, but one could easily break him. Y/n, to a certain extent, knew how to fight, but in the face of assassination attempts, poison, he was utterly hopeless.

"Oh, there's nothing wrong with that, Y/n," Anna chuckled. "Nothing wrong at all. At home my beautiful lover awaits me. I miss the smell of the food she cooks—you should try it one day, Y/n, it's the food of the gods. Exquisite, divine. I had one condition when I agreed to work for you: it was that I would be permitted to return home every few days to see my love. It was because I had no doubt this wouldn't be a temporary position. Do you see the way he looks at you? Why would his affections ever wane?"

Y/n shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "No, I have not." It was a lie, however.

He found himself staring at the floor often times they spoke. And when he lifted his own eyes to meet Andrei's green eyes, it was terribly easy to get lost in them. There were times when Y/n had looked at Andrei's face out of fiery indignation, confusion...and all he saw were the eyes of someone who loved him. Someone who loved him for reasons he couldn't fathom.

Now a small smile graced Anna's features. "You are unlucky and lucky to have gained his affections. He would cut down the world for you, but it is precisely because of that you will either find yourself extremely loved, or suffocated."

"You speak like you know him well."

"Well," Anna shrugged her shoulders loosely, "I am a little like him, my dear. Yes, he chose me because of my skill, but he needed someone like him to see his reasoning, his madness...it takes a little bit of craziness to serve someone like him closely. Which begs the question, Y/n, are you mad?"

"Mad? Like angry, or..."

"Crazy," Anna tilted her head. "You seem perfectly normal, truth to be told. Yes, your looks are appealing even to me, but the idea of the Tsar in love, amongst all people...it is baffling to me."

"It is baffling to me too," Y/n muttered under his breath. "I did not ask for this. I am only here to repay my father's debt to the Ivanov Mafia. Once that is paid, I will leave, and surely Andrei's affections would have simmered by then."

"Ah? Your father..." Anna paused. "Oh yes, L/n. You came initially from [country], is that so? But you looked mixed—"

"My mother is from Russia," Y/n said as a way of explanation. "And my father is from [country]."

"That makes sense," Anna soon led Y/n to the greenhouse—the greenhouse that he had been admiring earlier—and sat him down. "But L/n is an extremely familiar name...have I seen you before?"

Y/n paused, letting her words simmer into his mind. Then he opened his mouth to answer.

"Apparently I used to come here as a child. That I used to be friends with Andrei. But—why would I come here? What part of this place seems like a fitting place for a children's playground?"

"—Wait," Anna snapped her fingers, making Y/n flinch because why was that sound so unnecessarily crisp?—"Your last name...your father worked here last time. I remember his name. I was tasked to kill—"

"What?" Y/n interrupted, "my father worked here?"

"On second thoughts, perhaps I wasn't supposed to tell you this..."

Y/n stilled. It seemed that a buzzing, white noise had started to fill his head: he was reeling from her words. No, now it was painful, suffocating noise. In an instance, it seemed like all the air had been sucked brutally out from his lungs.

Liar, he thought. My father is a vile, wretched human being. Yet I do not share the blood of a murderer—!

Y/n thought back to the gaps in his childhood. So many unexplained things.

Then he found himself breathing shakily; his breaths coming out in mottled gasps, punctuated by his quick, desperate attempt to think. Nothing came out but broken syllables in his mind. Break—get out—

Leave.

What was Y/n doing here? He needed to...

He needed—it's a need, not a want—to leave.

"Y/n." Anna's tone was firm, calm. "You didn't know? Your father is in debt because he betrayed the Ivanov Mafia. That—and when I say that, I'm meaning the connections between him and us—is why you came to this place frequently."

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"Your father?" His mother said flippantly, rolling her eyes. "He works in some shoddy area. Really, I only married him because you were born."

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"Never affiliate yourself with the Ivanov Mafia. They are all dirty dogs."

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"Where's father?"

"He's gone. He's never coming back."

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Hah. So his father left behind all the debt for him to suffer all these years simply because he chose to betray the organization? His current position—Y/n's whole life ruined because—!

Y/n struggled to move. He felt like a newborn fawn, really. The colors swarmed in his vision and bled into each other; his mind spinned and faltered and for the slightest of a second Y/n hesitated. Because leaving—leaving would mean...

Y/n looked at Anna. Dare to run, her eyes bored into Y/n. It is my job to stop you.

Then he forced himself to walk. One step at a time. He had to lift his knee, then place his heel on the ground. One step at a time. His motions felt thick and sludgy, suspended in time. Y/n felt like he was moving in slow motion, or was it because he feels like he's being led to a guillotine? Murder orchestrated by his father? It would make so much sense...

