General RP ℂ𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕕 ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 | Froshi & Sol

[Solaris-]

The hand that had pulled away from his own with sudden urgency in the movement made Dmitri feel suddenly guilty. It made him feel as though he'd said something wrong, done something to upset them in some way. He'd pushed them to do this and he knew it was a bad idea. Both of them had been more honest with their words than they’d likely should have been in the presence of his parents. Too many details and promises that he doubted would be kept. ‘I’m a fucking idiot.’ The thought ping-ponged around his skull as he pulled on socks and shoes that had been left by the door three days ago when he’d come home. This was something that always happened when he found something worth chasing after. The warm feeling that Rowan gave him- the one that terrified him in equal measure that meant getting close to another person who could break him down- was something he wanted, but not if it came at the expense of that person’s comfort.

It had been a while since Rowan had left his side, and he’d thought to check on them, but much like the first time he’d seen them, he decided it better to keep his distance for now. The last thing he wanted was their panic to be worse than what it was.

When they returned, it didn’t take a genius to notice the nervous fidgets and the way they jumped when Katya had touched their shoulder before she left. As much as he wanted to resume the pleasant point of contact they’d shared at the table, he didn’t reach for Rowan’s hand or offer his own this time. Dmitri put on a light jacket and once the door was open, he shoved his phone and hands both into his pockets- following behind Rowan now down the sidewalk. They needed space. From the house. From him. As much as that hurt to think about, he knew he shouldn’t force anything as it would surely make it worse. He watched Rowan walking ahead of him- the way their shoulders were tensed and how they looked ready to sprint away at a moment’s notice. It had been the same that night they’d nearly kissed too. Running off before Dmitri could stop them.

“Rowan,” Dmitri stopped walking now. He could keep them there- wouldn’t do that to them even if he wanted them to stay for a little while longer and how his mother had said she wanted to see both of them again for dinner. “Rowan wait.” His voice was quiet and he lowered his gaze back down to the sidewalk with a quiet sigh through his nose. There was a nervous anxiety that welled up within him and his chest felt tight with something other than the aggravating way the stitches held his wound closed. “Thank you. For everything. For being here, but you don’t have to stay if you can’t.” He was giving them an out- allowing them to leave if they had to. “As happy as I am you came to see me, I don’t want you to feel trapped.” Certainly he didn’t want to make them feel trapped by him. He wasn’t going to be the one to hold the bars of the imaginary cage closed.

Dmitri was trying desperately to convince himself that one night was enough. That after six months, he wasn’t content with this and leaving it where it was. “I’m sorry I pushed you into doing that. I thought things were going well, but I guess I wasn’t paying enough attention.” Normally he was better at these kinds of things- better at reading the room when things got too weird. “Let me at least walk with you to the hotel and then I can leave you be.” For however long they wanted that space from his family, from him, they would have it.​

 

[Froshimaru]

Rowan kept walking. Three more steps, four, five - their body on autopilot, feet carrying them away from the house, away from family breakfast tables and expectations and the weight of having promised to stay.

Keep moving. Don't stop. Get to the street corner and figure out where the nearest bus stop is. Airport after that. Mongolia was nice. Could go back to Mongolia.

Then Dmitri's voice cut through the noise in their head.

Rowan wait.

They stopped. Stood there on the sidewalk with their back to him, hands still gripping their camera bag strap, shoulders up around their ears like they could physically protect themselves from whatever was coming next.

Their heart was hammering again. Different from the panic attack, worse somehow. Because they knew what was coming. The conversation where Dmitri realized they were too much work, too broken, not worth the effort.

The apology in his voice made their chest hurt worse than the panic attack had.

They turned around slowly.

Dmitri was standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking at the sidewalk, giving them an out. Apologizing for pushing them. Offering to walk them to a hotel and leave them alone.

Like this was his fault. Like he'd done something wrong by having a kind family who made breakfast and welcomed strangers.

No. No, he couldn't think this was his fault. That wasn't fair. None of this was fair to him.

"Stop."

The word came out sharper than they intended. They took a breath, tried again.

"Don't apologize. You didn't do anything wrong. Your family was lovely and breakfast was good and you didn't push me into anything."

Their fingers were still worrying at the camera strap. They forced themselves to stop, to drop their hands to their sides even though they immediately wanted to find something else to fidget with.

Say it. Just say it. He deserves to know this isn't his fault.

"I had a panic attack in your bathroom." The admission came out flat, matter-of-fact. "Not because of you. Not because of your parents. Because I'm fucked up and I don't know how to do this."

They gestured vaguely between themselves and Dmitri, encompassing whatever this was. This thing they'd started in Berlin and picked back up last night.

