General RP ℂ𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕕 ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 | Froshi & Sol

[Solaris-]

Dmitri & Rowan
For @Froshimaru

This RP contains Spoilers for Nowhere Train in an effort to flesh out two characters within the group.

ɪ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ɢᴏɪɴɢ
ʙᴜᴛ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏᴛ ʀᴏᴏᴍ ꜰᴏʀ ᴏɴᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʀᴏᴜʙʟᴇᴅ sᴏᴜʟ​

 

[Froshimaru]

​

The flea market wasn't Rowan's idea.

Well, technically it was- they'd been the one to suggest it to their therapist when Dr. Vogler asked what small, manageable thing they could try this week. Something public but not too crowded. Something with an exit strategy. Something that didn't involve sitting alone in the sublet apartment watching dust motes drift through afternoon light while their mind went to places they'd rather not follow.

"Just try it," Dr. Vogler had said in that gentle, infuriatingly patient way of hers. "You don't have to stay long. Just go. Be present. Notice three things."

So here they were, walking through rows of tables covered in other people's cast-offs. Vintage postcards. Chipped teacups. Jewelry that had survived someone's grandmother. The kind of peaceful, mundane chaos that should have felt safe.

Should have.

Rowan's hand went to their camera bag out of habit, fingers finding the familiar weight of it. They'd brought it but hadn't taken it out yet. Baby steps. Just being here counted for something, right?

The crowd was manageable. Older folks mostly, a few families, people taking their time examining things that didn't matter in the grand scheme of anything. Rowan picked up a vintage map of Berlin from the seventies, studied the streets that didn't exist anymore, the borders that had shifted. Everything was temporary. Cities, countries, the lines people drew and died defending.

They put the map back down.

Three things. Dr. Vogler had said to notice three things.

One: The smell of old paper and mothballs and coffee from the vendor at the end of the row.

Two: An older man haggling in rapid German over a set of beer steins, his voice rising and falling in a rhythm that felt almost musical.

Three: The way afternoon light filtered through the market's temporary canopy, creating patterns on-

The crash came from two tables over. Glass bottles hitting concrete. Not breaking, just falling, the vendor scrambling to catch them, other shoppers gasping and laughing at the near-miss.

Just bottles. Just an accident. Just a mundane moment in a peaceful market in a safe city thousands of miles from anywhere that mattered.

Rowan's body didn't get the memo.

Their heart kicked into overdrive, chest tightening like someone had wrapped wire around their ribs and pulled. The market sounds became white noise, overwhelming and directionless. Too many people. Too many exit points to track. The canopy overhead suddenly felt like a ceiling that could collapse, and their hands were shaking, and they couldn't breathe right, and…

Move! Marcus's voice in their head, from a lifetime ago. If you feel like you’ve been pinched, just move. Doesn't matter where. Movement keeps you alive.

Rowan walked.

Not toward the exit they'd come in through- too obvious, too crowded. They picked up speed and chose a random direction between tables, through clusters of people, past confused vendors, through someone who saw the panic in their and tried to help, until they hit the street. Kept walking. Left at the corner because it was there. Right at the next street because their legs carried them that way.

Their breath came in sharp, painful gasps that didn't seem to bring in enough air. Just bottles. Just bottles falling. Not mortars. Not airstrikes. Not the sound of a...
It was just bottles. They knew that. Intellectually, they knew that.Their body was stuck in the Middle East, a feedback loop he had hoped his visits with Dr. Vogler would fix.

The street opened up ahead, and there was a building- glass and steel and modern, with crowds spilling out the entrance. A convention center. Rowan stumbled toward it less out of decision and more because their legs were still moving and they needed to be somewhere that wasn't the middle of a sidewalk having a breakdown where everyone could see.

The doors were glass. Automatic. They slid open and Rowan went through them into-

Fuck.

The noise hit first. Music from competing sources, hundreds of conversations overlapping, footsteps and laughter and announcements over speakers they couldn't locate. The convention floor stretched out in front of them, packed with people in elaborate costumes, vendor booths with flashing lights, more stimulation than Rowan's nervous system could process on a good day.

This was not a good day.

Their vision tunneled. Sharp. Narrow. Like looking through a scope. They could feel their pulse everywhere- temples, throat, behind their eyes, in their fingertips. Too many people. Too many. Too loud. Bodies pressing in from all sides even though no one was touching them. The kind of chaos that used to mean incoming, that used to mean get down get small find cover now-

Corner corner corner. They needed a corner. Needed walls at their back and a clear sightline to every entrance and exit and their lungs weren't working right and someone was going to notice, someone was going to see them falling apart in the middle of this stupid convention and-
There.

A rest area. Edge of the convention floor. Fewer people. Rowan didn't walk- they fled. Stumbled between clusters of cosplayers and vendor tables, shoulder clipping someone's elaborate wing setup, mumbled apology that might not have been out loud. Their legs felt wrong. Disconnected. Like their body was moving through water or syrup or the kind of dream where you run but don't get anywhere.

Wall. Wall. They hit it harder than intended, back pressing against solid concrete, and it was the first thing that felt real in the last five minutes. Solid. Unmovable. Nothing could come at them from behind.

Breathe. Breathe. Dr. Vogler's voice trying to cut through the static in their head. In for four. Hold for four. Out for six.

In for- their breath hitched, sharp and painful. Tried again.

In for four. Hands shaking so badly they had to press them flat against the wall.

Hold for- they couldn't hold anything. Their chest felt like it was caving in.

Out for six. Ragged. Uneven. But out.

Again.

Their hands were still shaking.

Again.

Just bottles falling. Just a convention. Just Berlin on a Tuesday afternoon where nothing was wrong and no one was dying and they were safe.

In for four. Hold for four. Out for six.

Their vision started to expand. The tunnel widening slowly, peripheral awareness creeping back in. They were safe. They were fine. They were not dying even though every nerve ending in their body was screaming otherwise.

That's when they noticed him.

The guy was maybe ten feet away, leaning against the wall with his phone out. He wore this elaborate historical costume- something European, ornate, the kind of craftsmanship that spoke of hours of careful work. Rich fabrics. Detailed embroidery. The kind of thing Rowan would have photographed back when they photographed things. Back when their hands didn't shake.

Had he noticed them? Probably. They'd practically thrown themselves at the wall like a feral cat escaping a dog, all graceless panic and sharp breaths that were definitely audible if you were paying attention. Great. Perfect. Excellent first impression for a complete stranger who was just trying to enjoy his convention break.

Rowan's face felt hot. Embarrassment mixing with adrenaline in a cocktail that made them want to sink through the floor. This guy was here in his beautiful costume, probably having a normal day, and here was Rowan having a breakdown ten feet away from him like some kind of disaster tourist who couldn't handle bottles falling at a flea market.

Pathetic. They were pathetic.

But looking at him—at the costume, at the way he held himself like he was taking a break from performing, at the careful details in the embroidery that caught the overhead lights—gave Rowan something to focus on that wasn't their own humiliation. The construction. The fabric choice. The contrast between historical accuracy and modern convention center. Their brain latched onto it the way a drowning person grabs floating debris, desperate for anything that wasn't the panic still thrumming under their skin.

In for four. Hold for four. Out for six.

Their hands found their camera without conscious thought. Old muscle memory. Document what you see. Find beauty in the frame. Prove the world contains more than horror.

They should walk away. Should find an actual exit. Should go back to the sublet and add this to the list of things they'd tried and failed at.

Instead, Rowan's legs carried them forward.

"Hey." Their voice came out rough, like they hadn't used it in days. Maybe they hadn't. "Sorry to-" They gestured vaguely at him, at the costume, at their camera. Words felt clumsy in their mouth. "This is going to sound weird, but could I photograph you?"

The guy looked up, and Rowan watched him shift into performance mode- posture straightening, smile becoming more deliberate. A trained smile. They'd seen those in enough hotels and checkpoints to recognize the particular quality of professional charm.

"The costume," Rowan added quickly, before he could respond. "It's really beautiful. The construction. I'm a photographer. Or I was. I just- " Fuck, they were bad at this. Their heart was still racing. Their hands were still shaking. "I haven't taken photos in a while and I'd like to try again and the light here is actually really good and- "

They were rambling. They were definitely rambling. This was a disaster.

"Sorry," Rowan said, already backing away. "Nevermind. Forget I asked. I should-"

Go. Leave. Add this to the list of ways they'd made things awkward and uncomfortable for strangers who were just trying to have a normal day.

 

[Solaris-]

Dmitri found himself lounging outside of the convention room- coffee in hand. Dressed head to toe in extravagant cosplay. An all black ensemble with silver accented jewelry that he'd had crafted for him for this occasion. It was clear to everyone that he embodied his role well. He needed the caffeine as the day had already been exhausting. It was hot in these clothes, under the makeup and lights. Still, he enjoyed it despite sweating through layers of deodorant. The coffee was blessedly cold and sweet enough to lighten his mood as he scrolled through his messages idly. There was some time yet before the next show where those from Verdigris would be asked to perform.

Hey, Marnie, I'm taking a break now. I'll see you later tonight.

The text was short. The two of them had been arguing again off and on about her even wanting to come with him to Berlin for this convention. She hadn't even had a passport and had shilled out the money to expedite it. When he'd told her she couldn't come with him to the convention center that day, she'd practically seethed with an anger that he'd never seen before in any other human other than her.

Having a girlfriend like her was tedious and it was why he chose not to date those that came to Verdigris. She'd all but strongarmed her way into his life. Paying for his time on dates and asking for him to spend time with her outside of the host venue. Dmitri knew it'd been a terrible idea, and yet, there was something in him that felt something for her. He wasn't sure it was love, but he certainly appreciated how dedicated she was to him and how she went well out of her way to do things for him on any given day. It was just that she was filled with a self-righteous fury any time anyone other than her got an ounce of his time that scared him; he'd never dated anyone like her before and doubted he would if they were to ever separate.

Demi, why can't I come with you? I want to see you perform too.

Though it was a text, he could practically hear her pouting voice through the tone. He hesitated a moment- trying to come up with a response that wouldn't irritate her further. The last time she'd come to one of these conventions, she'd made a huge scene, and it'd been a wonder they'd invited him back after all of what had gone on. Someone had wanted an innocent photo of him and she'd lost her mind when the stranger had touched him. It'd meant nothing to him- should have meant nothing to her- but she'd threatened the poor girl's life for it.

He'd looked up briefly from his phone- grateful for the distraction even if it was to see an unfamiliar face more or less run into a wall. Something had certainly startled them for them to wear that panicked look. He'd half a mind to ask if they were okay. With the look on their face though, Dmitri immediately decided that his presence wouldn't be helpful. He'd likely just make it infinitely worse on the poor kid.

Because you just can't, Marnie. We will talk about this later, okay? Not while I'm working.

After the message was sent, he knew it would cause problems later, but for now, he was just happy to get back to his job. This is what paid his bills, and he needed to make a good impression today.

"Hey, sorry to-"

The words cut through his own thoughts and Dmitri was quick to pocket his device into his slacks. Almost immediately, he stood up a little straighter- trying to pull the invisible mask back over his face to hide whatever worried look he'd worn not a few moments ago. Eyes the color of warm honey looked down slightly to the person he'd just been thinking about consoling. They were speaking with him, and he offered a polite and genuine smile. It was well practiced, but he was glad that the other was okay enough for now at least.

A photographer? There was no shortage of those- amateur or otherwise here. Likewise, Dmitri was no stranger to the camera either. Before he had a chance to speak, the shorter person was already walking away from him. Reaching out with a gentle hand, he stopped them. "Hey, wait a second. At least let me respond before you start walking away." A quiet chuckle left him through his nose and he turned to look over at the stranger in front of him once again.

"As you can probably tell, I'm part of this convention. My name is Dmitri and it's a pleasure to meet you." The words were honeyed, sweet, and practiced, though somehow still genuine as he meant them. "I'm taking a break before the next show, but if you would like I'd be more than happy to let you take photos of me. I'm not busy." It could be good for exposure. If the other allowed him access to post the photos on his socials, and they were any good, then he knew they would get a lot of attention. "Let's go upstairs. The lighting is better up there and there is less people to fight for floor space."​

 

[Froshimaru]

​

The upstairs balcony was quieter.

Not silent - nothing in a convention center full of a few thousand people could be truly silent - but the noise felt further away up here. Muffled. Like someone had wrapped the chaos in cotton and pushed it to the edges of Rowan's awareness where it couldn't quite reach them.

They followed Dmitri up the stairs, camera bag knocking against their hip with each step. Their hands had mostly stopped shaking, though the adrenaline hangover was setting in. That hollow, exhausted feeling that came after panic burned through all their available fuel. Like being wrung out and left to dry.

The balcony overlooked the main convention floor, all that controlled chaos visible through the railing but blessedly distant. Up here it was just a handful of people taking breaks, scrolling phones, adjusting costumes. The lighting was better too - Dmitri had been right about that. Natural light from the skylights mixing with the artificial glow, creating something softer than the harsh fluorescents downstairs.

Rowan's photographer brain cataloged it automatically. Good contrast. Interesting shadows. The kind of light that would make the details in Dmitri's costume really sing.

Their hands went to their camera bag, unzipping it with muscle memory that predated everything else. The Canon 5D Mark IV sat nestled in its usual spot, lens cap still on, carried across three continents and barely touched in the last six months. They'd brought it to the flea market like a talisman. Proof they used to be someone who created things instead of just running from them.

"Thanks for this," Rowan said, pulling out the camera and immediately checking the settings out of habit. Aperture, shutter speed, ISO - all still where they'd left them whenever they'd shot last. "I know it's weird, random stranger asking to photograph you. Probably happens all the time at these things, but still."

They were rambling again. Deflecting. Their default setting when they didn't know what else to do with their hands or their mouth.

The camera felt heavier than they remembered. Or maybe their arms were just tired from holding tension for the last twenty minutes. They raised it anyway, looking through the viewfinder at Dmitri for the first time with the distance that a lens provided.

The costume was even more impressive through the camera. All black - not just black but layers of it, different textures and depths creating dimension that most people probably missed from a distance. The deep V-neckline with that high collar framing it, structured and dramatic. Silver chains draped across the shoulders and chest, catching light like small constellation points. The way the outer robe-like layer fell over the fitted underlayer, creating movement and weight. Even the accessories - that teardrop crystal pendant, the silver jewelry, the way everything worked together without being overwhelming.

This wasn't some off-the-rack costume. Someone had put serious thought into every element, from the chain placement to the way the fabrics interacted. Historical inspiration filtered through a modern aesthetic sense.

Rowan took a test shot without thinking about it. The shutter click felt like coming home and leaving home at the same time.

They lowered the camera, checked the LCD screen on the back. The image was technically fine - properly exposed, reasonably composed, the silver details bright against all that black - but something was off. Dmitri looked good, obviously. The costume photographed beautifully. But there was a quality to his expression that felt... performed. That same trained smile from earlier, the one that probably worked great for his audience downstairs but felt too polished through a lens that was designed to catch the real stuff underneath.

Rowan knew that smile. Had photographed a thousand variations of it in a dozen different countries. The smile that people wore when they wanted you to see what they wanted you to see, nothing more.

"You don't have to -" They gestured vaguely with the camera, trying to find words for what they meant. "The Prince thing. You can just be... you. If you want. I'm not trying to get convention photos or whatever. I just -"

What? What were they trying to get? Proof that they could still do this? Evidence that beauty existed in Berlin on a Tuesday afternoon when they'd just had a breakdown over falling bottles at a flea market?

"I photograph people," Rowan said finally, meeting Dmitri's eyes directly for maybe the first time since this whole interaction started. "Not costumes. The costume is incredible, don't get me wrong - whoever designed this knew exactly what they were doing with the chain placement and the layering - but it's the person wearing it that makes it interesting. Does that make sense?"

They weren't sure it did. Wasn't sure anything they'd said in the last five minutes made sense. But they were trying, and maybe that counted for something.

Their phone buzzed in their pocket - probably Dr. Vogler's reminder to check in after the flea market outing, letting her know they'd survived their homework assignment. Rowan ignored it. They'd text her later. Maybe mention that they'd talked to a stranger and taken a photo and hadn't completely fallen apart in the process.

That had to count as progress.

They raised the camera again, waiting to see if Dmitri would drop the performance or keep it up. Either way was fine, really. Rowan would take the photos regardless. But something about him - the way he'd reached out to stop them from leaving earlier, the gentleness in that gesture, the fact that he'd offered to move somewhere quieter without Rowan having to ask - made them think there might be something real under all that honey-sweet charm.

And if there was, they wanted to photograph that instead.

"Just -" Rowan adjusted their grip on the camera, thumb hovering over the shutter button. "Stand however feels comfortable. Look wherever you want. I'll follow you."

The afternoon light caught those silver chains again, traced the line of the collar, disappeared into the depths of all that black fabric. Behind him, the convention floor buzzed with distant energy. And for the first time in months, Rowan felt something that wasn't just exhaustion or guilt or the weight of everything they'd left behind.

They felt present.

