if I am being completely real I am so mentally exhausted like genuinely I just want all this to be over

on another note I'm sorry for the late update and be sure to comment for motivation!

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PAST

"I MISSED YOU."

"I'm sorry," Y/n murmured softly, "it took longer this time to sneak out of the house. My father and mother..." He paused, trying to search for the right words. How could he explain the scathing words tossed around them, promising threats and death? Y/n wondered if they had even felt love towards each other once. "...they are fighting," he said at last.

There. That was the easiest explanation he could offer.

Andrei softened. His pallor was still relatively pale from the sickness he had survived, his limbs still frail and thin. His beauty then was more fragile, more delicate. Like a doll. Y/n found himself admiring him on several occasions, watching as the sun kissed his skin and when the wind caressed his cheeks. It was sight he longed to commit to memory, and so he did.

"You didn't come for two weeks," Andrei swallowed a lump down his throat, ignoring the swirl of unease boiling up in his stomach. "I thought you had—"

"I'm sorry," Y/n repeated, shaking his head. "When Father is mad at Mother, he wants more control on the house to feed his ego. And controlling every action I do flays his lack of control little by little. He kept such a tight vigilance on me, that I just couldn't leave the house."

How long had they been meeting? For a year, maybe. They were now twelve. Actually, Y/n didn't know any longer. With Andrei, the months and seconds bled into one another and blended into an indistinguishable mess. They could have still been eleven, or they could have freshly turned thirteen—

It didn't matter, for time seemed to stretch around them. Yet when Y/n blinked, everything seemed to pass too fast.

In the time Y/n had been helping Andrei, his health had increased immensely. Andrei already had an upper hand against his brother: he was intelligent. Frighteningly so. In the time he had been bedridden and blind, Y/n had read to him, basic novels, simple classics. And it amazed Y/n to see how quickly he learnt and drank every piece of information in.

Andrei had allowed him to open his blindfold—the wound on his eye had mellowed a great deal. Andrei could see, bits and bits. Y/n couldn't forget the reaction that he had when Andrei saw him for the first time—a soft, amazed smile that bloomed on his expression.

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"Your eyes are so green," Y/n's eyes widened. "Like—I don't know. Forest-green. Or maybe even emeralds. It's really pretty."

Andrei had been a pretty child, even with the bandages. Perhaps it was the gentle slope of his nose, or the symmetry of his features; or his stunning golden hair—he had been beautiful.

And now with the green eyes set upon such an angelic face, with blonde wisps hanging over his face—Andrei was just...

"You look really handsome." Andrei said quietly. "You look good, like I imagined you."

Y/n's face reddened. His mother said he resembled his father too much. His father said he looked like his mother. And both had said it with such disdain and scorn, that for long, Y/n had stared at the mirror and had picked at everything he had hated. His hair, his skin, his eyes, his eyes. All of it were faults that people disliked. And now to hear someone—someone look at it sincerely, genuinely...it filled Y/n's heart with so much compassion that it was overflowing.

"Thank you."

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"...Nevermind," Andrei tore his eyes away from Y/n. Only then Y/n saw the growing pile of books by the corner—it seemed that in his absence, Andrei had occupied the time by reading. On the top of the pile lay Secret Garden—and immediately Y/n's eyes lit up.

"Oh, how about we read a book together? You aren't hurt, luckily, so..." Y/n trailed off when he didn't receive a response. "...are you mad?" He asked desperately, "I'm so sorry. I..."

"I'm not mad." Andrei said immediately, his voice almost apologetic. "No, Y/n. I just thought..."

"Thought what?"

"I really like you. I really, really like you. And even when you disappeared for a short time, I started to think..." Andrei wasn't facing him. Or rather, his eyes weren't looking at him—his pupils were quivering, like he was nervous. Like he was scared. But scared of what, exactly?  "I started to wonder: if I was already so sick with you gone temporarily, how would I survive, if you really disappeared? I think I knew I would never survive that. And it scared me. This proximity I had with you—it scared me deeply. I think...I just wanted you to..."

"I wanted to stay with me."

Y/n laughed, softly, merrily, fondly.

"Where else would I go?"

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"Have you investigated Y/n's parents yet?" Andrei stubbed the end of the cigar against the ashtray, "I need to know—the reason for his lost memories. The reason for..."

"I'm sorry," Y/n murmured softly, "it took longer this time to sneak out of the house. My father and mother..." He paused, trying to search for the right words. How could he explain the scathing words tossed around them, promising threats and death? Y/n wondered if they had even felt love towards each other once. "...they are fighting," he said at last.

Y/n had always described his parents as something like a fixture. Abusive, violent, horrific—Andrei, since young, had longed to get rid of them; to tear them apart for they caused so much grief to his beloved. Hadn't they been the ones to rip Y/n away from him when they were young, after all? Did that not happen? Andrei had thought endlessly to himself in the dark, laying alone, that he had never hated anyone so much before. I have not finished loving him yet. I am not done being loved by him. So please don't take him away from me. Please, I beg of you. I implore you.

His father had been killed a while back by him. Andrei had held the gun to his head. Tell me where your son is, he had said, his voice hoarse and desperate. And when the answer didn't come as he pleased, he pressed the trigger.