This thing that terrified them. This thing they wanted desperately to not ruin.

"I texted my therapist from Berlin. Dr. Vogler. Haven't talked to her in four months because I ghosted her the same way I ghosted you and Elena and everyone else I've ever gotten close to."

Their voice was getting tighter. They were standing maybe ten feet away from Dmitri and every part of them wanted to close that distance, wanted his hand in theirs again, wanted that grounding contact. But their body wouldn't cooperate, wouldn't let them move closer.

Like there was an invisible fence between them. Like getting too close would trigger some alarm system in their brain that would send them running for real this time.

"She responded thinking I was still in Berlin. Thinking this was about Elena. Said she was proud of me for meeting parents, for trying." A bitter laugh. "Except she doesn't know I left Berlin. Doesn't know I've been running for four months. Doesn't know this is about someone completely different and I'm still doing the exact same shit I was doing before."

God, saying it out loud made it worse. Made the pattern more obvious. Made it clear that nothing had changed, that four years of therapy hadn't fixed whatever was broken in them that made staying feel impossible.

They ran a hand through their damp hair, frustrated.

"I sat at your family's table and told them I was staying. Told them I cared. Let myself be vulnerable and honest and the second I was alone my brain started screaming that this was too much and I needed to leave."

Their hands found each other, fingers twisting together nervously.

"But I don't want to leave. That's the fucked up part. I want to stay. I want to hold your hand and go for a walk and see Portland and come back for dinner like a normal person who can handle basic human connection."

They finally met his eyes.

Looking at him hurt. Seeing the concern there, the tiredness, the careful way he was holding himself. Like he was the one who needed to be careful. Like he was the problem.

"I'm not good at this, Dmitri. The staying thing. The being close to people thing. Four years of therapy in Berlin and I still freak out when things start feeling real. But you didn't do anything wrong. Your family didn't do anything wrong. This is just me being broken in ways I don't know how to fix."

The space between them felt too big. Rowan took one step forward. Then stopped, like they'd hit an invisible wall.

Their body was screaming at them. Half of it saying get closer, you need him, you want this. The other half saying run, flee, this is dangerous, caring hurts, everyone leaves eventually so leave first.

"I don't feel trapped by you. I feel trapped by my own shit. By four years of patterns I can't seem to break even when I want to."

They tried for another step. Managed it this time. Closer but still not close enough.

Their hands were shaking. They shoved them in their pockets so Dmitri wouldn't see.

"I want to do the walk. Please. I need to move, I need air, and I need to not run away from you right now because that's what I always do and I'm trying really hard not to do that this time."

Their voice cracked slightly on the last words.

Please don't give up on me. Please don't decide I'm too much work. Please just let me be broken and stay anyway.

"So can we just. Walk? And I'll try not to be so fucked up about basic human kindness? And maybe in like an hour I'll be able to actually touch you again without feeling like I'm going to crawl out of my skin?"

They were close enough now to see the details of his face. The tiredness, the concern, the way he was holding himself carefully like he thought one wrong move would send Rowan sprinting.

He wasn't wrong.

God, they'd fucked this up so fast. Less than twenty-four hours and they were already proving they were exactly as broken as they'd warned him they were.

"I'm sorry I freaked out. I'm sorry I'm like this. I'm sorry you have to deal with my shit on top of everything else you're going through."

Their hands twisted together in their pockets.

He almost died three days ago and here Rowan was having a breakdown about breakfast. About normal, kind, decent people being nice to them. What the fuck was wrong with them?

"But I'm here. I'm still here. I'm not running. That's progress, right? Even if I'm having a breakdown on your parents' sidewalk, at least I'm having it here instead of at the airport buying a ticket to anywhere else."

A weak attempt at humor that fell flat.

They were trying. They were trying so hard. It just didn't look like much from the outside because trying for them meant standing on a sidewalk having a breakdown instead of already being gone.

"Can we walk? Please?"

The plea came out quieter than they intended. More desperate.

Because if Dmitri said no, if he decided this was too much, if he took the out Rowan had accidentally given him by being a disaster - they didn't know what they'd do. Probably actually run this time. Probably prove every fear they had right.