It wouldn't last - never did - but for now they'd take it.

 

[Solaris-]

Even despite how extroverted Dmitri was, he too was grateful for the quieter atmosphere of the upstairs balcony. There had been a few people that had stopped and pointed at him as he and Rowan passed, but he only offered them a polite wave and kept walking. It would be rude of him to drag the other into any conversations when he'd promised him his time alone. Not that the dark haired man really wanted to entertain them right now in the first place. If Marina were here she wouldn't be happy he'd even looked in their general direction.

It was cooler up here as well, and he was thankful for the breeze of the warm autumn air that filtered through the open window. He never really knew what to expect from a photo shoot. Normally the one with the camera directed him unless he was planning his own photos. How to stand and even how to look was different from person to person. Would Rowan want more candid shots? Something more melancholy and reserved? Or just a performance he would be about to give in the next hour?

“You don’t have to thank me.” He wasn’t a celebrity or anyone truly important. Just some no name cosplay enthusiast that would hardly get Rowan any recognition if that’s what he wanted. Even if his socials were flush with follows and likes, it was the same people that ran in these circles- other people who enjoyed dressing up and fans of the craft. “I was thinking about how I wanted to showcase this costume before you came along, so maybe I should be thanking you.” There was a hint of accent behind the ravenette’s voice. Remnants of his parents’ enforcing of use of their native Russian his earlier years. It still remained after all this time despite English being his most used language these days.

There was a gentle click of the camera shutter, but the look on Rowan’s face showed some displeasure in the photo on the LCD. His head lilted a bit in curiosity, but he said nothing quite yet. He was well versed in people watching- had nearly become a hobby for him from his profession at this point. Even just the small body language told Dmitri that the other was uncomfortable still even though he’d seemed quite excited to take photos before. His eyes widened a bit when it was mentioned that he didn’t need to perform and it was Dmitri’s turn to be uncomfortable.

A soft, embarrassed hue filled his face. It’d been so long since he’d been genuine. Even in his relationship he felt the pressure to be perfect- to put that mask on. No one had ever asked for photos of HIM before- just his persona. The thing they wanted to see from him and paid money to get to know.

It didn’t melt away instantaneously, no, but he did feel that mask slip once more. He let out a quiet sigh through his nose and his shoulders fell slightly from the perfect posture- though he did not slump. Just this once, he would allow someone to photograph him as Dmitri and not as the prince they all loved. He moved towards the open window. Outside, the leaves were starting to lose their color. Vibrant reds and orange stood in stark contrast to the all black silhouette he embodied. As the light from outside caught the soft tresses of his hair, he knew it would look the color of cherry cola through the viewfinder rather than truly black. Dmitri gave a warm smile, a gentle upturn of his lips, this time without the practiced elegance from before. This felt more natural to him, and to say he was enchanted by it would be a bit of an understatement.

“It makes sense to me.” Rowan had more experience behind the lens than he did for sure, and far be it from him to treat him like he didn’t know what he was talking about.

As it drew closer time to his performance, he had an idea for one more photo- though this one was a bit more personal. He withdrew his phone from his slacks once again. “Do you mind being in one with me? I’d like to remember this. And also was wondering if you wanted to get coffee with me after I’m done? I just-“ Dmitri wondered why he was doing this with a stranger he’d barely just met. Maybe he was endeared to the shorter person that had just finished taking his photos; he really didn’t know. “You seemed really panicked earlier, and I wanted to make you feel better before you approached me, but figured it was a bad idea.” They’d seemed dazed and confused walking into the convention and maybe they hadn’t realized what it was. He didn’t pry on what had spooked them so bad though. That wasn’t his business. “And I guess now, I want to thank you. You’re the first person who has asked me to be myself. It means more than you could imagine.”

Dmitri offered over his phone to Rowan so he could add their contact information if they wished. “I can text you when I’m done if you’d like to get coffee with me. If you don’t want that, I understand.” There was never any pressure, and he wouldn’t force them if they truly didn’t want to spend another moment with him. “And do feel free to say no to the coffee, but please do at least let me take a photo with you.” It would be something he could hold close to his chest for moments when self doubt resurfaced.​

 

[Froshimaru]

​

The shutter clicked again, and this time Rowan felt it in their chest.

Not the panic from earlier - that wire-tight anxiety that had sent them careening through the flea market like something hunted. This was different. Softer. The kind of feeling they'd almost forgotten existed underneath all the exhaustion and guilt and weight of everything they carried.

Wonder.

Through the viewfinder, Dmitri had shifted. The change was subtle - probably invisible to anyone who wasn't trained to notice the small things, the moments between moments that told the real story. His shoulders had dropped maybe half an inch. The smile had gone from stage-perfect to something genuine, just a soft upturn at the corners that reached his eyes this time. He'd moved toward the open window where autumn light filtered in, catching the dark cherry-cola shine of his hair, the silver chains across his chest, the way all that black fabric became layers and depth instead of just costume.

He looked real.

Rowan's hands were steady. That realization hit them somewhere around the third photo - their hands, which had been shaking so badly twenty minutes ago when bottles crashed two tables over at the flea market, were completely steady now. Finger on the shutter button, left hand supporting the lens, the familiar weight of the camera a kind of anchor they'd been too afraid to reach for.

Click. Advance. Breathe. Click.

The photos were good. Not technically perfect - Rowan had never cared much about technical perfection anyway, that was for studio photographers who controlled every variable - but honest. Real. Dmitri backlit by afternoon sun, expression open in a way that made him look younger than whatever age he actually was. The silver jewelry catching light like small prayers. The contrast between historical costume and modern convention center visible through the window behind him.

A person. Just a person. Not a casualty. Not a statistic. Not someone's worst day frozen in a frame.

"It makes sense to me," Dmitri said, and Rowan lowered the camera for a moment, meeting his eyes directly.

There was something in his voice - a hint of accent, Russian maybe, softened by years of English - that made the words feel heavier than they should. Like he understood what Rowan was asking for even if they hadn't said it clearly. Permission to see him as human instead of performance. Permission to photograph something beautiful that wasn't wrapped in horror.

Rowan took a few more shots, letting Dmitri settle into whatever felt natural. They didn't direct much, just followed him with the camera, catching the small movements and genuine expressions that made up actual personhood. This was what they'd forgotten in Berlin, in those six months of barely leaving the sublet - that photography could be about witnessing joy instead of documenting atrocity. That their camera could capture proof of gentleness instead of violence.

Their chest felt tight again, but different this time. Not panic. Something closer to grief, maybe, or relief, or the complicated mess of both at once. This is what you walked away from, the voice in their head whispered - not Marcus's voice this time, but their own. You could have kept doing work that mattered. You could have stayed.

But they hadn't stayed. They'd left. And maybe this mattered too, in a smaller way. Documenting the ordinary instead of the extraordinary. Proving that peace existed in Berlin on a Tuesday afternoon.

Maybe that was enough. Maybe it had to be.

When Dmitri pulled out his phone, Rowan's immediate instinct was to step back, put distance between themselves and whatever came next. They were good at hellos. Terrible at everything after.

"Do you mind being in one with me? I'd like to remember this." Dmitri held the phone loosely, not pushing it toward them yet. "And also was wondering if you wanted to get coffee with me after I'm done? I just-" He paused, and Rowan watched him struggle with words the same way they always did. "You seemed really panicked earlier, and I wanted to make you feel better before you approached me, but figured it was a bad idea."

Coffee. With a stranger. A person they'd just met, who they'd photographed for maybe fifteen minutes, who had no idea that Rowan was barely functional most days and probably a bad investment of anyone's time or energy.

"And I guess now, I want to thank you. You're the first person who has asked me to be myself. It means more than you could imagine."

Fuck.

Rowan's hand went to the back of their neck, rubbing at tension that had taken up permanent residence there. They should say no. Should make some excuse about catching a train (they'd miss it anyway, they always did) or having plans (they didn't) or just needing to be alone (which was true, but also wasn't). Should protect both of them from the inevitable disappointment when Rowan failed at being a normal person who could have coffee with someone and not make it weird.

But Dmitri was holding out his phone now, expression open and genuine in that same way he'd looked through the viewfinder, and something in Rowan's chest cracked a little.

You're the first person who has asked me to be myself.

Christ. Rowan understood that feeling better than they wanted to. The performance of being okay. The mask you wore because people couldn't handle the real version, the one that was tired and broken and still carrying around too much weight from places you'd left behind.

"Yeah." The word came out before they'd fully decided to say it. "Okay. Coffee. I can do coffee."

They took the phone, fingers brushing against Dmitri's for a second in the handoff. The contact information screen was already open, cursor blinking in the name field like it was waiting for Rowan to commit to something. Which they were. Kind of. In a small way that probably wouldn't matter in the long run but felt significant right now.

Their hands hesitated over the keyboard. What name did they even use? Rowan felt too formal. Ro too casual for someone they'd just met. Woodsmoke was their handle for photography stuff, but that seemed pretentious when you said it out loud to another human.

They typed: Rowan Castellanos and then their number underneath it. Quick, before they could overthink it more than they already were.

"Fair warning, I'm terrible at texting back." Rowan handed the phone over, not quite meeting Dmitri's eyes. "Not personal, just... a thing. But if you text me about coffee I'll actually respond." Probably. Maybe. They'd try, at least. Their hand went to their camera strap, fingers worrying at the worn leather. "And yeah, you can take a photo. Just don't expect me to look photogenic or whatever."

Dr. Vogler would be proud. The thought hit them suddenly - their therapist who'd been gently pushing them toward exactly this kind of thing. Small interactions with strangers. Proof that the world contained more gentleness than violence. Evidence that Rowan could exist in public spaces without completely falling apart.

Well. They'd fallen apart a little. But they'd also taken photos. Talked to a person. Agreed to future plans instead of running.

Progress. Probably.

The afternoon light was starting to shift, getting closer to golden hour - Rowan's favorite time for photography, when everything looked softer and more forgiving than it actually was. Through the window, the convention floor buzzed with distant energy, all those people in their costumes living their lives, having normal days that didn't involve panic attacks or haunted pasts or the weight of hard drives full of photos they couldn't look at.

And for the first time in months, standing on this balcony with a stranger who'd asked them to see him as human, camera in hand and the possibility of coffee later hanging in the air between them, Rowan felt something that wasn't just exhaustion.

Present. They felt present.

The voices in their head - the ones that usually whispered about survival guilt and wasted potential and all the ways they'd failed - had gone quiet. Not gone, never completely gone, but muted enough that Rowan could breathe around them.

"Alright." They managed something that might have been close to a smile, brief and uncertain. "Let's take your photo. Then you should probably get back to your show or whatever. And I'll... stick around."

They'd stick around. At least for a little while. At least long enough for coffee.

That had to count for something.

 

[Solaris-]

Dmitri was filled with an eager excitement the longer he was in the presence of this stranger. It felt strange that someone new to him could breathe so much life into his day when he’d been filled with so many heavy feelings before this interactions. He knew it was a bad idea, but there was some desperate part of him that wanted to get to know the light haired person whose name he still didn’t know. He supposed it was the loneliness. Between not having a real friend outside of Ashe and her brother who he rarely saw and being stuck in a relationship he’d emotionally checked out of months ago, it was definitely loneliness. Still, there was a simple pleasure that he allowed himself to feel when Rowan indulged him in both of his asks. It would be nice to get coffee after the event and talk more with someone who wanted to know who he was beneath the carefully painted veneer.

One slender arm moved around Rowan’s shoulder as he moved closer so they could take a selfie. His gloved hand rested gingerly on their shoulder. “I think you look perfectly fine to me.” Photogenic or not, it wasn’t like this was going to be posted on his socials- just a happy reminder that he’d not dreamed this. With the golden backdrop of the lowering sun behind them, he raised the phone in front of them. He’d leaned himself against the shorter of the pair and pressed the button to take the photo. Professional by no means, but it was cute. Immediately he sent it to the number Rowan had put into his phone so that they could both have it. Along with it was a simple text that contained his name and online handle as well.
‘Dmitri Rostova
@DemiRostova’

“I won’t take it personally. I know you’ve barely met me and it’s a weird ask. I apologize for putting you on the spot, Rowan,” He unwound his arm from the slender shoulders reluctantly. It would have been even weirder to maintain their brief contact and he did really have to leave as he could already hear the announcement from the overhead PA system down the stairs. “When I’m done I’ll text you. If you decide to leave or don’t text back, I won’t be offended.” Where most people might have said that as nothing more than sweet words to reassure someone’s worries, he meant them. It wasn’t as though he were asking the other on a date, but somehow he still felt the nervousness that came with asking someone out.

It was time now to put that mask back on- to not show the crowd his true face or who he really was behind it. The wall he’d let down was put back up the instant he’d descended the stairs to return to his show.

- -

Nearly an hour and a half later, Dmitri rinsed his face in the bathroom sink. Rinsing away sweat and makeup both, the cold water felt nice against his overheated skin. He’d removed the costume from his svelte frame and it’d been replaced with much more modern clothing- form fitting dark washed jeans and a short sleeved t-shirt that showed off his heavily tattooed arms. A singular lip piercing was put back through its hole, and looking at himself now, he wondered if Rowan would even recognize him the way he looked. It made him chuckle as slender digits ran through his tussled dark hair.

‘Hey, the show’s over. Still wanna go out? My treat. I’ll meet you downstairs.’

The text to Rowan was short and sweet and to the point as he exited the bathroom. Most of the event goers had already filtered out or were meeting with other performers, but Dmitri rarely stuck around for any after events. Usually, he was running home to Marnie to soothe her fears and to deal with her tantrums. She would have to wait though. He was preoccupied with other things; the promise of getting to know a new friend was far more important than listening to her accuse him of cheating for the upteenth time.

Amber hues locked onto Rowan easily. They were far away from any crowds of people. It helped that they had lighter hair and an easily recognizable look. They had never looked like they quite fit in amongst the rest of the attendees, and he was grateful for that in this moment. Long legged strides took him over to the person he’d been looking for and he seated himself next to them on the cushioned bench. “Just so you don’t freak out, this is what I normally look like under all of that.” He couldn’t help the quiet chuckle that escaped him at that moment. People were usually surprised at just how much his appearance changed the moment the cosplays were gone. “I’m glad you stayed. Hopefully it wasn’t too boring for you. No offense, but you don’t really look the type to be interested in these kinds of things.” That was a good thing. Not a fanboy or a stalker. Just a stranger and now an acquaintance.​

 

[Froshimaru]

​

The convention center was somehow even louder after Dmitri left.

Rowan stayed on the balcony for a while, camera still in their hands, watching the organized chaos below through the safety of distance. Cosplayers posed for photos. Vendors called out to passing crowds. Somewhere a panel was letting out, flooding the floor with people dressed as characters they didn't recognize. It should have been overwhelming - would have been overwhelming an hour ago when they'd stumbled in here mid-panic attack.

But something had shifted. Not fixed, nothing was ever really fixed, but... shifted.

They looked down at their phone. The selfie Dmitri had sent was already saved to their camera roll, along with his contact information. The photo was candid in a way that felt almost vulnerable - him in full Prince regalia, Rowan looking vaguely startled like a deer caught in headlights, golden hour light making everything softer than it actually was.

Proof this happened. Proof they'd left the sublet and talked to someone and didn't completely fall apart.

Well. They'd fallen apart a little. But they'd also put themselves back together enough to take photos. To say yes to coffee. To not run.

Progress. Maybe.

Their phone buzzed again. Dmitri's text was short, casual, giving them an out if they needed it.

'Hey, the show's over. Still wanna go out? My treat. I'll meet you downstairs.'

Rowan's chest tightened. Their thumb hovered over the screen, throat going dry in that way that meant their body was gearing up for flight mode again. They could text back 'sorry, had to leave' and disappear like they usually did. Make an excuse about catching a train they'd already missed or having plans they definitely didn't have. Go back to the sublet and add this to the list of almost-connections they'd sabotaged before they could become real.

Dr. Vogler's voice in their head: "What's the worst that could happen if you stay?"

Everything. Nothing. Something in between that they couldn't predict or control.

Their hands were shaking again. Just slightly. Enough that it took them two tries to type out a response.

'yeah. still here. meet you downstairs'

Send. Done. No taking it back now.

Fuck. Okay. This was happening.

They packed their camera away carefully, hands moving through familiar motions while their brain screamed at them to leave. The convention floor was starting to thin out, people heading to after-parties or hotels or wherever cosplayers went when they took off their costumes and stopped performing. Each group that passed felt too close, too loud, like the walls were slowly pressing in.

Rowan found a bench near the main entrance, away from the remaining clusters of people. Sat down. Stood back up. Sat down again. Their leg bounced compulsively, nervous energy with nowhere to go. They pulled out their Moleskine notebook, flipped it open, stared at the last entry without really reading it. Put it away. Checked their phone. Two minutes had passed.

This was stupid. This was a mistake. They should leave before Dmitri got here, before they had to actually follow through on this, before they inevitably made things weird and uncomfortable because that's what they did, they made things weird and-

Movement in their peripheral vision made them look up.