Y/n's father had said he was dead. He could have been lying, but he had said nothing else. For long Andrei had despaired and had been desperate to find Y/n—and now...

He finally did.

"...We found news regarding Sir L/n's mother," One of the executives, Sean said slowly, "to be precise, she now goes by the name of Raina Sidorov."

A fire was lit again. Andrei restlessly drummed his fingers on the table.

"Sidorov? Is that not our enemy organization?"

"Yes, so perhaps we should think first. Y/n L/n may be—"

"—A traitor?" Andrei glared at Sean, his gaze searing. "Is that what you are implying? That the man who saved my life is a..."

"I just thought precautions should have been..."

"Look into where Raina's location is," Andrei interrupted. "There is no need for precautions. In fact, I think there should be precautions put in place for Y/n, not against."

"The Sidorov Organisation is the one that bombed you just a while back, Pakhan!" Sean shook his head, swallowing. "You could be harboring a traitor, and it can ruin the organization. Y/n L/n could be the one responsible for all the attempts on your life."

"Who do you think it's more important to me? My life, or his?" Andrei raised an eyebrow. "Watch what you are saying."

Andrei ruled from fear. He ruled the whole of Russia's underground empire—he was so powerful that no one in their right mind would have dared to cross him. And it had all been from scratch—years ago, no one would even have imagined that the meek, weak boy who got sick frequently would ever rise up to the throne of the Mafia. But the boy he had met had made it possible. The Mafia could have rebelled against him. They could have plotted to overthrow him, yet it would only be a foolish decision.

"...Yes."

"Good." Andrei looked away, crumpling Y/n's mother's letters into a small heap. Then he tossed it into the crackling fire, watching as it was reduced to ashes.

No matter what, Y/n could not know of this connection. Andrei would get rid of her silently, and Y/n would never have to worry about her again, or think about the danger that she had brought about with her.

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"Did you hear? The man that the Tsar...the man that the Pakhan adores is a spy from the Sidorov organization."

"I hear he's—"

Y/n drowned out all noise. The strange, stifling like atmosphere choked all its surroundings without a hint of mercy. It was odd; what they were talking about. Like a slithering snake, rumors had meandered around the manor: about him. That he was a spy. That he was...

Where did this information come from, anyways? This was ridiculous. This was beyond ridiculous, actually. Lately Y/n hadn't been seeing much of Andrei: and he was terrified to admit he was worried. The last that he had seen Andrei, the man had been severely injured, and though on the mend, it was still dangerous. And the rumors did nothing but to make his heart heavy and his eyes wet.

Y/n couldn't explain why. He couldn't put it in words. Without Andrei, he felt lost, suffocated, depressed. Lonely and alienated. Y/n was terribly ashamed of shedding tears for the most littlest things. He was ashamed of being vulnerable, for being overly sensitive to flippant remarks. And Andrei had always been his anchor, only now he realized. Somehow, Andrei's overbearing affections made him feel loved, made him feel accepted. And he wanted that. He needed that desperately.

For some reason it felt like something was about to happen soon.

Dreaming of Andrei and their shared past was common. Y/n found that he chose to hold Andrei in his dreams, for in dreams, there was no end to them. Because in real life, mortality was nothing. It could slip away.

"...Andrei," Y/n  said softly.

The man stood at the door, his eyes watching Y/n. A pile of books were toppled in the corner, messily stacked.

He had been reading to pass the time Andrei had been absent. His mind had been reckless to replace Andrei with something else.

"I'm sorry. The meetings have been taking long," Andrei kissed Y/n's forehead, before he frowned. "What's wrong, Moy Sladkiy? Are you not feeling well?"

How do you know me so well?

"I should be the one asking that. How could you immerse yourself in so much work after you have just recovered?"

"Hmm." Andrei brushed a loose strand of hair behind Y/n's ear, laughing. "Maybe because you took care of me?"

"Nonsense."

"I'm serious, Y/n. What's wrong? What happened? You look unwell," Andrei said gently, "it doesn't matter if you don't want to tell me. I won't push you for answers, but if you want to tell me...?"

"...Were you angry?"

"Angry? Why would I have been angry at you? What have you ever done to me?"

"When I left you," Y/n clarified.

Andrei paused, mulling over his answer. "You know what, Y/n? I thought then that I was angry at you," Andrei breathed slowly, "because you had broken the very barest of our agreement—you had broken your promise. But then I angered and angered; and I realized I wasn't furious at you. I was grieving."

"...I see."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Maybe because now I know the feeling," Y/n murmured. "I..."

"There's nothing I wouldn't go through again
if it meant I'd always find you in the end. And I did, did I not? I want to talk about what happened without mentioning how much it hurt. I can care for the wounds without reopening them. To name the pain without inviting it back into me. I cannot deny I was hurt, shocked, pained beyond belief, but...I found a way back to you."

"I see. I'm sorry, Andrei." Y/n replied, yet he looked away. He couldn't bear, after all, to see that tender expression on Andrei's face.

Andrei.

I feel that I am in love with you.

No.

I am in love with you.

And Y/n was miserable with those feelings clamped up in his chest.

And I wish I wasn't.

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low key bad writing this chapter but I'm tiring to rewire my brain to remember how to write ugh

btw thank u for 50k reads

how was it?