But maybe, maybe if they could just walk, just move, just exist next to him for a little while without having to perform okay or normal or fine - maybe they could figure out how to be the person who stayed instead of the person who left.​

 

[Solaris-]

Dmitri knew when they had began this thing between them that it wasn't going to be easy. No amount of liking someone or enjoying their presence could change a life time of worry or trauma. And he hadn't ever thought that he could magically fix Rowan just by admitting his feelings. But that didn't mean he didn't want to try to be there for them. He couldn't fix their trauma that they had about staying- couldn't somehow make their wanting to stay feel less terrifying. But he realized now that offering them so many outs in what he'd thought was his fault wasn't the right approach to this. An out wasn't what they were looking for, and he should stop telling them what they wanted to hear, what they expected everyone to tell them. He didn't think they were broken in a way that wasn't worth the effort to stay next to them even when they were having a bad moment. Telling people what they wanted to hear and saying what they wanted them to say was what perpetuated both of their traumas, and he didn't want to continue that cycle with Rowan. Didn't want to fuck up something that could be, might be good in his life.

"Rowan, you're not damaged goods either. If I can't think that about myself, then you can't say you're too fucked up to care about either. We're both just..."

Broken. Damaged. Irreparable. He shouldn't think those things. They were both trying. Both scared of what came next when one of them realized this was just too hard and not worth pursuing because the amount of effort they needed to put into making something out of it was more than what they'd imagined it'd be.

"We've both had things happen to us or around us that we're trying to get through in our own ways." Parallel existence. Different, but similar in many ways. Where Rowan tried to run from things that followed them, Dmitri preferred permanence. Something he could hold onto for comfort. He'd tried running before and it didn't help when your problems chased you down and kicked the door down. Temporary was frightening. Only having one night made his chest hurt in ways he couldn't explain.

He allowed his tense shoulders to relax- allowed himself to stand up a little straighter. His hands left his pockets, but he didn't reach for Rowan even though he wanted to so desperately. He wanted to hold them the way they'd held him last night- like they were precious, like they mattered. For now, he would give them this distance that felt wrong, but was likely something they needed after breaking down and still panicking. He walked forward a few steps past Rowan and turned to face them. "Let's walk, Ptichka." He acquiesced to their desperate, quiet request knowing that continuing their walk now was likely for the best for both of them. Now, Dmitri kept pace with them- walking beside them but still a few feet apart that still felt like miles.

Their words hurt him. The way they thought so little about themselves that they expected him to run away at the first inconvenience. He hadn't left when Rowan had told him their story. "Do you think I would spend six months texting you, hoping you were doing okay, even after an almost-kiss and after we'd both poured our whole lives out to each other the night before just to tell you that I don't want to do this thing with you?" Dancing around the word commitment because that was too scary for him to think about; avoiding the term relationship because that was too much after being trapped for four years. Bad luck in those words. Maybe he was the superstitious one now. "If I didn't want you in my life even as a friend, I would have given up a long time ago. I wouldn't still have our pictures on my wall. Would have probably turned you away last night when you showed up if I didn't care a hell of a lot more than just 'dealing with you' or 'tolerating you'."

A quiet sigh left Dmitri through his nose. This was hard. It was hard and incredibly exhausting to be this open and honest when he was so used to just giving in and telling people what they wanted to hear. When that was usually the easier route to take, he couldn't bring himself to even consider doing it here. He'd tried to give Rowan an out if they were uncomfortable- tried to let them know if they needed to run, that was okay and that he would be there when they came back. But he knew now that if they left, they probably wouldn't return. "Thank you for staying. Even though I know you're scared, it means a lot to me that you showed up when I needed you not once but twice now. And, I'm scared too. Terrified actually." The words attempted to come out lighthearted, but he meant what he said. "I've been so scared this whole time that you might disappear again once you realize that you deserve better than a friend who spent five years having their ego fed by perfecting the perfect persona and has a harder time being open and honest than they do pretending everything is fine.I can't hide behind that persona anymore and I'm scared that people who get close to me might not like the person behind that mask."

He'd tried to hide behind that persona with Rowan too back when they'd first met. They'd told him he didn't have to do that. Hiding behind that mask didn't work then, and it wouldn't work now. Dmitri was silent for a moment- trying to think of something to say.

"Ptichka, I can't 'fix you' nor do I want to try. And I don't want you to 'fix' me either. But, I do want to be here for you if you'll let me. Even after all of this, I still want to try to do the scary thing even if I'm terrified. I want to take small steps of progress with you together even if it's hard. I want to be a person that shows up for you when you need them too."

The quiet suburbia fell away to more busy streets as they continued down the sidewalk together. The sounds of people on their morning commute. Daily lives in progress. Children playing on swings on the playground that they passed by on the familiar walk towards the college district. Dmitri pushed the button for the crosswalk, and looked over at Rowan when it turned green for them before leading them onwards. It was quieter on this part of town. Mostly college students milled about here before they were late to class. He wondered what life would have been like if he’d ever been one of them instead of trying to find work immediately after high school. Behind the coffee shop, there was a large mural of various aquatic creatures right outside their outdoor patio. Chalk drawings lined the sidewalks of various different things. The smell of dark roast coffee wafted through the doors that opened and closed with customers. “Let’s keep walking. We can always come back here later.” His voice was quieter now. Warmer in a way since he’d gotten all of that off his chest.