When Dmitri appeared, Rowan almost didn't recognize him. The Prince was gone - costume, makeup, all of it stripped away to reveal someone completely different. Dark jeans. T-shirt showing off tattooed arms that hadn't been visible before. A lip piercing catching the overhead lights. His hair was still that cherry-cola dark but messy now, like he'd scrubbed it clean of product and let it do whatever it wanted.

He looked younger. More real. Like someone Rowan might actually know instead of photograph.

Their heart was doing that thing again - racing for no good reason except that someone was walking toward them, someone who expected them to be capable of normal human interaction.

"Just so you don't freak out, this is what I normally look like under all of that," Dmitri said as he sat down, and there was something self-deprecating in his tone that made Rowan's chest hurt a little.

Like he expected them to be disappointed by the real version.

"I'm glad you stayed," he continued before Rowan could find words. "Hopefully it wasn't too boring for you. No offense, but you don't really look the type to be interested in these kinds of things."

Rowan let out a breath that might have been close to a laugh, except their throat was too tight and their hands were gripping the edge of the bench like it was the only thing keeping them grounded.

"Yeah, definitely not my usual scene. I kind of... stumbled in here by accident. Was trying to escape a crowded street and picked the wrong door."

That was one way to describe having a panic attack at a flea market over falling bottles, sure.

They stood up because sitting felt too vulnerable, too trapped. Their camera bag knocked against their hip as they shouldered it, and they immediately started worrying at the strap with their fingers. Old nervous habit. Their hands found their pockets next, trying to look casual and definitely failing.

"You look different. Good different. Just... different. The tattoos are cool - couldn't see them before."

Small talk. They were attempting small talk and it felt like dying slowly. Every word came out wrong, too stilted or too casual or just fundamentally awkward in ways they couldn't fix. This was why they didn't do this. This was why they kept moving, why they stayed alone, why their only regular human contact was a therapist who got paid to tolerate them.

"So, coffee?" The question came out a little too fast, a little too eager to move this along before they completely fell apart. "You pick the place. I've only been in Berlin a few months and mostly I just know which train stops have the least amount of people."

Wait. Shit. Did Dmitri even know Berlin? He was here for a convention. He probably wasn't local. Rowan's brain caught up to their mouth about three seconds too late, and they felt heat creep up the back of their neck.

"Or - actually, are you even from around here? I just assumed... but if you're just visiting for the convention, I can... I mean, I don't know a lot of places, but I know a few. There's this one spot near Kreuzberg that's usually pretty quiet. Good coffee. Or we could just... I don't know. Find something."

They were rambling. Definitely rambling now. Their hands pulled out of their pockets to gesture vaguely at nothing in particular, then immediately went back to worrying at their camera strap because they needed something to do with the nervous energy that was threatening to crawl out of their skin.

Their phone buzzed in their pocket - Dr. Vogler checking in on the flea market assignment. Rowan's hand twitched toward it before they forced themselves to leave it alone. They'd text her later. Maybe. If they survived this without having another breakdown.

The convention center doors opened behind them, letting in cool autumn air that smelled like rain and distant smoke. Outside, Berlin was doing its thing - people heading home from work, cars navigating narrow streets, the particular quality of afternoon light that made everything look like a postcard. Rowan's eyes tracked the exit routes automatically. Three ways out from here. Four if you counted going back through the convention center.

Their therapist would probably have something to say about the fact that they were already planning escape routes.

Their heart wouldn't slow down. Kept hammering away like they were in actual danger, like having coffee with someone who'd been unexpectedly kind was somehow equivalent to being trapped in a basement in Aleppo. Their brain knew the difference. Their body didn't seem to care.

"I mean, wherever. I'm... not picky. Obviously." They tried for a smile and it probably came out more like a grimace. God, they were so bad at this. Six months of barely talking to anyone besides Dr. Vogler and now they couldn't even figure out how to suggest getting coffee without making it weird.

This was the first real conversation they'd had with someone who wasn't being paid to listen to them, and they were already fucking it up.

Their hands were still shaking. They shoved them deeper into their pockets where Dmitri hopefully couldn't see.

Progress. Weird, uncomfortable, already-making-this-awkward progress.

But progress.

 

[Solaris-]

The way Rowan stood the moment he’d seated himself wasn’t lost on him. The poor kid was probably afraid of him and he’d not stopped for a second to think that he might be coming across as some kind of creep. Where most women were afraid of men hitting on them publicly, he wondered if this was one of those moments. He was openly bisexual, a shameless flirt without meaning to. It was a byproduct easily of his persona that he’d adopted into his everyday life which he’d found made it easier to make friends. Even despite all of that, he hadn’t meant to come off so strong, and would remind himself to dial it back for the sake of Rowan so that he didn’t make it feel as though he were trying to solicit them for a date as that was certainly not what he was after.

He shrugged his shoulders and brought stiff limbs up over his head to stretch tired muscles. “Maybe it was where you were meant to be. Call it fate if you like.” His mother’s superstition rubbing off on him in that sentence most likely. “You saved my ass even if by accident.” Too many fangirls made him nervous even if Marnie wasn’t there to watch it. Being too close to fans made his skin itch and crawl in ways he’d never been able to properly explain to people. They saw Dmitri as an extrovert, and he certainly was, but he hated the way they clung to him and tried desperately to get into his good graces. He’d already gone against his better judgement once with Marnie and now he was wary of all of them without letting it be known too openly. His friends would laugh at him for it anyway. He was a man after all; he should just be grateful for the attention even if it scared him.

“Thanks most people think the flowers are girly, but I’ve always liked them.” The intricate blackout tattoos that snaked up his arms and over his shoulders under his sleeves had always been something he’d loved. They were a decoration and a way to express himself. “Most people don’t like seeing tattooed people in cosplay though, so they get hidden by long sleeves or by makeup for shorter sessions. That goes double if you’re doing character cosplay. People don’t want their fantasy ruined.” The words were said though it was clear he disliked them being fact. No one wanted to see their favorite character different than how they imagined them in their minds.

“So, coffee?”

The question reminded Dmitri of their original agreement quickly- bringing him back to the moment rather than thinking too hard on things he couldn’t change.

“Of course. Let’s go, Ptichka,” The word fell from his lips and he already regretted it. Fuck he was already giving Rowan nicknames. He stood before he could dwell on it for too long and as they exited the convention hall to breathe in the fresh air of the outside, he allowed himself to relax. It had been stuffy in there, filled with too many people that he both knew and didn’t. And now, he could focus on moving himself forward as people milled about their daily lives and paid the two of them no mind. “I’m not local; I’m just a tourist basically. I live in Portland, and Verdigris- the company I’m employed at- was invited to this event. There were a few of us there tonight to represent them. Though I am familiar with the shop you’re talking about.” He’d visited it a few days ago with his colleagues when they’d been exploring local Berlin shops. The atmosphere had been pleasant and the coffee wasn’t burnt like it was back in Portland.

“If you were curious about the convention, a bunch of different host clubs from around the states and Canada come together every year to meet up and show off. It’s a pretty small community all things considered.” Even despite the size of the crowd there, most of them were either family or friends of those on stage or were fans that had traveled to the convention locally. They were tight knit, but everyone took great pride in their craft. Some made their own outfits while the rest of them like Dmitri had them made and tailored for them. “But please, enough about me. I’d rather not talk about myself all night. I could bore you to tears if I did that.”

With a firm but gentle hold on Rowan’s arm, he gently pulled them out of the way of a cyclist- close to himself as he glared at the local who was in too much of a hurry to slow down. “Careful, Ptichka.” His fingers eased up on Rowan’s arm, but he kept the contact. It was best that they walk closer together. Being tourists and clearly not locals in an area they both barely knew was a recipe for disaster. “So, you do photography? You’re clearly very skilled. Your camera choice alone says as much.” He’d taken note of the details. The way he carried the camera now and the way he’d held it during their shoot. Careful, protective. Like it was a life line of sorts.

“The photos you took, if you don’t mind, could I have copies? I’d love to share them if I could. You would have the credit of course, but that goes without saying.” The two of them had walked now for quite some distance away from their original spot and headed towards the quieter streets where their destination lay.​

 

[Froshimaru]

​

Rowan's brain was still catching up to the fact that Dmitri had called them something in Russian - twice now - when they felt fingers wrap around their arm and pull them closer.

Their body went rigid. Every muscle locked up in that familiar way that meant fight or flight was about to make the decision for them. But it was just the cyclist. Just someone being careless on a bike. Just Dmitri keeping them from getting hit.

Not a threat. Not danger. Just... kindness.

Their therapist would be proud they'd managed to logic their way through that one instead of completely losing it.

"Careful, Ptichka," Dmitri said, and his fingers stayed on their arm, not gripping anymore but still there. Present. Grounding in a way that should have felt suffocating but somehow didn't.

Rowan's throat felt tight. They weren't used to people touching them - hadn't been touched by anyone who wasn't a doctor or a checkpoint guard in... god, they couldn't even remember how long. The contact should have sent them spiraling. Instead it just made them hyper-aware of how long it had been since another human had given a shit whether they walked into traffic or not.

"Thanks," they managed, voice coming out rougher than intended. "I'm usually better at watching where I'm going. Or worse at it. Depends on the day."

Portland. Dmitri was from Portland. That information settled into Rowan's brain alongside everything else they were trying to process. He'd flown across an ocean for a convention, was here with coworkers who were probably wondering where he'd disappeared to, and had somehow ended up offering to buy coffee for a disaster of a human he'd just met.

The math didn't add up. People didn't just do that.

"Host clubs," Rowan repeated, turning the words over in their mind. "So you get paid to... what, be charming? Go on dates with people who pay for your time?"

They immediately regretted how that came out - blunt and kind of judgmental when they hadn't meant it that way.

"Sorry, that sounded... I'm not judging. I've photographed way stranger things than that, trust me. It's actually kind of interesting. The performance of it. The persona you put on." Their hand went to their camera bag without thinking, fingers finding the familiar outline of their Canon through the fabric. "Everyone performs something, I guess. You're just more honest about it than most people."

The street they were walking down was quieter now, fewer people, more residential. Old buildings with character, trees losing their leaves, that particular quality of European architecture that Rowan still hadn't gotten used to after months of wandering through it. The light was fading into that in-between time - not quite sunset, not quite darkness. Blue hour creeping in at the edges. A close second to golden hour, that moment when the world turned soft and blue and contemplative.

When everything looked like it was holding its breath.

"So, you do photography? You're clearly very skilled. Your camera choice alone says as much," Dmitri said, and Rowan felt their chest tighten in that complicated way it always did when people asked about their work.

"I... yeah. Used to be a photojournalist. Did that for a few years. Now I just..." Their voice trailed off because they didn't know how to finish that sentence. Now I just take photos of nothing important because I broke myself documenting the important stuff? Now I just wander around trying to prove the world isn't as horrible as I know it is?

"Now I just shoot whatever catches my eye," they finished lamely. "Travel stuff. Street photography. People being... I don't know. Human."

The photos. Right. Dmitri wanted copies of the photos.

"Yeah, of course you can have them. I'll... I need to edit them first, but I can send them to you. Or email them. Whatever works." Their fingers worried at their camera strap again, that nervous habit they couldn't shake. "You don't have to credit me or anything. They're just... they're yours. You can do whatever you want with them."

The coffee shop was visible now, just ahead on the left. Small storefront with warm light spilling out onto the sidewalk, a few tables outside that were empty in the cooling evening air. Rowan had found this place three weeks ago during one of their long walks when sleep wouldn't come and staying in the sublet felt like suffocating. The barista was an older woman who never asked questions, and the coffee was strong enough to taste like something real.

Safe. As safe as anywhere could be.

"This is it," they said, gesturing at the shop. "Fair warning, the barista doesn't speak much English. My German is pretty rough, but I can usually manage to order without completely embarrassing myself."

They pushed open the door, and the familiar smell of coffee and old wood hit them immediately. Warm. Grounding. The kind of place that had probably been here for decades, serving the same coffee to different generations of Berliners who appreciated that not everything needed to be new or shiny or Instagram-worthy.

Rowan started toward a very picturesque table near the window before they noticed a table toward the back corner instead. The table tucked away where you could see the whole shop, where the entrance was visible but no one could sit behind you. Where your back was protected by two walls.

Their feet stopped moving.

They knew their own habit, but would Dmitri understand? The need to control sightlines, to know where every exit was, to never let anyone get behind you where you couldn't see them coming. It was the kind of thing you picked up when sitting with your back exposed meant danger. When not tracking every entrance and exit could get you killed.

Most people didn't sit like that. Most people just grabbed whatever table was convenient and didn't think twice about it.

Their heart did something complicated in their chest - part recognition, part curiosity, part that sharp ache that came from seeing your own damage reflected in someone else.

They followed Dmitri to the back corner without comment, settling into the chair across from him. From here they could see the entrance too, could track anyone who came in, could plot three different routes out if they needed them. The window to their left showed the darkening street outside.

Perfect. Exactly where they would have chosen if Dmitri hadn't gotten there first.

"I'll get the coffee," they said, already standing before Dmitri could argue about paying. "You said it was your treat but you're the one who just flew across an ocean. I can handle two coffees."

They approached the counter where Frau Weber was wiping down the espresso machine. She looked up and gave Rowan that small nod of recognition - not quite a smile, but acknowledgment that they were a regular. Someone she'd seen before. Someone who belonged here, at least temporarily.

"Zwei Americano, bitte," Rowan said in their clumsy German, then added, "Schwarz."

Black. No sugar. No milk. Hopefully it was palatable to Dmitri.

While Frau Weber prepared the drinks, Rowan's hands found their pockets again. Their heart was still racing, that constant hum of anxiety that never fully went away. But they were here. They were doing this. Having coffee with another human who apparently also needed to sit with their back to a wall.

When they returned to the table with two steaming mugs, they set one in front of Dmitri and wrapped their hands around the other. The ceramic was almost too hot to hold, but the burn felt good. Real. Anchoring.

"So," they started, then paused. "What does that mean? Ptichka? You've said it twice now and I don't... I don't know Russian."

Their hands were still shaking slightly. They took a sip of coffee to hide it, the bitter heat of it familiar and grounding.

 

[Solaris-]

"So you get paid to... what, be charming? Go on dates with people who pay for your time?"

The comment made him laugh. He hadn't meant to, but it just came out of him. He'd certainly heard more scathing descriptors of his work from older folks that thought they were closer to modern day prostitutes even despite the host club having strict rules about taking money for sexual favors and warnings about meeting guests outside of the safe atmosphere of the host club. "Something like that. Verdigris caters to women and gay men mostly. Lonely people who just need someone to smile at them and give them their time they wouldn't normally get. Some of them just want someone to help them feel like a normal person for the night, and even though I'm still new to this world, myself, I can understand the appeal." He'd only been there for a short amount of time compared to other hosts and had fallen into it quickly. "It makes me happy to know that even if just for an hour or two, I can make someone's day just a little easier until we have to stop pretending and go back to what we consider normal. And just so you don't get the wrong idea of me, this is not a host club where you can pay for sex." Just a drink. A conversation with a stranger who pretended to know you for an hour. And then back to their busy lives.

Honest was not a word Dmitri would use to describe himself. It felt disingenuous to take the compliment, but he didn't need to trauma dump on Rowan; they deserved better than that. "It is nice to have a real conversation with someone though." The two of them were still talking despite it being long since the honeyed works, fake smiles, and pretentious masks had fallen away. He felt himself drawn to the other person in ways he couldn't explain. Sure, they were cute, but he'd no interest in them in that way- or if he did, he deflected the thought nearly immediately from his brain. The way they fought to find their words and the way they had approached him with genuine intentions spoke to him on a different level. It was difficult to not be wholly enraptured by the experience he was being given.

He'd listened quietly as Rowan spoke about his camera work. Dmitri knew next to nothing about photojournalism, but then again, he only dabbled in photography when it became relevant to take his own photos for things. "Sounds like you capture a lot of interesting things with a lens." It made sense why he'd been approached now. He'd had half a mind to ask to see other photos, but thought better of it. It might be too personal. Where some people sketched in private journals, maybe this was Rowan's way of seeing the world.

"There's no rush to send them. I'll send you my email, but I do want to credit you. It's the least I can do." Dmitri insisted gently. If not for their own sake, then at least for Dmitri's he hoped that their light-haired companion would allow him this.

The shop was quiet. Soft ambient music played in the background and the soft mumble of chatter filled his senses with the scent of fresh brewed coffee. Not too many people, and it would be nice to relax for at least a little while. When Rowan stopped guiding them towards a table, Dmitri's own feet pulled them towards the table in the corner. He'd easily taken note of Rowan's tendency to avoid... well, everything. It was for the best that the two seated themselves away from eyes and ears where they could talk about whatever tickled their fancy. He'd released the gentle hold on their arm to allow them to sit across from him though he had to admit he was disappointed by the lack of contact. He'd not let that show on his features, however as it would be too difficult to explain away why he felt this way. Even if he'd come here with his friends, he would have chosen an option where he'd be less noticeable from the street. If Marnie came looking for him, he didn't want to invite her anger and wrath down upon an innocent person when he'd been the one to suggest this in the first place.