"I'm overreacting," Y/n muttered out. "I'm clearly overreacting. This was in plain sight this whole time. Of course my father worked for the Mafia. Of course he destroyed my whole—!"

Andrei, Andrei, Andrei—

Y/n would be better off without the Tsar's affections.

"Y/n. Don't do anything rash."

And yet Y/n continued to walk in rhythmic steps. He's abandoning everything, he thought numbly, I'm abandoning it all. Did Andrei know about this?

Classical music was fading. The noise in his head never did, though Y/n wished it could. Leaving his home country and getting thrown into Russia—it felt like his flesh had been ripped out from his brittle bones.That the skin that once cradled his organs had been forcibly torn apart. It was the feeling of losing his origin: his childhood. (Wait, did he really have one in the first place?) His first death, yet he was still breathing.

"I won't be able to," Y/n said dryly, scoffing. "This...is a beautiful prison. A beautiful cage. And you must be a wonderful bird tamer."

"...The Tsar has no bad intentions for you. He loves you."

"I can see that," Y/n said harshly, "I am not blind, nor dense. But the minute his affections run out, I'll be forced to stumble around by myself. By ripping me away from what I'm supposed to do, I'll be completely alone and desolate once I step out of this nest. No money, no cozy mansion to run into, no..."

"Y/n." Anna said gently. "I might not be close to the Tsar, but I know him. He is not a righteous man, yes. He is evil, his actions are cruel. But he does not abandon people. He never does, so your worry is fruitless."

"You said you are like him. How can I trust you?"

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At home my beautiful lover awaits me. I miss the smell of the food she cooks—you should try it one day, Y/n, it's the food of the gods. Exquisite, divine.

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"No, forget it." Y/n closed his head painfully, "never mind. Just...bring me to the room, and I shall rest."

"Are you sure? You have barely explored—"

The headache was growing stronger.

"Yes, Anna."

The trip back to the room was silent.

—

The nap was pleasant. Weighty. Drifting. Sleep was always something that came hard to Y/n, but at that moment, all the fear and anxiety seemed to have ebbed away bit by bit. He could forget, escape. But it only made waking up harder.

Y/n didn't know why he was anxious. Anxiety was a fickle thing to deal with: half the time his life felt like it was the way he wanted it to be: carefree, full—so he would ask himself: why did he feel so anxious? People's words, their endless judgments only fueled that maddening thought.

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"You aren't putting in any effort."

But I am, Y/n wanted to say. No words came out of his throat.

"You aren't trying. You should just give up."

But I don't want to, Y/n would try to say. Nothing left his mouth.

"You need to do something about that habit of yours."

But I can't seem to, Y/n would say desperately.

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Y/n has woken up with a bitter, worried feeling in his stomach—butterflies were running rampant in it. He wanted so much to bury his head in the sheets and just to wallow in his empty dreams once more, but his eyes could not close. So he basked in his thoughts.

Andrei, Andrei, Andrei. The Tsar.

And his father. They had ties. And his memories. They were gone...

"Ugh," Y/n groaned, before he buried his head in his hands. "What do I do?" He thought aloud. "No, what can I do?"

A click of the door interrupted his nails digging into his flesh, then Y/n looked up. He knew already, from the terrifying presence, who it was.

"...Y/n. Did you eat dinner yet?"

Dinner? But I already had lunch. No, or was it breakfast?

Y/n glanced out of the window. Clouds had been gone, a blanket of darkness had enveloped the night sky. He blinked once, then he blinked again.

"...Night time?"

"You slept for a long time, Moy Sladkiy." Andrei's voice was gentle. Like a spell. Y/n, for a weak moment, allowed himself to soak into the Tsar's touch. Then he pulled away, shaking his head.

"I'm not hungry."

"Anna shouldn't have told you. I would have told you soon, Y/n. After you become more comfortable here."

"You would have told me?" Y/n couldn't help but scoff, "is that not a convenient excuse?"

He was being a brat, he knew. But Y/n needed to see the limitations: he needed to test the boundaries; the lines that the Tsar would set. How much would be too much? A glare? A little disrespect?

Andrei blinked, before he raised his hand—

—Y/n flinched—

And the Tsar placed his hand on Y/n's hand, absentmindedly ruffling his hair. His sigh was soft, his voice was gentle.

Wait, what?

"Give me time to prove myself, my sweet," Andrei smiled. "I understand your skepticism. With that answered, will you join me for dinner?"

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