"Ptichka-" Though Rowan was gone before he could form the rest of his sentence. He'd offered to pay only because he'd felt bad for dragging them along in the first place and it'd been his idea. Now he felt especially guilty for letting someone else pay for him. It didn't matter if the coffee barely cost him two Euros, it was the principle of the matter.

When he sat there alone at the table, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. It was a bitter reminder that he'd told her he would be back after the show. Dmitri already knew who it was before he saw her messages. Angry, seething, bitter, and jealous.

Why aren't you back yet? I've been here all day waiting on you to get back. If I see that girl touching you again, she's dead.

And she had to wonder why she wasn't allowed back at the venues when he performed. Verdigris barely tolerated her shenanigans when she had come there to see him on a daily basis, and she was constantly reminded that when she was there she should behave appropriately. Dmitri hated feeling like he was someone's possession rather than their boyfriend, but he knew he had to get her to calm down for his own sake before he got back.

Just out for coffee with a colleague. Not a woman. When I get back I'll make us some dinner and we can watch TV in bed.

The phone was put away almost instantly the moment Rowan returned. They didn't need to know he was attempting to soothe a savage beast wrapped up in her own delusions. The mug was set down in front of him. Hot and comforting in its own right. He did add a bit of sugar to his own, but not nearly as much as what had been in the one he'd drank before. "Oh that," He offered an embarrassed smile. "It's just a nickname. Because you remind me of a bird." He admitted finally- opting to be truthful than lie about it. With how flighty Rowan was, he was like a bird trapped in a cage he couldn't quite escape from despite the door being fully open. "I can stop calling you that if you want. Admittedly, I'm not sure why it's the first thing that comes to mind rather than your name." Always a people pleaser- eager to make Rowan feel comfortable and calm any fires before they started.

"You've been here a while then, no? What interesting stories does Berlin have to tell through your viewfinder?" He was all too eager to bring their conversation back to something else- anything else. ​

 

[Froshimaru]

A bird?​

Rowan turned the word over in their mind, trying to decide if they were offended or if it was actually kind of accurate. Flighty. Trapped but free. Never staying anywhere long enough to build a nest. Yeah, that tracked. That tracked uncomfortably well for someone who'd known them for all of two hours.

"No, it's... it's fine. You can call me that." They took another sip of coffee, using the mug to hide behind for a moment. "It's not wrong. I've been called worse things."

That came out more bitter than intended. They tried for something lighter.

"Better than 'hey you' or 'that photographer' or whatever. At least it's... I don't know. Intentional."

Berlin. Dmitri was asking about Berlin, about what stories the city had to tell. Rowan's fingers found their camera strap under the table, worrying at the worn leather while they tried to figure out how to answer that question honestly without making it weird.

"I've been here about six months," they said finally. "Was supposed to be a few weeks. You know how it goes - or maybe you don't, I don't know. But sometimes you get somewhere and it's easier to stay than to figure out where to go next."

That wasn't quite true. Berlin wasn't easy. Nowhere was easy. But it was far enough from everything else, and Dr. Vogler was here, and the sublet was cheap, and leaving meant making decisions about where to go next and Rowan was so tired of making decisions.

"The stories..." They paused, trying to find words for something they'd never really articulated before. "Berlin's got layers, you know? All this history pressing down on itself. You can't walk anywhere without stepping on something that used to be something else. The Wall's mostly gone but you can still see where it was if you know where to look. And people just... live here. Like all that history is just part of the landscape."

Their coffee was still too hot but they drank it anyway, welcoming the burn.

"I mostly photograph the quiet stuff. Morning markets. People on trains. This one guy who plays accordion in Alexanderplatz every Tuesday - he's got to be like eighty years old but he's there every week without fail. Street art that shows up overnight and gets painted over by the next day. The temporary things."

Everything was temporary. That was the whole point.

"There's this graffiti artist who tags buildings in Kreuzberg - they do these really intricate birds. I've been trying to photograph them all before they get covered up but I keep missing them. Every time I find a new one, an old one's gone." They managed something that might have been close to a smile. "Kind of fitting, I guess. For a ptichka."

The coffee shop around them was doing its quiet evening thing. A couple had come in and taken a table near the front, talking in low German that Rowan couldn't quite follow. Frau Weber was restocking pastries in the display case, moving with the kind of efficiency that came from decades of the same routine. Outside, the street was darker now, blue hour giving way to actual night.

Rowan's leg was bouncing under the table again. Nervous energy with nowhere to go. They forced themselves to still it, wrapped both hands around their coffee mug like it was the only thing anchoring them to this moment. Their heart was still doing that thing where it wouldn't slow down, racing like they were in danger when all they were doing was having coffee with someone who seemed genuinely interested in what they had to say.

That was almost scarier than the panic attacks.

"You said it's nice to have a real conversation," they said, the words coming out before they'd fully thought them through. "Does that mean most of your conversations aren't real? At the host club, I mean. Or just... in general."

They immediately regretted asking. Too personal. Too direct. This was why they didn't talk to people - they had no idea where the boundaries were, what questions were okay and what questions made you sound like you were prying into someone's life when you'd only known them for two hours.

"Sorry, you don't have to answer that. I'm... not great at this. Talking to people. In case that wasn't obvious." Their hands tightened around their mug, knuckles going white against the ceramic. "I mostly just talk to my therapist these days and she gets paid to listen to me, so. Different dynamic."

Great. Now they were trauma-dumping on someone they'd just met. This was going exactly as well as they'd expected, which was not well at all.

Their phone buzzed again in their pocket. Dr. Vogler, definitely, probably ready to send a search party if Rowan didn't check in soon. They ignored it. They'd survived this long without completely falling apart - they could make it through one coffee without checking their phone every five minutes like they were waiting for permission to exist.

"Portland though," they tried, desperately changing the subject back to safer ground. "I've never been to the Pacific Northwest. Is it actually as rainy as everyone says? Or is that just... I don't know. Tourist propaganda or whatever."

Small talk. Weather. The most boring, safe topic in existence. They were crushing this whole normal-human-interaction thing.

Except Dmitri had put sugar in his coffee. Just a little, but enough that Rowan had noticed. They'd assumed he took it black like them - some weird solidarity thing they'd invented in their head - but no. He was a person with his own preferences who wasn't a mirror of Rowan's damage.

That should have been obvious. Was obvious. But something about it made Rowan's chest feel tight in a way they couldn't name.

They took another sip of their own black coffee, bitter and hot and exactly what they needed. The familiar taste cut through the noise in their head, gave them something concrete to focus on that wasn't their own spiraling thoughts.

Progress.

 

[Solaris-]

It was pleasant to sit here with Rowan. How the worries from the day and the conversation he'd just had seemed to melt away despite their topics of conversation not being personal entirely. He had to wonder if Marnie had been this easy to share conversation with once as well or if she'd always been the way she was now. Perhaps he'd been too blinded by the money she threw around so wistfully to spend time with him that he was willing to overlook her flaws. He was careful now, though, and Rowan seemed her opposite in every way. Quiet and gentle and nervous in ways that endeared Dmitri to him. He didn't know Rowan's story, but he hoped that some day they would be close enough that he could learn it. "I didn't mean anything by it." He promised- though it likely wasn't necessary as he'd already been given permission to call him as such. Ptichka it was then.

"I've only made one long distance travel my whole life," Dmitri admitted. By almost all accounts, his life was stable and he had a good relationship with friends and family. "From Moscow to Portland." It'd been a time of flux within his life that gave him similar feelings to what he felt now: unease, discomfort, feeling small and helpless, but in many different ways. "It sounds like you're no stranger to travel. I'll admit that I'm a little jealous of that." Being stuck in one place for so long, he'd never really experienced a wanderlust for the world around him. Visiting family in Moscow every year for holidays was enough to ease that for him most of the time.

It was Dmitri's turn to listen now, and he propped his elbow on the table- resting his chin against it as he did so. He could understand the layers. People went about their busy lives- pretending history never happened. He'd heard his parents speak on it when the Soviet Union became no more. When no one really knew what was going to happen. Still, his parents worked their jobs, he and his sister had still gone to school as if it'd been any other day. Every country never stopped to the flow of time even when the sky fell around them and the people were scared.

Temporary.

For someone like Dmitri, he understood the concept of temporary, but he craved the stability behind something concrete and easy to hold onto. He brought the cup to his lips as it'd cooled some by now and took a long sip. "Even temporary moments can feel like lifetimes to someone else." Especially someone who saw them everyday in action all around him. Rowan's words contained a passion behind them for their craft, and he could deeply relate to that. "You seem good at it though. Even if you don't think they're good enough, I would like to see some of the things you've seen around Berlin. Anything that catches your eye." They had a knack for this, certainly, and he'd be a liar if he wasn't interested in the things that they'd mentioned. Shots of what it was like to just live day to day and in the moment.

"...Does that mean most of your conversations aren't real?"

The question hit him harder than it should have and he looked away from his companion for a moment. His initial reaction was to give a jaded answer, but that wasn't fair to Rowan. "It's a fantasy for most people. We wear costumes and makeup and call ourselves different titles. You could call it pretend or make believe. I think most people refer to it as escapism these days." He'd fallen for it too back in the early days- had been wholly enraptured by the gentle conversations and how the hosts had made him feel like he was the only one in the room despite there being others. He'd become good at that too over time. "I like my job- have always enjoyed it for the connections and friends I have made. It allowed me to be who I was for the first time in many years of living up to others expectations." Maybe for him it had also been an escape from his real life only for it to become a part of who he was in the end. "But the conversations with guests lack emotional depth. We're not therapists; we're entertainers, and most people won't talk about anything other than the basics. The conversation we're having now would never happen with a patron for example." Where their words carried an emotional weight to them and came from experiencing different things throughout their lives, some others were perfectly content with simple things to not break the fantasy. "I could tell you easily with a smile on my face that you're the most beautiful person in the room and make you believe it, but I'd much rather be having the talk we are now than say pretty words that mean nothing to you. You're a real person and I'm just myself tonight. No theatrics, no false pretenses." Just Dmitri.

It'd been pretty obvious from the start the level of Rowan's discomfort. The fidgeting, the lack of eye contact, but still Dmitri had listened intently on whatever the other had to say. "I like talking to you, Ptichka. You don't have to try so hard to find words if you can't." He offered a simple shrug of his shoulders in an effort to let Rowan know that he wasn't pressing him for information or details.

"It really does rain that much," Dmitri chuckled quietly behind the cup he'd once more raised. "Portland is weird- good weird, but still weird. There's no shortage of interesting things happening at the very least. Some people say it's haunted or cursed or whatever, but I think the people in it are more interesting than chasing ghost stories. If you ever do visit, I can show you some nice places for some photos. No loud places, promise." It would likely be best to keep Rowan away from Dmitri's common haunts and just show him a quieter side of a strange city. ​

 

[Froshimaru]

​

Just Dmitri.

The words settled into Rowan's chest in a way that felt heavier than they should. No theatrics. No false pretenses. Just a person sitting across from them in a coffee shop in Berlin, talking about real things instead of performing some version of himself that was easier to consume.

Rowan understood that better than they wanted to.

"I get that," they said quietly. "The fantasy thing. I mean, I used to photograph... people at their worst. And everyone wanted the photos to mean something. To change something. But mostly people just looked at them and felt sad for thirty seconds and then went back to their lives. The fantasy there was that bearing witness mattered. That documentation could stop things from happening again."

They were saying too much. Definitely saying too much. But Dmitri had been honest with them - about the emptiness in conversations that were designed to be pleasant instead of real, about wearing costumes and playing pretend - and something about that honesty made Rowan want to match it.

"So now I photograph... I don't know. The opposite. People just existing. Being okay. And maybe that's its own kind of fantasy. Pretending the world is gentler than it actually is." Their hands tightened around their mug. "But at least no one has to perform for me. I'm not asking anyone to be their worst self so I can document it. Just... their regular self. However that looks."

The couple near the front laughed at something, the sound warm and easy. Frau Weber had finished with the pastries and was now wiping down the espresso machine with the kind of attention that suggested she was listening to their conversation even if she pretended not to be.

Rowan's leg had started bouncing again. They forced it still.

"Moscow to Portland is still pretty far," they said, trying to steer the conversation back to safer ground. "That's... what, like a fifteen hour flight? Maybe more. I don't know, I'm terrible with distances. But that's a whole life change, not just travel. New language, new culture, all of it."

They took another sip of coffee. It was cooling now, getting to that temperature where it was actually drinkable instead of just burning their mouth as punishment for existing.

"The travel thing isn't as glamorous as it sounds. Mostly it's just... moving before you have to put down roots. Before people start expecting you to stay." Their voice came out quieter than intended. "I'm good at arriving. Terrible at staying. Been doing it long enough that I don't know if I could stop even if I wanted to."

Too honest. Way too honest. They were definitely making this weird now.

"But yeah, I could... I could show you some photos. If you want. Not the... not the old stuff. Just the Berlin stuff. The quiet things." Their fingers worried at their camera strap under the table. "Fair warning, they're not exactly exciting. Old guys playing accordion. Graffiti birds. People waiting for trains. Very mundane."

Portland. Dmitri was offering to show them Portland if they ever visited. Like this was the kind of conversation that had follow-through, like they'd actually stay in touch after tonight instead of Rowan ghosting him the way they ghosted everyone.

The way they'd ghosted Elena.

Their chest felt tight again.

"Haunted and cursed sounds about right for a city I'd end up in," they said, trying for humor and probably landing somewhere closer to self-deprecating. "I seem to collect those. Berlin's got its share of ghosts too. You can't really escape them here. They're just... part of the architecture."

Like the ghosts Rowan carried were part of their architecture. Built into their bones, sitting heavy in their camera bag, following them across continents no matter how far they ran.

Their phone buzzed again. Third time. Dr. Vogler was definitely worried now. Rowan pulled it out just enough to see the screen - three missed texts, increasingly concerned.

They typed out a quick response under the table: 'still alive. having coffee. will check in tomorrow.'

Send. Done. They could deal with the consequences of worry later.

"Sorry," they said, putting the phone away. "My therapist. She worries when I don't check in after... assignments. Which sounds more ominous than it is. She just has me try to do normal people things and then report back. Like homework but for being functional."

God, they needed to stop talking. Every word that came out was making them sound more damaged, more like a project than a person. But Dmitri had said he liked talking to them. Had told them they didn't have to try so hard to find words.

That felt like permission to be a disaster. Or maybe it was just kindness from someone who understood what it was like to perform versus being real.

"How long are you in Berlin for?" The question came out before they could stop it. "The convention, I mean. Are you flying back soon or... do you have time to actually see the city?"

Their heart was doing that thing again where it raced for no good reason. Because asking about someone's schedule implied wanting to see them again. Implied follow-through on this weird, unexpected connection that had started with Rowan having a breakdown and ended with coffee in a back corner where they could both watch the exits.

Temporary moments can feel like lifetimes to someone else. That's what Dmitri had said. And maybe he was right. Maybe this one strange evening in a Berlin coffee shop would matter more than all the months of Rowan sitting alone in their sublet, trying to convince themselves that isolation was the same as healing.

Their coffee was almost gone. They should probably order another one. Or leave. One of those options was definitely the right choice and they had no idea which.

So they just sat there, hands wrapped around a cooling mug, trying not to think too hard about the fact that they didn't want this conversation to end.

 

[Solaris-]

Rowan had opened up little by little to him over the course of their meeting. He had noted the subtle things in the way they spoke. It still seemed like a sensitive subject for him to prod at too much though, and he would ultimately be respectful of the boundary. "Whoever said art had to be intrinsically meaningful to exist was the biggest lie ever told." He was a firm believer of that. "Art and photographs always mean something different to everyone. Maybe the photos you take seem meaningless to some, but there will always be someone out there who will look at a beautiful sunset or lonely graffiti art and feel something." The gentle things moved people in different ways, and he'd experienced that too not even just since meeting Rowan, but in the past. "And I know, at least for myself, being allowed to simply exist in a moment of time as just myself than what people normally want of me was more meaningful than any convention photo."

Dmitri offered a gentle roll of his shoulders- a simple shrug. "I was young- ten or twelve at most. Learning English was the hardest part, but I managed well enough I think." They didn't seem to have trouble communicating and that was testament enough to that. "I think it was harder on my parents and my sister; they were older than me when we moved, and their English isn't as good as mine so things can be hard on them sometimes, but we adapted fast." Out of necessity of course, but adapt they had. Despite their accents, he imagined his parents to be what people pictured in picturesque suburbia to be.

Traveling so often did sound rather exhausting. Even traveling to Berlin had been a tiring trip, and even though he'd wanted to sleep through most of their first day, the convention and the copious amounts of coffee had kept him from doing so. He could feel it now and hopefully when he would return back to the hotel room, he'd be allowed to rest.

"I'm happy to look at whatever you'd like to show me even if you think it's something I wouldn't have any interest in." Dmitri reassured him that he meant what he said when he meant he would like to see the photos- regardless of their subject matter. He wanted to see how Rowan saw the world- even if it was lonely.

He finished his own coffee as Rowan finished his text. He took a moment to reflect on how odd it was for him to seek out an interaction like this. Though, he definitely didn't want this to be their only one. He was only in Berlin for a short amount of time, and he hoped against hope that the two could have another introspective night like this one even if just for a few hours. "No need to apologize. It sounds important to check in every now and again." He made no mention of ignoring his own texts for most of the night either- though his were much less pressing.

"I'm here for the rest of the week. There's another convention tomorrow, and then a shorter meet and greet the following day for just the hosts and our bosses. Then, we have two rest days to explore the city or just relax if we need them before leaving on Saturday morning." From the way the question was posted Dmitri wondered if Rowan was leading it somewhere else. Perhaps they too desired to spend more time with him and that filled him with an odd sense of excitement he'd not felt since arriving there. "It's getting quite late, Ptichka, but if you want, I would suggest we can spend a few hours tomorrow evening again? You have my number and you're free to use it to message at anytime, though. I know you said you're bad at reaching out or texting back, but I'm happy to give you my time." Even if it was just for simple things, the door to communication was there and accessible to both of them to use at a whim if they desired to do so. "If you'd rather not come to the convention center again, I can meet you somewhere and we can continue our talk." It was likely to be even more crowded the following day, and he'd rather not set off Rowan's anxiety by asking them to be there for something they'd no interest in.

Dmitri checked his pockets to make sure he had both his keys to his room and his phone. "Thank you for humoring me, Ptichka. Let's talk again sometime soon. Wednesday, let me take you to lunch after my work is over. There's a sandwich place over there I've been wanting to try." He hadn't meant it like it sounded- like a date of some sort and hoped that Rowan didn't take it as such. ​

 

[Froshimaru]

​

Wednesday. Dmitri had said Wednesday like it was already decided. Like this wasn't just a one-time thing that would fade into the background of their respective lives the moment they walked out of this coffee shop.

Rowan's brain was trying to find reasons to say no. They were good at saying no, at making excuses, at protecting everyone involved from the inevitable disappointment when they failed at being a normal person who could maintain connections. But the word wouldn't come.

"Yeah," they said instead, and it came out steadier than they felt. "Wednesday. Lunch. I can do that."

Could they do that? Probably not. But they were saying yes anyway, which felt significant in a way they couldn't quite articulate.

"And tomorrow evening works too. If you're not too exhausted from... performing or whatever." Their hands found their pockets, fidgeting with the Moleskine notebook they kept there. "We could meet somewhere else. There's this park near Prenzlauer Berg that's usually pretty quiet in the evenings. Good light for photos too, if you wanted to see some of the bird graffiti I mentioned. One of the tags is on a building near there."

They were making plans. Actual plans with another human being. Dr. Vogler was going to have a field day with this in their next session.

The coffee shop felt warmer now, or maybe that was just Rowan's anxiety manifesting as physical heat. They stood up, shouldering their camera bag in that automatic way they had. The weight of it was familiar, grounding. The external hard drive at the bottom pressed against their hip - that constant reminder of everything they were carrying, everything they couldn't put down.

"I'll text you," they said, and immediately felt the need to qualify it. "I know I said I'm bad at texting but I'll... I'll actually respond. To you. I mean, I'll try to respond. I want to respond."

God, they sounded pathetic. Like they were making promises they weren't sure they could keep.

But Dmitri had been kind. Had sat with them in the back corner where they could both see the exits. Had called them ptichka like it was something gentle instead of something broken. Had talked about real things instead of performing some version of himself designed to be palatable.

That mattered. Somehow, inexplicably, that mattered.

"Thank you," Rowan said quietly. "For the coffee. For the conversation. For not... I don't know. Making it weird when I was obviously making it weird."

Their hand went to the back of their neck, rubbing at tension that had taken up permanent residence there.

"This was good. I mean, this was nice. I'm glad you asked."

The words felt inadequate for what they were trying to say. That this had been the first real conversation they'd had in months. That sitting in this coffee shop with someone who understood what it meant to perform versus being real had felt less like drowning and more like treading water. That they didn't want to leave but also desperately needed to leave before they said something that would ruin whatever this was.

Outside, Berlin had fully committed to darkness now. Street lights cast orange pools on the pavement. A few people walked past, bundled against the cooling evening air. Normal people doing normal things, unaware that inside this small coffee shop, two damaged humans had managed to have a conversation without completely falling apart.

Progress.

"I should probably let you get back," Rowan said, gesturing vaguely toward the door. "To your hotel. Your... people. Whatever you have waiting."

They didn't want to think too hard about what Dmitri had waiting. Colleagues from the convention, probably. Maybe other plans. A whole life that existed independently of this strange, unexpected evening.

Their phone was heavy in their pocket. Dr. Vogler's text sat there, unanswered beyond the bare minimum. They'd have to actually explain this - that they'd gone to the flea market and had a panic attack and somehow ended up at a convention center and met someone and had coffee and made plans to see them again. It sounded absurd even in their own head.

But it had happened. Was still happening. Real and documented by the selfie on their phone and the cooling coffee mug on the table and the way their heart was still racing even though the danger had passed hours ago.

"Wednesday," they repeated, more to convince themselves than anything. "I'll be there. Just... text me the address of the sandwich place and I'll meet you there. After your thing finishes."

They were already planning escape routes. Already calculating how long it would take to get from the convention center to wherever this sandwich place was. Already preparing for the possibility that they'd miss the meeting entirely because that's what they did - they missed trains and appointments and chances to connect because some part of them was always running.

But maybe this time would be different. Maybe this time they'd actually show up.

Their hand found their camera strap, worrying at the worn leather one more time before they forced themselves to let go.

"Good night, Dmitri," they said, and managed something that might have been close to a real smile. "Safe flight home. Whenever that is. Saturday, right?"

They turned toward the door before they could overthink it any more than they already had. Their legs felt unsteady, like they'd been sitting for hours instead of one coffee's worth of time. The familiar weight of their camera bag knocked against their hip with each step.

Behind them, Frau Weber was definitely pretending not to watch them leave. In front of them, the door to the street waited - that threshold between the warm safety of the coffee shop and the cool darkness of Berlin at night.

Rowan pushed through it and kept walking, hands in their pockets, heart still racing, mind already composing the text they'd send to Dr. Vogler about surviving today's assignment.

Survived wasn't quite right, though. They'd done more than survive. They'd shown up. They'd stayed. They'd made plans to do it again.

That had to count for something.

 

[Solaris-]

There was a warm tingle of something that ran the length of Dmitri's spine. Some indescribable feeling he'd not experienced in some time. Or had he ever felt this way meeting someone new? He wasn't certain. Whatever the case was, he would hold this feeling close to his chest as he was afraid that if he spoke it into existence it would disappear from him forever. He had already decided to set some time aside for Rowan tomorrow and Wednesday. Even if he was tired from working, it was still something he wanted to do. Just being allowed to exist to just be enough on his own was a high in and of itself. After all these years of chasing attention from patrons, this was different. "Tomorrow then, I'll meet you in the park around the same time." Barring the walk to the park of course, but he wasn't known to be late unless it was fashionably so.

"It was weird," Dmitri started. "But not in a bad way. The good kind of weird." The kind of weird that seemed to both make them want to chase whatever this was despite there being no strings attached. There was truly no reason for Rowan to reach out to him again, and despite their talk, they were still strangers that had met by an odd happenstance that had pulled them together. Definitely fate of some sort. He'd never been superstitious as his mother was, but he could hear her voice in his head telling him it was meant to happen for some reason or another.

If Rowan noted the look of disappointment on Dmitri's face at the mention of 'whatever he had waiting', he didn't dwell on the thought. Didn't want it to ruin the moment. For now, he could pass Rowan off as a colleague as long as he didn't make it obvious he'd much rather be here, much rather be looking at graffiti birds or taking a long walk under the orange glow of the street lamps in silence to take in the ghosts that lingered in Berlin while people milled about on whatever it was they did late at night. He'd looked at his life through rose tinted glasses for so long- four years too long- and now they were starting to crack under the pressure of a new experience leaving him dumbfounded and a little confused. And that fact frightened him more than it should have.

"Da svidanya, Ptichka. Don't say that to me yet like you plan to not see me again," Until we meet again. It felt more apt here than a simple English 'goodnight'. He let out a quiet laugh- though he did appreciate the sentiment of a safe travel. Hopefully they would do this over again tomorrow, and Wednesday.

His feet were already moving back in the direction of his hotel. A soft exhale came out through his nose as a visual huff from the chilly weather. Now he would have to return to Marnie and pretend that everything was okay between them when they were both frustrated with the situation for different reasons. Putting the mask back on of having let it rest for the hour he'd spent with Rowan proved to be daunting, but he had done it long before he stepped through the door to his room.

--

"Who is this?" Her voice shrill and pitched caught his attention as she waved his phone in front of his face. Rowan's name and their photo caught his attention easily.

"The colleague I was discussing having photos taken with last night." It wasn't a lie necessarily; they had discussed photos of all sorts- not just the ones of him and the convention the day previously. "I told you last night we were having coffee and that's why I came home late. It was very important to me to get a new gig." It still was; Dmitri was doing his best to save his reputation on this trip as well as try to enjoy the traveling to a foreign place which he'd not been able to do much before now. With her wanting to be conjoined to him as she was, she prevented him from doing many things that interested him, and when people met her, she was quick to scare them off- to isolate him from anyone she saw as a threat. Even his own family had suffered this, but he had told her she could not keep him from his loved ones.

He was rushing now as the convention was going to start relatively soon, and the last thing he wanted was something to sour his mood again. "You wouldn't cheat on me with this boy would you?" It was a trap and he knew it.

Dmitri reached for his phone- holding her close to him. "Of course not. You know I love you, Marnie." The platitudes were hollow without meaning, but she took them- not seeming to notice that he had not meant them and allowed him to retake possession of his device from her grip. He knew what she wanted to hear from him, and allowed himself to say them as long as it meant dealing with her would be easier for the time being.

--

The convention hall had been crowded that evening. Many fans demanded photos, extra performances, and other things from those on stage after it was over. Dmitri found himself once more in the bathroom- rinsing sweat and makeup from his face. Having already changed from his princely attire, he was dressed to be outside that time rather than in a warm coffee shop sharing conversation over something that would keep them warm despite the chill. Over a long sleeved shirt, he wore a loose fitting blue knit cardigan with a gentle embroidery around the sleeves. A gift from his sister from one of their last Christmases together- something she'd likely seen in a fashion magazine that had reminded her of him and when the two would share evenings pouring over them together. He missed when days were simple.

Taking a moment to stop to grab them both something to drink from a stall in the convention center, he quickly took a photo of the cups and sent a text to Rowan to let him know he was a little behind.

On my way. Coffee is important though. Meet with you soon, Ptichka.

Simple and to the point, but he was sure Rowan wouldn't mind the little pick-me-up as it seemed they both enjoyed a good cup of coffee. He'd arrived a few moments later than he'd said he would as he was still getting used to navigating around Berlin. Barely being conversational in German past being able to read the signs that were also printed in English certainly didn't help, but he had managed well enough. There were people milling about in the park, but he'd not caught sign of Rowan yet, and didn't want to spook them too much if he managed to accidentally sneak up on him. ​

 

[Froshimaru]

​

The park in Prenzlauer Berg was doing its evening thing when Rowan arrived - joggers finishing their routes, dog walkers letting their animals sniff every tree, a handful of people scattered on benches with books or phones or just their own thoughts. The kind of peaceful chaos that Rowan had learned to navigate, where there were enough people that they didn't feel exposed but not so many that their chest started tightening.

They'd been here for twenty minutes already. Early, as usual, giving themselves time to scope out the space and find the right spot. Not too crowded. Clear sightlines. Multiple exits. The same checklist they ran through everywhere they went, cataloging safety in a place that was objectively safe.

Old habits.

Their camera was out, hanging from the strap around their neck. They'd been shooting while they waited - the way evening light filtered through the trees, a kid chasing pigeons, an older couple walking hand in hand. Small moments. Proof that gentleness existed. The kind of photos that would sit in their Lightroom catalog next to thousands of others, documented evidence that the world contained more than horror.

Their phone buzzed. Dmitri's text was short and came with a photo of two coffee cups.

'On my way. Coffee is important though. Meet with you soon, Ptichka.'

Something in Rowan's chest loosened slightly. He was actually coming. This was actually happening. They hadn't imagined last night's coffee shop conversation or the strange connection that had formed between two people who both needed to sit with their backs to walls.

They typed back: 'no rush. im by the fountain near the east entrance'

Send. Done. Now they just had to wait and try not to spiral about all the ways this could go wrong.

Dr. Vogler had been cautiously optimistic during their session that morning. Rowan had actually shown up on time for once, had told her about the flea market and the panic attack and the convention center and meeting Dmitri. Had admitted they were meeting him again tonight. And tomorrow. And that terrified them more than the panic attacks did.

"What are you afraid of?" Dr. Vogler had asked in that gentle way she had.

Everything. That they'd fuck it up. That Dmitri would realize Rowan was too broken to be worth the effort. That getting close to someone meant eventually hurting them when Rowan inevitably ran. That staying meant being trapped when everything collapsed.

"I don't know," Rowan had lied.

They raised their camera now, catching the way golden hour light - their actual favorite, the one time of day when everything looked like it was wrapped in honey - painted the park in warm tones. A jogger passed, headphones in, lost in their own world. A dog barked somewhere. Normal sounds. Safe sounds.

Movement in their peripheral vision made them turn.

Dmitri was walking toward them, two coffee cups in hand, wearing a blue cardigan that caught the evening light in a way that Rowan's photographer brain immediately wanted to capture. He looked different again - not the Prince from the convention, not even the tattooed version from last night's coffee shop, but something in between. Casual but intentional. Like he'd put thought into what he was wearing without making it obvious.

Rowan's heart did that thing again where it sped up for no good reason.

"Hey," they said as Dmitri got closer, lowering their camera. "You found it. I wasn't sure if my directions were clear enough."

Their hands immediately went to their camera strap, that nervous habit they couldn't shake. They were wearing the same worn jacket from last night, the same camera bag, probably looked exactly the same as they had twelve hours ago except maybe more tired. They hadn't slept well - never did - and had spent most of the night editing photos and trying not to think too hard about the fact that they'd made plans with another human.

"How was the convention? You look..." They paused, trying to find the right word. "Tired. You look tired. Which makes sense if you've been performing all day."

Smooth. Very smooth. Leading with 'you look exhausted' was definitely the way to start a conversation.

"The bird graffiti is about a ten minute walk from here," they added quickly, gesturing in the general direction. "If you're up for it. Or we could just... sit. Whatever. I'm fine with whatever."

They were talking too much. Definitely talking too much. But Dmitri was here, actually here, holding coffee and looking at them like they mattered, and Rowan's brain was struggling to process that this was real.

The evening light caught the silver in Dmitri's jewelry - the lip piercing, whatever he was wearing under the cardigan. Rowan's fingers twitched toward their camera before they stopped themselves. They'd already photographed him yesterday. Asking to do it again felt like pushing their luck.

But god, the light was perfect. Golden hour in a Berlin park with someone who'd called them ptichka and meant it as something gentle.

Their phone buzzed in their pocket. They ignored it. Probably Dr. Vogler checking in, or maybe just a spam text. Either way, it could wait. They were here, present, trying desperately not to fuck this up.

Progress.

 

[Solaris-]

Near the fountain. The reply to the text repeated itself in Dmitri's mind as he walked along the sidewalk. It made him feel a little better that he'd not passed Rowan already or missed them entirely in the time it'd taken to grab a coffee for them both. He approached it quicker than he had imagined and reached out with the hand that held the cup without sugar towards Rowan. "Your instructions were fine. I think I entered from a different direction and didn't want to sneak up on you if you were here, so I'm glad you told me where you'd be." The last thing he'd wanted to do was frighten Rowan again as he likely had yesterday. With one hand free now, he was able to slip his phone into the pocket of his cardigan. He'd not told anyone where he'd be again, and he'd like to keep this peace at least for the moment.

He couldn't stop the laugh that escaped him. Tired was a good word for it. He felt exhausted, but spurred on by the promise of kind words, friendship, and coffee in equal measure had led him here that night. No doubt the tired amber hues and what might have been dark circles if he wasn't so careful with his skin routine might have told a different story though. "It was good, long and hot under all of the lights and the crowd, but it went well enough. I know you might not believe me when I say this, but being in such a crowded place and being touched and prodded at by so many strangers is pretty exhausting." Verdigris was one thing, but that was a controlled chaos with a seating limit where he didn't have to entertain people en masse. "I told you yesterday I would make time to talk again though."

Lowering himself to take a seat on the edge of the fountain. Aching limbs protested the movement, but he was all too happy to ignore it for now. when he got back to his hotel, he would take some Tylenol and go to bed, but for now, there were other things on his mind. "I have been looking forward to seeing them." Perhaps he could even take a photo of his own- though it would just be with his phone it would be a nice memory. "Though I hope you don't mind just sitting here for a moment. You can tell me what interesting things you've seen today or what kept you busy." He hadn't had many moments of respite that day, and it felt nice to just enjoy the cool night air of the early evening. He'd pushed himself pretty hard, and with the promise of new gigs to earn extra money, he knew he'd salvaged what had remained of his reputation. Or the newer clients didn't know about it. That was for the best, and he'd like to keep it this way for now.

Dmitri had noted the subtle twitch towards the camera as though there was something that had caught his eye to photograph and he leaned- tilting his head curiously- back a bit against the cool stone he'd seated himself on. Originally, he'd wanted to ask Rowan what they'd been up to or if they'd seen anything interesting that day, but now he was curious for another reason. "What caught your eye?" ​

 

[Froshimaru]

What caught your eye?​

Rowan's hand froze on their camera strap. They'd been caught mid-reach, mid-thought, that photographer's instinct to capture something before it disappeared. Except what had caught their eye was Dmitri himself - the blue of his cardigan against the warm evening light, the exhaustion visible in his features that he was trying to hide, the careful way he'd lowered himself onto the fountain's edge like his body was protesting every movement.

They could lie. Say it was the light on the water, or a bird in the trees, or literally anything that wasn't 'you, you caught my eye, the way you exist in this space right now.'

But Dmitri had been honest with them. About the emptiness of performed conversations, about how exhausting it was to be touched and prodded by strangers, about making time even when he was clearly running on fumes. The least Rowan could do was match that honesty.

"You," they said quietly, accepting the coffee cup he was offering. "You look different than yesterday. More... yourself, I think. Less performed. I don't know how to explain it without sounding weird."

Their fingers wrapped around the warm cup, grateful for something to hold onto. Black coffee, like yesterday. He'd remembered.

"But I can not take photos. We can just sit. That's fine too."

They sat down on the fountain's edge, leaving a respectful distance between them. Close enough to talk without shouting, far enough that they weren't invading each other's space. Their camera rested against their chest, the familiar weight of it grounding.

The park continued its evening routine around them. A group of teenagers had gathered near a bench, laughing about something. The dog walker from earlier was making another loop. Normal life happening in real time while Rowan tried to figure out how to be a person who could sit with someone without making it weird.

"I didn't do much today," they admitted. "Had therapy this morning. Told Dr. Vogler about yesterday. She was... cautiously optimistic about the whole thing. Me making plans with another human and actually following through."

They took a sip of coffee. Still too hot, but they drank it anyway.

"Then I mostly just edited photos. There's this series I've been working on - all the accordion player in Alexanderplatz over different weeks. Same guy, same spot, but the light changes and the people around him change and he just... exists there. Every day like clockwork."

Their leg started bouncing. They forced it still.

"It sounds boring out loud. My life is pretty boring these days. Wake up, drink coffee, take photos of nothing important, go back to the sublet. Repeat. Dr. Vogler keeps telling me I need to do more things that involve other people but..."

They gestured vaguely with their free hand, trying to encompass the enormity of why that was difficult.

"People are hard. You're the first person I've actually talked to - like really talked to - in about six months who wasn't being paid to listen to me."

Too honest. Way too honest. Always too honest. But it was already out there, hanging in the air between them.

"Being touched and prodded by strangers sounds awful," they said, trying to steer away from their own damage. "I used to have to do that sometimes. Press conferences, award ceremonies, that kind of thing. Everyone wanting a piece of you, everyone expecting you to perform. It's..."

Exhausting. Dehumanizing. A special kind of hell that left you feeling scraped hollow.

"It's a lot," they finished lamely.

The evening light was shifting, that warm glow starting its slow fade toward cooler tones. Rowan's favorite transition, when the world went from forgiving to honest. They raised their camera slightly, not pointing it at Dmitri but at the general scene - the fountain, the trees, the fading warmth.

"Can I ask you something?" The question came out before they could stop it. "Why did you want to meet up again? Yesterday was... it was good. But you're only here for a few more days and then you go back to Portland and I'll still be here doing my boring routine. So why... why bother?"

They weren't fishing for compliments. They genuinely didn't understand. People didn't usually seek out second conversations with Rowan. They were too quiet, too weird, too much work for what you got in return.

"Not that I'm complaining," they added quickly. "I'm glad you're here. I just... I don't get it."

Their coffee was cooling now, getting to that perfect temperature. They took another sip and tried not to think too hard about the fact that they were sitting on a fountain in a Berlin park asking someone they barely knew why they bothered showing up.

The teenagers near the bench were getting louder, their laughter carrying across the space. A phone buzzed - Dmitri's, probably, tucked in his cardigan pocket. The world kept moving while Rowan sat here trying to understand why anyone would voluntarily spend time with them.

Their hands were shaking slightly. They wrapped both around their coffee cup to hide it.

 

[Solaris-]

“You.”

Dmitri had nearly choked on the coffee as he’d taken a sip- clearly surprised by such an honest response. A warmth of embarrassment filled his face. Compliments were easily accepted from others, but this was not quite that. “No, I get it. Yesterday, you caught me off guard. Today, I was ready for our meeting.” He knew he would be spending time with someone outside of his normal circle of acquaintances- someone who didn’t give a shit if he didn’t smile and laugh at every joke until he grew tired himself. “Take your photos, Ptichka. While the lighting is still good enough. Though, next time, you can just ask. I won’t stop you.” They said they photographed people going about their daily routines- gentle things. Dmitri wasn’t sure if he counted as that, but he was happy to let the other express themselves when they seemed worried about it.

There was that pleasant warmth again. Something he’d felt the night before too back and filling him with small amount of energy in the newness of the odd emotion.

He was silent for a moment, but a soft upturn of a smile pulled at the corners of his lips. Though their days were opposite, there were similarities that he couldn’t help but find. Where Rowan seemed to isolate himself as people were difficult, Dmitri found himself alone in a crowd of familiar and friendly faces who all pined for attention because he was difficult. Other than Rowan, the last two nights were the most at peace he’d been able to feel in quite some time.

Four years too long. The phrase repeated itself in his mind like an echo, but he was quick to dispel the thought.

“Your photos are important. Even if you don’t think they’re important to anyone else, they clearly mean something to you and give you a reason to continue a passion, and that’s enough.” He placed the cup next to him on the fountain. His phone vibrated against his leg in the cardigan pocket. He’d told her he’d be late again tonight so he didn’t know why she insisted on sending him messages when she knew what he was planning. Perhaps she was still suspicious of his “colleague” though he’d made his intentions clear there was nothing, and likely would never be anything between them.

“It is a lot,” Dmitri agreed with a soft exhale through his nose. “But it was necessary to make a good impression. It’s what keeps my bills paid, so if I have to put up with a little discomfort for financial security, then far be it from me to say no.” Without the side gigs, he doubted his rent would get paid, and he didn’t want to rely on his parents or prove to them that he couldn’t make it out here on his own. As much as he loved them, he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of telling him that he should have gone to college and made something of himself.

He refocused his eyes on Rowan and nodded. The question that followed, he wasn’t prepared for. He’d not prepared an answer for something like this and all of his answers were far, far too honest for his liking. Despite the transparency of the conversation up to this point, he’d been careful not to drop his trauma in Rowan’s lap like it was nothing. It was a few moments before thought of a response other than an uncertain roll of his shoulders. “Because…” Because why? Because his girlfriend was a psychopath that barely allowed him out of the house? Too truthful again no matter how bad he wanted the words to come out of him. The other didn’t deserve to bear his issues.

“Without dropping my entire story into your lap, I will just say this: you’re the only person that wanted to speak to me as myself. Not even my own girlfriend gives me the courtesy to be as I am. Even she chases the fantasy she saw when we first met. I perform for someone every second of every day, and being able to drop it for a few hours has been so, so pleasant. When we talk I don’t have to think so much about what I’m going to say or how it will affect your mood. Even if my intention was never to chase after you in anyway other than as an acquaintance or a friend, I wonder if even that seems threatening to a bitter and jealous person.” It sounded more bitter than he’d intended for it to be, and was clearly a sore topic for him, but it felt better to do so. “I suppose it’s why, to me, you’ve never needed to justify yourself or your photos. They mean something to people whether you believe it or not and so do you.”

Even if this meant nothing in the long run of things and they fell out of contact, it was a small moment in time he would not be likely to forget.​

 

[Froshimaru]

​

The words hit Rowan harder than they expected.

You're the only person that wanted to speak to me as myself.

They raised their camera without thinking about it, muscle memory taking over while their brain tried to process what Dmitri had just said. The bitterness in his voice, the careful way he'd avoided saying too much while saying everything that mattered. A girlfriend who chased fantasies. A life spent performing every second of every day. The exhaustion of never being allowed to just exist.

Rowan understood that better than they wanted to.

Through the viewfinder, Dmitri looked different. More real. The exhaustion visible in the set of his shoulders, the slight downturn at the corner of his mouth before he'd forced it into something more neutral. The way the fading light caught the blue of his cardigan and made him look softer than the words he was saying.

Click. The shutter sound felt too loud in the quiet moment between them.

"I'm sorry," Rowan said quietly, lowering the camera. "That sounds... that sounds really hard. Having to perform all the time. Never getting to just be tired or bitter or whatever you're actually feeling."

They took another sip of coffee, using it as an excuse to look away for a moment. The teenagers near the bench had moved on, replaced by an older man feeding pigeons. The dog walker was gone. The park was getting quieter as evening settled in properly.

"For what it's worth," they said, still not quite meeting Dmitri's eyes, "you don't have to perform for me. I'm... I'm really bad at people, but I'm good at not expecting them to be anything other than what they are. Comes with the photographer thing, I guess. You learn to see people as they actually exist instead of how they want to be seen."

Their leg started bouncing again. They let it this time, too tired to fight against their own nervous energy.

"I knew someone once," the words came out before they could stop them. "Marcus. He was a videographer, worked in the same places I did. Syria, mostly. He was... he was one of the only people who didn't expect me to have my shit together all the time. Didn't care if I was scared or exhausted or couldn't stop shaking after a bad day."

Something twisted in Rowan's chest when they said his name. Sharp and immediate and unwelcome. They hadn't talked about Marcus in - god, how long? Not to Dr. Vogler, not to anyone. His name lived in the same locked box as the external hard drive at the bottom of their camera bag, things they carried but refused to open.

But Dmitri had those same eyes. That same exhaustion hiding behind something practiced and protective. The way Marcus used to look after a particularly bad day, when he'd make some terrible joke to deflect from whatever they'd just witnessed. The sadness that lived underneath the performance.

Rowan's hands tightened around their camera.

"He died. Mortar attack in Sana'a. I was twenty feet away and I just... I photographed it."

The words came out flat. Detached. But saying them out loud made them real in a way they hadn't been when they just lived in Rowan's head. Made them concrete. Made them something that actually happened instead of a nightmare they could pretend wasn't quite true.

I photographed it.

Their stomach dropped. Guilt hit them like a physical thing, sudden and crushing and completely unavoidable. They'd said it. They'd actually said it out loud to another person. That their first instinct when Marcus was dying wasn't to help, wasn't to scream for a medic, wasn't to do anything useful. It was to raise their camera and document it like he was just another casualty. Just another story.

Just another frame.

Their hands started shaking badly enough that they had to lower their camera before they dropped it. The coffee cup sat forgotten on the fountain's edge. Their chest felt tight, that familiar pressure that meant panic was trying to claw its way up their throat.

"That's what I did," they continued, voice barely above a whisper now. "My friend was dying and my first instinct was to document it. I didn't try to help. I didn't call for anyone. I just... took the photo. Like he was a subject instead of a person."

They couldn't look at Dmitri. Couldn't see whatever expression was on his face - disgust, probably, or horror at what kind of monster does that to someone they care about.

Click. They took a photo of the fountain without thinking, just needing to do something with their hands. But the motion felt wrong now. Tainted. Every time they raised this camera, they were using the same tool that had captured Marcus's death. The same instinct that had chosen documentation over humanity.

"I deleted it," they added quickly, like that made it better. Like erasing the evidence erased what they'd done. "The photo. I deleted it right after. But that doesn't... it doesn't change that I took it. That my first thought was 'document this' instead of 'save him.'"

Their throat was closing up. They forced themselves to keep talking, needed to get it all out now that they'd started.

"So I get it. The performing thing. The feeling trapped thing. Marcus was one of the only people I didn't have to perform for. Everyone else expected me to be the fearless photojournalist, the one who could handle anything. But with him I could just... be scared. Be human."

Except when it mattered. When Marcus needed them to be human, they'd been a photographer first.

They finally looked at Dmitri, and something in their chest cracked wider. He was watching them with those tired eyes, that careful expression that wasn't quite hiding the sadness underneath. Just like Marcus used to. Just like someone who'd learned to carry too much weight and smile through it.

Rowan's heart did that skip thing again, and this time they understood what it was. Recognition. Not attraction, not exactly, but something deeper and more complicated. The way you felt when you saw your own damage reflected in someone else's eyes.

The way you felt when someone reminded you of the people you'd lost and hadn't let yourself grieve for because grief meant acknowledging what you'd done.

"You remind me of him," they said quietly, voice shaking now. "Not in a bad way. Just... the way you look when you're tired. The thing you do where you smile but it doesn't quite reach your eyes. Marcus did that too. Especially toward the end, when things were getting really bad and we both knew we should leave but kept staying anyway."

Their hands found their camera strap, worrying at the leather so hard it hurt. The guilt was sitting in their chest like a stone now, heavy and immovable. They'd killed Marcus. Not directly, but by being what they were - a photographer who saw everything through a lens, who documented instead of lived, who chose the story over the person.

"Sorry," they said, looking away. "That's probably weird to hear. I just... I haven't thought about him in a while. Or I think about him all the time but don't let myself actually think about him, if that makes sense."

Because thinking about Marcus meant thinking about what they'd done. Meant acknowledging that they'd failed him in the moment he needed them most. Meant sitting with the knowledge that they were exactly the kind of person who would photograph their friend dying instead of trying to save them.

They were shaking now. Actually shaking. Their coffee sat cooling on the fountain's edge and they couldn't pick it up because their hands wouldn't cooperate.

"You said your girlfriend chases the fantasy. What would happen if you stopped giving it to her? If you just... were yourself and let her deal with it?"

The subject change was desperate, too obvious, but Rowan couldn't sit with Marcus's memory any longer. Couldn't think about the photo they'd taken and deleted. Couldn't examine the guilt that lived in them like a permanent weight.

"Sorry," they added quickly. "You don't have to answer that. I'm just... I shouldn't have brought up Marcus. That was too much. I made this weird."

Their phone buzzed in their pocket. They ignored it. Dr. Vogler would want to know about this - about Rowan finally talking about Marcus, about the guilt they'd been carrying for years. But they couldn't deal with that right now.

Couldn't deal with any of it.

Progress. Or maybe just opening wounds they'd spent years trying to keep sealed shut.

 

[Solaris-]

His head ached despite the caffeine. Right behind his left temple. He could feel the sharp jabs behind his furrowed, well kempt brows. The evening had shifted from a pleasant evening between them to something heavier. Something he wasn't sure he was certified to deal with. All of these big feelings and emotions poured out of both of them so easily without much prompting. Like a verified, unpaid therapy session they willingly subjected themselves to. If Dmitri had it in him, he would have laughed at himself at that moment even considering pouring his heart out to a stranger when he couldn't even tell the people closest to him what he felt on a daily basis. But he didn't laugh, didn't smile, didn't fake the fact that his tiredness for the whole ordeal was likely skewing his willingness to talk about it. It had festered long enough, he supposed. It was only a matter of time before someone opened the lid to the contents under pressure that were his emotions.

"That's another reason," Dmitri's hand shifted to brush dark hair from his face before placing it back in his lap. "Why I appreciate talking with you. You don't expect anything from me, don't ask either. You listen, and you understand." That was more than most people could say. "You apologize for making it weird even though you're careful with your words. You don't need to feel as though you have to walk on eggshells; believe me I appreciate the honesty behind what you have to say." Even if the questions pried a little too deeply and dug a little more harshly than Rowan meant them, they were clearly deliberate and carefully chosen.

"After a while, it just becomes another performance. To pretend you're okay when the sky falls around you. Even when it feels like the sky is always falling. You get used to it when it becomes the norm." He still went about his day, still did what he needed to do.

Dmitri once more was quiet- just listening to Rowan as he spoke about his own experiences. From context clues, he'd already worked out that Rowan had been involved in some kind of photojournalism that documented traumatic events. He'd heard of war journalists before, but had never given much thought to the profession until now. It made him feel guilty. Rowan had seen real horrors, witnessed real trauma, and had seen people on their worst days. And here he was talking about his relationship troubles as though somehow this trauma was even remotely the same. It made him feel stupid and guilty in equal measure.

Despite what Rowan would have believed about the expression he wore, his face only showed concern- both for the words spoken and how Rowan seemed to shake just from the act itself. He felt as though he should offer comfort, but the thought of reaching over to touch him or hug him seemed wrong, but it felt even worse to sit there and do nothing with his hands. When their eyes met again there were many things he felt in that moment. Understanding, feeling seen, and the wanting to pet them and just let them know it was okay to fall apart sometimes. Clearly they trusted Dmitri enough to tell him all of this without being prompted. He moved the coffee cups that sat between them and moved a little closer- resting a hand lightly on the other's shaking knee gently. He was horrible at comforting someone; normally, he acquiesced and said sweet words that they wanted to hear, said what they wanted him to say as if platitudes could make the situation better. But for this, he would try a different approach as he knew that there were no simple words to say in this situation laid out before him.

"You don't need to keep apologizing. Especially not after all of that." He offered a gentle shake of his head as if to emphasize the point. "Our situations, while different in many, many ways, I can relate to know what it's like to have something heavy weigh so hard on my heart and soul. You've been through a lot, and I am so, so sorry that I can't offer more in the way of comfort to you, Ptichka." The best he could do was just be there- offer his presence and an ear. A shoulder to cry on if they needed it, but if Dmitri knew anything about himself, if Rowan was the same, the tears never came easily. "I know I'm leaving Berlin soon, but if you ever need to reach out to me for any reason, I will be there for you. Don't feel like you have to be alone in this world; it's already unkind enough without you weighing yourself down."

The topic shifted back to his own statement about his girlfriend and he let out sigh. There really was nothing he had left to lose from saying the things he felt now. Rowan had already delved them deep into Pandora's Box, and neither of them could shut the lid now.

"We met five years ago when I'd first started at Verdigris," He started quietly. "When we met, I treated her no different than any other guest that came through the doors, but over the course of the first year, things changed a lot. She started spending money to come see me, paying for longer dates, and begging to spend time alone with me which isn't really something normal people do." No, normal people could separate the fantasy from reality. "At the end of dates, she would start asking me when I was free, when I worked. And then the next thing I know, she became omnipresent of everything I did or said." It was oppressive, but even when he mentioned his discomfort, it became a joke or something to laugh at. It had never really been taken seriously. "Being inexperienced in relationships and chasing attention, I was stupid and let her do what she wanted. People told me that I should just feel lucky that a pretty girl wanted to spend all her time with me. That I'm a man and my discomfort didn't matter because I shouldn't feel uneasy about her."

These words were so far removed from his normally careful and practiced speech. The emotions behind the words caused his accent to be a bit more prevalent, but it wasn't something he consciously took note of. "And now, four years later, after she's all but ruined my reputation and separated me from the people important to me other than my family members, if I dare to be myself instead of the fantasy she claimed to fall in love with, I'm greeted with awful words, anger, hostility, and claims to my faithfulness when there's never been a question in whether or not I've remained so." There was some part of him that still loved her even despite this, but it wasn't as bright and hopeful as it once was. Likely, it was as bitter and jaded as he felt and sounded now. "I'm just tired of arguing and saying things just to make her happy. When I come home at the end of a long day, the last thing I want to do is fight, so I just tell her what she wants to hear- do what she asks me to do."

With careful fingers, Dmitri lifted two photos from his wallet. One was a professional shot of himself a few months into work at Verdigris and the other was a folded Polaroid. Folded so he didn't have to see the tiredness behind his own eyes despite the happy expression he wore when they'd taken it. "Some days I don't recognize this person anymore." He motioned to the professional shot of himself. "The one who saw the world through bright and happy eyes." When the smile felt genuinely part of himself and not a horrible imitation.​

 

[Froshimaru]

​

Dmitri's hand on their knee was warm. Grounding. Rowan's first instinct was to pull away - they didn't do touch, didn't let people get that close - but something about the gentle pressure kept them still. Anchored them to this moment instead of letting them spiral into the guilt that was trying to swallow them whole.

They forced themselves to breathe. In for four. Hold for four. Out for six. The way Dr. Vogler had taught them.

Dmitri was talking about his girlfriend now, and Rowan made themselves listen even though their brain was still screaming about Marcus, about the photo they'd taken, about all the ways they'd failed someone who mattered. But listening was the least they could do after dumping all of that on someone they'd known for less than two days.

Five years. Dmitri had been dealing with this for five years.

Rowan's hands had mostly stopped shaking. They picked up their coffee cup again, wrapping both hands around it even though it had gone lukewarm. The familiar motion helped. Gave them something to focus on that wasn't the weight in their chest.

"That's not love," they said quietly when Dmitri finished. "What you're describing. That's... that's control. Possession. I don't know what love is supposed to look like, but I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to make you feel trapped."

They looked at the photos Dmitri had pulled from his wallet. The professional shot showed someone performing confidence - the Prince persona in full effect, all charm and carefully constructed beauty. Hair perfect, expression practiced, the kind of image designed to sell a fantasy. Then the Polaroid, folded so the full image was hidden. Even from what Rowan could see, the difference was stark. Same person, but the brightness was gone from the eyes. The smile looked like it hurt.

Just like Marcus toward the end. Just like Rowan saw in their own reflection on bad days.

"I don't recognize that person either," Rowan said, gesturing at the professional photo. "The one who thought documenting horror would change things. Who believed that bearing witness mattered enough to justify... everything."

Their throat felt tight again. They took another sip of lukewarm coffee to force it down.

"People told you that you should feel lucky. That your discomfort didn't matter because you're a man." They finally looked at Dmitri directly. "That's bullshit. Your discomfort matters. The fact that she's isolated you from everyone and ruined your reputation and makes you fight every time you come home - that matters. That's not nothing."

The park was almost empty now. The old man feeding pigeons had left. A jogger passed by, headphones in, oblivious to the two damaged humans having a breakdown on the fountain's edge.

"You said if you dare to be yourself, she gets hostile. Angry." Rowan's hands tightened around their coffee cup. "That's not sustainable. You know that, right? Four years of performing every second you're around her, and you're already exhausted enough that you're telling all of this to a stranger in a park in Berlin. What happens in another four years?"

They weren't qualified for this. They could barely manage their own damage, let alone help someone else with theirs. But Dmitri's hand was still on their knee, warm and steady, and he'd sat here and listened while Rowan admitted to photographing their friend's death. The least they could do was be honest back.

"I'm bad at people," they said. "Really bad at them. But even I can see that what you're describing isn't healthy. It's not normal. And it's definitely not your fault."

Their leg started bouncing again under Dmitri's hand. Nervous energy with nowhere to go.

"You said you tell her what she wants to hear so you don't have to fight. I get that. It's easier to perform than to deal with the consequences of being real. But..."

They paused, trying to find the right words.

"How long can you keep that up before there's nothing left of the real you? Before the performance becomes permanent and you forget what it feels like to just exist without having to calculate every word?"

Rowan knew that feeling. Had lived it for three years in war zones, calculating every movement, every photo, every interaction. Had come out the other side broken and barely functional. Was still broken and barely functional.

"I'm not saying leave her or stay with her or whatever. That's not my business and I don't know enough to have an opinion." They set their coffee cup down on the fountain's edge. "I'm just saying... you deserve to exist without having to perform. You deserve people who want the real version of you, not the fantasy. And if she can't give you that, if she gets angry when you try to be yourself, then maybe..."

They trailed off, unsure how to finish that sentence without overstepping.

"Maybe that says more about her than it does about you," they finished quietly.

The light was almost gone now, blue hour fading into actual darkness. The park lights had come on, casting everything in artificial orange. Rowan's favorite time was over. Now they were just two people sitting in the dark, sharing damage they'd probably regret admitting to in the morning.

"Thank you," Rowan said suddenly. "For the hand. For listening. For not... for not looking at me like I'm a monster after I told you about Marcus."

Their voice cracked slightly on his name. The guilt was still there, sitting heavy in their chest, but Dmitri's hand on their knee made it slightly more bearable. Made them feel less alone with it.

"I meant what I said earlier. You don't have to perform for me. Ever. I'd rather have the tired, bitter, honest version than the Prince version. The real you is worth knowing."

They picked up their camera, fingers finding the familiar weight of it. Their hands were steadier now.

"Can I take one more photo? Of you. Right now. Not the performance. Just... this."

This moment. This honesty. This connection between two damaged people who'd somehow found each other in a Berlin park and decided to stop performing for a few hours.

Their heart did that skip thing again. They didn't ignore it this time. Didn't try to explain it away or rationalize it into something safer. Just let it exist - that small, complicated feeling that might be the beginning of caring about someone in a way they hadn't let themselves care since Marcus died.

Since they'd failed Marcus.

But maybe this time could be different. Maybe this time they could show up. Could stay, at least for the few days Dmitri had left in Berlin.

Maybe.

 

[Solaris-]

CW/TW: Suicidal ideation

"...I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to make you feel trapped."

He'd heard that before. Ashe too had told him some version of those words the last time they'd spoken. When he told her of the constant fighting, the yelling, and threats to his person, she'd told him plainly what she thought. And that was probably what had sparked this... whatever it was between him and Rowan as well. Not exactly an attraction, not exactly a friendship either, but somewhere in between is because they reminded him so much of the one person that had never minimized his feelings when he spoke them into existence. Though, where as she had told him exactly how she felt about Marnie as the two had met, Rowan only knew Dmitri's side and could only give words on what they were being told. "To be truthful, I don't think she sees me as her boyfriend. It wouldn't surprise me if she thought of me as a possession than a person." He wasn't entirely blind to it despite the fact that he ignored it in favor of not having to deal with the thoughts that came with accepting that fact.

Another exhale. He'd shifted his weight some to where he was leaning against the other now- not his full weight, but just enough to where their closeness felt concrete. "I know. It's already been four years too long." That echoed thought spoken to be true now. "There won't be another four years of this." There was no way he could deal with her for that long without wanting to end it all. Over time, he could understand how some people just decided it was too much and that playing in traffic sounded like the better option than facing the issue head-on. How some people took the easy way out. But there was still a part of him that told him that there would be people that missed him if he chose that path, and that was the only thing that kept him going these days. "I pushed myself really hard today to try to right things at least in my professional life. I don't care about people knowing who I am in that world anymore, but I just wanted something more so I can, I dunno..." There was a pause as he thought for a moment on how to end the sentence. "Get out? Move on? Whatever it is that people do when this happens to them without resorting to other options."

There was still a part of him that didn't want to do that. That clung stubbornly onto the idea that happiness could still be obtained. But he knew it would never be so if he kept himself in this cage. He'd already planned a way out in his own mind, but it would take a bit of time yet. He didn't want to waste money that he had spent on a lease just to break it and leave without preparing everything to the letter. Perhaps one might have called it a compulsion, but leaving without knowing where he'd go was a scary thought.

"You're hardly a monster, Rowan. You can't blame yourself for what happened or you'll never let yourself move on." They weren't the one who had dropped the mortar on their friend- wasn't the reason why he'd died there. He knew how hard it was to talk about these things and they were both struggling with words. "Thank you for telling me when I know it isn't easy. Never feel like you have to do that around me either. I don't know if enjoyable is the word, but it feels better when we can both just be ourselves." Dmitri would hardly say their conversations had been "enjoyable" to listen to, but they were definitely real. Definitely a call from inside the house had been made from just two relatively brief interactions in time.

"I can see now why she's jealous of you even if she doesn't know you." He wanted to keep it that way. If the last girl had ended up in the hospital, he wanted to prevent that from happening to someone else. "You remind me of a friend of mine who has never been afraid to tell me how it is. Even if it hurts." He brought his phone from his pocket to open Ashe's last message and offered it over. Her contact photo was one he'd taken of her the last time he'd visited him at Verdigris. Her last message that he'd not even opened until now was more apt than anything he could have said.

'That girl is fucking nuts.'

It didn't need to be said who the message was in question to. "I think the two of you would get along really well. And it's because the both of you get to see me as just a normal person that I think threatens Marnie in some way." Perhaps it was because she would never get to see Dmitri the way that Rowan saw him or how Ashe saw him that she felt that way. To them both, he was just a normal person who sometimes put on a performance when he was working. To her, the fantasy persisted even deep into their relationship. The device was put away once more into the pocket of his cardigan.

The question for another photo seemed daunting in the moment. He didn't want to see what he looked like in the viewfinder. Deeply exhausted, wearing the face of someone who could barely hide the pain of the migraine that swelled beneath their brow- let alone the anger and sadness that had festered for years. Dmitri turned the camera gently in Rowan's hand so that it pointed at the both of them. "I think it should be more like this." It wasn't just him suffering at that moment but both of them. ​

 

[Froshimaru]

​

The camera was suddenly pointing at both of them.

Rowan's first instinct was to pull back, to redirect the lens away from themselves like they always did. They were the one behind the camera, not in front of it. They documented, they didn't get documented. That was the rule. That was how they stayed safe.

But Dmitri's hand was still gently holding the camera, keeping it pointed at them both, and his weight was leaning against Rowan's shoulder in a way that felt grounding instead of suffocating. And maybe he was right. Maybe this moment - this shared damage, this mutual exhaustion, this strange connection between two people who'd stopped performing for a few hours - maybe that deserved to be captured more than just Dmitri alone.

"Okay," Rowan said quietly. "Both of us then."

They adjusted their grip on the camera, angling it so they could see both their faces in the small LCD screen. Then, after a moment's hesitation - that brief second where their brain screamed at them not to, where every instinct said maintain distance, stay safe, don't get close - they shifted their weight.

Leaned into Dmitri instead of away.

It was awkward. Rowan didn't know how to do this, didn't know the mechanics of casual physical closeness with another human. Their shoulder pressed against his, their head tilting slightly so they could both fit in the frame. Close enough that they could feel Dmitri's warmth, could smell whatever detergent was on his cardigan mixed with coffee and exhaustion.

Close enough that it mattered.

The frame was tight now - Dmitri's exhausted eyes and barely-there smile, Rowan's nervous expression and the dark circles they'd been carrying for years. The blue of Dmitri's cardigan against the worn brown of Rowan's jacket. Two damaged people sitting on a fountain in a Berlin park at night, choosing honesty over performance. Choosing closeness over isolation.

Not pretty. Not Instagram-worthy. Just real.

Click.

The shutter sound felt louder this time. More significant. Rowan didn't pull away immediately, stayed leaning against Dmitri for another few seconds while they looked at the image on the LCD screen. There they were - tired, honest, present. Close. Neither of them performing. Neither of them hiding behind practiced smiles or careful words.

Just existing. Together.

Their heart was doing that thing again, that skip and flutter that they'd been trying to ignore all evening. But leaning against Dmitri like this, warm and solid and real, made it impossible to pretend it was nothing.

This felt like something.

They finally pulled back, just slightly, just enough to not be completely in Dmitri's space anymore. But they didn't put as much distance between them as they'd had before. Just... less. A compromise between their instinct to run and this new, terrifying desire to stay.

"There won't be another four years of this," Rowan repeated Dmitri's words back to him quietly. "Good. That's... that's good. You deserve better than being someone's possession."

They saved the photo, adding it to their camera roll next to the selfie from yesterday and the shots they'd taken of Dmitri on the balcony. Evidence of these two strange days. Proof that this connection was real, even if it was temporary.

"Your friend," they said, thinking about the message Dmitri had shown them. "Ashe. She sounds like she actually cares about you. Not the fantasy version. You."

Their hands found their coffee cup again, even though it was cold now. Just needed something to hold that wasn't their camera or the complicated feelings sitting in their chest.

"You said you pushed yourself really hard today to right things professionally. To have options so you can get out." They looked at Dmitri, at the exhaustion written in every line of his face. "That's smart. Having a plan. I never had a plan when I left - just bought a ticket and ran. Which worked, I guess, but it also meant I had no idea where I was going or what I was doing. Just... running."

Still running, really. Still moving every few months. Still avoiding anything that felt permanent.

"But planning means you're actually thinking about the future. About what comes after. That's more than I've ever managed."

The park was fully dark now, just the orange glow of street lights and the distant sound of traffic. Rowan's phone buzzed again - Dr. Vogler, probably getting worried. They should check in. Should tell her they were okay, relatively speaking.

But they didn't want to move. Didn't want to break this moment where they'd just leaned into Dmitri and taken a photo together and everything felt heavy but also somehow less heavy because they were sharing the weight.

"I'm not good at this," they admitted. "At being someone's friend or support system or whatever this is. I'm better at leaving than staying. Better at documenting than participating. But..."

Their heart did that skip thing again. They let it.

"You have my number. When you get back to Portland and you're trying to figure out how to get out, or when you need someone to talk to who isn't going to tell you what you want to hear... you can text me. I'll actually respond. I mean it this time."

It was a promise they weren't sure they could keep. But they wanted to try. Wanted to be the kind of person who could show up for someone else, even if it was just through texts across an ocean. Wanted to be the kind of person who didn't run from whatever this feeling in their chest was.

"And you're right," they added quietly. "It does feel better when we can just be ourselves. Even if ourselves are kind of a mess right now."

They looked down at their camera, at the photo of the two of them still displayed on the screen. Both exhausted. Both carrying too much. Both trying to figure out how to exist without performing every second. Both leaning into each other instead of away.[/i>

"I'll send you this one too," they said. "When I edit it. So you have proof that this happened. That you were here, in Berlin, being real with someone who saw you."

Someone who wanted to be close to you, they didn't add. Someone who leaned in instead of running away.

Proof. Evidence. The thing Rowan collected obsessively because if they didn't document it, did it even happen?

But this felt different. This felt like documenting something worth remembering instead of something they wished they could forget. This felt like the beginning of something that might matter, even if Rowan had no idea what to do with that.

Progress. Or maybe something more complicated than progress. Something that made their heart skip and their hands steady and their instinct to run feel a little less urgent.

Something like hope.

 

[Solaris-]

Lately, Dmitri had found himself flinching when people got close to him, but he'd initiated this first- had leaned into Rowan for the photo. And he didn't flinch away from the warm touch. It felt nice to not be afraid of someone for the first time in a what felt like a lifetime.

Click.

Loud, definitive proof in a photo. Somehow it made him feel better that Rowan was there to share in this moment with him. Their situations were different, but somehow the feelings were the same and that mattered more to him than anything else. It was cathartic to commiserate and he felt somewhat lighter having said what he'd only thought to himself. "She does. Even when we were in high school together, being friends with her never felt like I was alone in a crowd of people. Never felt like an obligation or a chore." He didn't mention that she was his first crush- didn't feel the need to bring that up. Now they were just close friends and that's what he needed right now. "I feel bad bothering people with my issues when they have their own to deal with even if they're close to me. Not everyone has the time or the mental bandwidth to deal with issues that don't relate to them." He also didn't want to worry her endlessly by telling her what occurred on the daily.

Despite the minimal distance Rowan had attempted to achieve, they still remained within close proximity of one another. Dmitri appreciated that they hadn't immediately scooted away. He leaned his head over to where it lightly rested on top of Rowan's and he allowed his eyes closed for just a moment. "I ran away once. It was about two years ago. After the first time she threatened me, I just left. But eventually, after a few days of sleeping on friends' couches I had to go back home. I need to have a plan this time." A plan that didn't involve couch surfing or running back home was preferred, and he knew he'd only have to hold out until his lease was over for that to become a reality.

His next sigh didn't seem defeated- more quiet and pensive than anything else. "I'm not qualified to give you advice, but maybe making small plans wouldn't hurt. Just things like what you plan on doing tomorrow. What you plan on having for lunch or dinner. Small decisions that don't feel like hurdles and things that can easily be accomplished." That way Rowan didn't have to overthink them if they just took it one step at a time to just let themselves exist outside of the fear. "Neither of us are good at this Ptichka, but I think it's okay to just be- to just let yourself exist in someone's presence even if you're falling apart sometimes." There was some comfort in knowing that someone else out there wasn't pretending to be happy- didn't wear a fake smile, and didn't try to laugh off the pain to just make it through the day. Both of them were a hot fucking mess, but in that moment, that was okay to be.

"Thank you. I won't bother you with texts or messages, but I do appreciate your company. Maybe one day I can even show you the ghosts of Portland." Dmitri laughed at the stupid joke.

The two of them had said that they were going to look at the graffiti, but they'd gotten lost in the moment. It was dark now, quiet with only each other and their shadows for company as the night air grew cold around them. It should feel lonely, but it didn't. Both of them had been seen, heard, and understood. Comforting one another in the best way they knew how to do. "I'm tired, Ptichka. Tomorrow, though, we should get our sandwiches and you can show me those birds in the afternoon if you're not busy." Though he was likely to be busy during the day, he'd already made sure to set aside the time for them to spend together in the afternoon if Rowan still wanted to.

"Da svidanya for now. And Rowan? Try to give yourself some grace. You owe it to yourself to forgive yourself for things that weren't your fault either." ​

 

[Froshimaru]

​

Dmitri's head rested on top of theirs, light and careful, and Rowan's first instinct was to pull away. But they didn't. Just stayed there, frozen in the moment, trying to remember the last time someone had touched them like this - gentle, not demanding anything, just... existing in their space.

They couldn't remember. Maybe there wasn't a last time. Maybe this was new.

Their chest felt tight again, but different than the panic attacks. Different than the guilt. Something softer and more terrifying because they didn't have a name for it.

"Small plans," they repeated quietly. "I can do that. Tomorrow I'll meet you for sandwiches. Show you the birds. That's... that's a plan."

It felt significant, making plans for tomorrow. Making plans at all. Usually Rowan just drifted from one day to the next, letting time happen to them instead of actively participating in it. But this - agreeing to lunch, to showing Dmitri the graffiti - this felt like choosing to exist instead of just surviving.

"You ran away once," they said, processing what Dmitri had told them. "Two years ago. But you went back because you didn't have a plan. That must have been... god, that must have been so hard. Knowing you needed to leave but not being able to."

Like being trapped in Aleppo. Like knowing they needed to get out but staying anyway because the work mattered, because leaving felt like giving up, because they didn't know how to be anything other than the person who documented horror.

Until they broke.

"Having a plan this time is smart," they continued. "Waiting until the lease is over. Making sure you have somewhere to go. That's... that's good. That's better than just running."

Better than what Rowan had done. Better than what they were still doing.

"And you wouldn't be bothering me," they added, voice barely above a whisper now. "With texts or messages or whatever. I meant it when I said you could reach out. I want you to."

Want. That was a dangerous word. Wanting things meant being disappointed when they didn't happen. Wanting things meant getting attached. Wanting things meant caring, and caring meant it would hurt when it inevitably ended.

But their heart was still doing that skip thing, and Dmitri's head was still resting on theirs, and they wanted this. Whatever this was.

"Da svidanya," they said, trying out the Russian phrase Dmitri had used yesterday. "Until we meet again. Tomorrow. For sandwiches and birds."

They finally shifted, carefully, giving Dmitri space to lift his head. The absence of that gentle weight felt immediate and wrong, like losing something they'd only just found. But they stood up anyway, shouldering their camera bag, wrapping their hands around the cold coffee cup they'd need to throw away.

"Try to give yourself some grace," they repeated Dmitri's words back to him. "You too, okay? What she's doing to you... that's not your fault either. You're not responsible for her jealousy or her anger or any of it."

They wanted to say more. Wanted to tell him to be careful, to not go back to the hotel where she was waiting, to just stay here in this park where they could both exist without performing. But they didn't have that right. Didn't have any claim on Dmitri's choices or safety.[/i>

They just had tomorrow. Sandwiches and birds and maybe another conversation where they could both stop pretending to be okay.

"Text me when you get back safe," they said, then immediately felt stupid for saying it. "I mean, you don't have to. But... I'd like to know you got back okay."

Their phone buzzed again. Dr. Vogler, definitely worried now. They pulled it out, typed a quick message: 'im okay. made plans for tomorrow. will call you in the morning'

Send. Done. They'd deal with her questions tomorrow.

Right now they just wanted to stand here a little longer, in this park that had become something significant, with this person who'd somehow become important in the span of two days.

"Thank you," they said finally. "For tonight. For being honest. For not... for not making me feel like a monster when I told you about Marcus. For just... being here."

Their hands were shaking again, but less than before. The guilt was still there, sitting heavy in their chest, but Dmitri's words echoed in their head: Try to give yourself some grace. Things that weren't your fault.

They didn't believe it yet. Might never believe it. But hearing someone else say it made it feel slightly less impossible.

"Goodnight, Dmitri," they said, and managed something close to a real smile. "See you tomorrow."

They turned toward the park exit, camera bag heavy on their shoulder, coffee cup in hand, heart doing that complicated skip-flutter thing that meant they cared about someone and that terrified them. But they were coming back tomorrow. They were making plans. They were choosing to stay, at least for a little while.

Progress.

Or maybe something more than progress. Something that felt like the beginning of mattering to someone, of being seen, of not being alone in the specific way they'd been alone for years.

Something like connection.

They walked through the darkened park, past the fountain where they'd sat and shared damage, past the trees losing their leaves, toward whatever came next. Their phone was already in their hand, waiting for Dmitri's text to confirm he'd gotten back safe.

Waiting to know that this person they'd somehow started caring about was okay.

Their heart skipped again. They didn't ignore it anymore.

 

[Solaris-]

“I want you to.” It had been the most definitive thing Rowan had said to him since they’d started spending time together. It surprised him immensely in many different ways and filled him with a warmth he wasn’t sure how to explain. It was an odd feeling for someone to want to be bothered by texts from a person that they barely knew, but at least now he knew it wouldn’t be a bother to send an occasional one.

He lifted his head slowly- the world come back into focus with eyes that could barely hold their own weight and he too stood to gather his own garbage. “I will text you when I get back, Ptichka. Be safe yourself.” And he too was walking in the opposite direction before he changed his mind. Before he decided that going back was still not something he should be doing despite the hour of night. The cold night air cleared his mind a bit, but there were still so many things that had happened, that were said that left him much to think about.

Rowan had asked him to give himself some grace as well. He wondered if he deserved it. He’d let this go on for four years too long without stopping it. Part of him wondered if he deserved it at this point- if this was what the remainder of his life was going to be like and look like. Despite saying he was trying to plan things out, he’d not thought too far into the future in fear that plans would fall through again and he’d be stuck there forever.

Sliding the key into the lock, he could only hear the soft sound of German television filtering through the room and the soft sounds of sleep from the small woman who laid under the blankets. At least tonight, it would be peaceful.

‘I made it back in one piece. Here’s the address of the sandwich place and their menu. It looks like it’s pretty popular, so if you’d rather not deal with the crowd, I can just pick up yours and meet up with you in the park.’

Even if the following day would be less busy than the last two, even he didn’t want to sit in a busy place for too long filled with people he both knew and didn’t. That, and he’d rather be the only person Rowan had to worry about being around them. They could talk more when they both didn’t have to worry about feeling crowded or suffocated.

- -

Dmitri had wanted to slip out of the room before Marnie woke up that morning, but she had woken up before him. Something was strange about her. Oddly sweet and caring rather than her normal self. “I just wanted to do something nice for you since you’re working so hard.” She had replied when he asked what she was doing making them breakfast. It raised the hairs on the back of his neck because something like this always came with a catch; there were always strings attached to kindness when it came from someone who was decidedly known to be unkind to even the people she claimed to love.

There was no fight. No harsh words as he readied his things to leave for work- just a kiss on the cheek and a wish for him to be safe. He didn’t reciprocate the kiss, but that had started to become more common for him. These days he could barely touch her or bring himself to hold her hand for too long without pulling away. He did appreciate the lack of a migraine as he went about his day though, and for once he felt a little more normal.

- -

The morning drifted into mid afternoon quickly. Perhaps his perception of time might have been skewed by his work occupied mind or perhaps it was the excitement of the plans that he had for the afternoon, he couldn’t say for certain. He had shaken hands, made polite conversation, exchanged socials until the meeting was concluded and they were allowed their freedom from the event. Dmitri thanked them for the opportunity to attend the event. In the bathroom, he changed into a pair of jeans and a teal three-quarter sleeved button down over a t-shirt that was left unbuttoned. Today, rather than contact lenses, soft amber hues were surrounded by dark framed glasses that fit his face well. They seemed a little less tired today.

‘Freedom at last. I’ll meet you with food as soon as I can. Same place as yesterday.’

The text was sent to Rowan as he left the convention center waving goodbye to his coworkers who had their own plans.

The sandwich shop was crowded when he stepped in and when he ordered. It was a good call to take it with them. He ordered both of their meals from the polite waitress behind the counter who put them both in separate boxes and handed them over to him after he paid.

Dmitri walked quickly the same way he’d walked to the park the day before. He walked past kids playing in the sandbox and on the swings, past dogs living their best life as they rolled around in the grass- all the way the the fountain where the two of them had had the most honest conversation he’d had with someone that didn’t feel like an obligation. As he approached, a gentle upturn of his lips formed into a smile- not a performed one, no, but a genuine expression of being happy to see the person who he’d come there to see. “Glad to see you again, Ptichka. Did you want to eat here or did you want to show me the birds first and eat there?”​

 

[Froshimaru]

​

Rowan had been at the fountain for twenty minutes already. Early again, giving themselves time to catalog the space, to watch the park do its afternoon thing. Different crowd than yesterday evening - more families, more dogs, more noise. Their chest was tight, that familiar anxiety humming under their skin, but they stayed anyway.

They'd almost texted Dmitri three times that morning to cancel. Had typed out excuses - not feeling well, something came up, maybe another time - and deleted them all before sending. Dr. Vogler's voice in their head: "What are you afraid of?"

Everything. That this feeling in their chest meant something they weren't ready for. That Dmitri would realize Rowan was too much work. That caring about someone meant eventually losing them, and they'd already lost Marcus and couldn't survive losing someone else.

But Dmitri had texted last night when he got back safe. Had sent the restaurant address this morning with the menu. Had said he'd meet them here. And Rowan had promised to show up.

So here they were. Showing up.

Their camera hung around their neck, familiar weight against their chest. They'd been shooting while they waited - a kid chasing pigeons, an old couple on a bench, the way afternoon light filtered through the trees. Proof that the world contained gentleness. Proof they were still here, still creating, still trying.[/i>

Movement in their peripheral vision made them look up.

Dmitri was walking toward them, two sandwich boxes in hand, and Rowan's heart did that skip thing immediately. He looked different again - glasses today instead of contacts, a teal shirt that caught the light, less exhausted than yesterday. The smile on his face when he saw them was genuine, not performed, and something in Rowan's chest cracked open a little wider.

They stood up, shouldering their camera bag in that automatic way they had.

"Hey," they said, and their voice came out steadier than they felt. "You look... better. Less tired. Did you actually sleep?"

The smile on Dmitri's face made their heart skip again. They were definitely not ignoring that anymore. Couldn't ignore it even if they wanted to.

"The birds first," they decided. "The light's good right now for photos, and the graffiti is only about five minutes away. We can eat there. It's quieter - just a building wall in a side street. Not as many people."

Not as many people meant safer. Meant Rowan could breathe without calculating exit routes. Meant they could focus on Dmitri instead of managing their anxiety about crowds.

They started walking, hands in their pockets, camera bouncing slightly against their chest with each step. Dmitri fell into pace beside them, and Rowan was hyper-aware of the small distance between them. Close enough to feel his presence, far enough that they weren't touching.

Yet.[/i>

"How was the meeting?" they asked. "You said it was shorter today. Less performing required?"

They navigated through the park, past the families and dogs, toward the exit that led to the quieter residential streets of Kreuzberg. The building with the bird graffiti was tucked away, the kind of place you'd walk past without noticing unless you knew to look for it.[/i>

"I edited the photos from yesterday," they said as they walked. "The ones from the balcony, and... the one of us. I'll send them to you later. They came out good. Better than good, actually."

The photo of the two of them leaning together on the fountain's edge had sat on Rowan's laptop screen for an hour that morning. They'd stared at it, at the exhaustion visible in both their faces, at the closeness, at the honesty. At the proof that they'd been vulnerable with someone and hadn't immediately run.

At the way they looked at Dmitri in the frame - like he mattered.

"Dr. Vogler was... cautiously optimistic this morning," they continued, filling the comfortable silence. "About me making plans and following through. About me talking about Marcus. She thinks it's progress."

They turned down a side street, the noise from the park fading behind them. Quieter here, just a few people walking, a cat sunning itself on a windowsill.

"I told her I met someone who gets it. Who understands what it's like to perform all the time. She asked if I was going to run."

They glanced at Dmitri, then away quickly.

"I said I was trying not to."

The building was just ahead now, an old brick wall covered in layers of graffiti. And there, in the upper right corner, partially obscured by newer tags - an intricate bird in black and white, wings spread mid-flight, detailed enough that you could see individual feathers.[/i>

Rowan stopped, pointing.

"There. That's one of them. The artist tags all over this neighborhood. Different birds each time - some flying, some perched, some falling. I've photographed maybe a dozen before they get painted over."

They raised their camera, adjusting the settings for the light. Through the viewfinder, the bird looked like it was trying to escape the wall itself, frozen mid-motion between trapped and free.

Kind of fitting for a ptichka.

"There's a low wall over there," they said, gesturing to a spot across from the graffiti. "We can sit and eat. You can tell me about your morning that made you look less exhausted for once."

Their heart was still doing that skip thing. Being near Dmitri, walking beside him through quiet streets, making small talk about their day - it felt normal in a way Rowan hadn't experienced in years. Like they were just two people spending time together instead of two damaged humans clinging to each other's honesty.

Except it was both. And that was okay.

They walked to the low wall and sat down, leaving space between them but not too much space. Close enough to matter. Close enough that if one of them wanted to lean in like they had yesterday, they could.

Their camera rested in their lap. The sandwich boxes sat between them. The afternoon sun painted everything in warm tones.[/i>

And for the first time in a long time, Rowan felt present. Not running. Not documenting. Just... here.

With someone who mattered.