“The train station is up that way.” Dmitri pointed to their right as they passed the mural. “That’s the only way up the mountain to Avalon unless you wanted to get in a helicopter or climb the mountain.” He let out a quiet chuckle. “It’s weird that a quiet place like that is only a couple of hours by train away from Portland where it’s always so busy. Kind of feels like you’re stepping back in time sometimes, but people go there to get away. You know, the aspiring writer types, the troubled delinquent kids. The ones who need the quiet space.” That was why Ashe had left. That and her grandparents lived there for ages. He filled the silence with the quiet information that he’d retained from more or less growing up here despite being an immigrant to this town.​

 

[Froshimaru]

The words hit Rowan in waves as they walked.

You're not damaged goods either.

They wanted to argue. Wanted to point out all the evidence to the contrary. But Dmitri kept talking, kept walking beside them with that careful distance, and Rowan focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

Walking helped. Movement helped. The panic was still there but it was manageable now, contained, something they could exist alongside instead of something that consumed them entirely.

We've both had things happen to us.

Parallel existence. Different traumas, same fear. Rowan had spent three years documenting other people's worst moments and Dmitri had spent four years trapped in his own. Neither of them had escaped unscathed.

Their hands were still shaking slightly but their breathing was evening out. The rhythm of walking, the sound of traffic, the normal mundane reality of a Portland morning - it was grounding them back into their body.

Dmitri moved past them, turned to face them, and Rowan saw the effort it took for him to not reach out. Saw him actively choosing to give them space even though it clearly hurt him to do it.

Let's walk, Ptichka.

The nickname made their chest ache. Little bird. Still seeing them clearly even when they were a mess.

They fell into step beside him. A few feet apart. Miles, really. But they were walking together and that was something.

Then Dmitri started talking about the texts, about six months of hoping they were okay, about the pictures still on his wall. About not giving up.

Rowan's throat felt tight.

He'd kept trying. For six months while they'd been running through three countries convincing themselves that distance made anything better, Dmitri had been here sending texts into the void hoping for a response.

And they'd ignored every single one because responding felt like admitting those three days had mattered.

If I didn't want you in my life... I wouldn't still have our pictures on my wall.

God. The pictures. All three of them pinned up like proof that it had been real, that it had mattered, that Rowan wasn't just someone who'd passed through temporarily.

Their photographer brain was starting to kick in now, noticing details as a coping mechanism. The way morning light hit the sidewalk. The architecture shifting from suburban homes to busier streets. A kid on a playground swinging higher and higher, fearless.

They wanted to pull out their camera. Wanted to document this moment, this walk, this feeling of barely holding it together while someone walked beside them anyway.

But they kept their hands in their pockets and kept walking.

Dmitri was still talking. About being scared. About the persona he'd hidden behind for five years. About not wanting to fix each other but wanting to try anyway.

I want to take small steps of progress with you together even if it's hard.

Together.

The word settled into Rowan's chest uncomfortably. Not bad uncomfortable. Just unfamiliar. Foreign. The kind of uncomfortable that came from wanting something you didn't know how to have.

They crossed at the light, Dmitri checking for them, leading but not demanding. The college district was quieter than the residential area. Students hurrying to class. The smell of coffee. Chalk art on the sidewalk.

Rowan's photographer eye caught on the mural behind the coffee shop. Aquatic creatures in blues and greens and teals. The kind of street art they'd photographed in a dozen cities, always drawn to the way public art claimed space, made beauty accessible.

Let's keep walking. We can always come back here later.

Later. Implying future. Implying they'd still be here later, still be together later, still be doing this thing that terrified them both.

Dmitri pointed out the train station, started explaining about Avalon and the mountain and aspiring writers and troubled kids who needed quiet space.

Filling the silence. Giving Rowan room to process without demanding they respond.

Their heart rate was almost normal now. The panic had drained away enough that they could think clearly, could exist in the moment instead of drowning in what-ifs and worst-case scenarios.

They were still scared. Still wanted to run. But the urgency of it had faded.

The distance between them felt wrong now. Too much space. They'd been holding hands hours ago, wrapped around each other in bed, and now they were walking side by side like strangers who happened to be going the same direction.

Rowan took a breath.

"I don't know how to do this."

Their voice came out steadier than before. Still quiet, but not breaking.

"The trying thing. The staying thing. The letting someone show up for me thing." They watched their feet moving against the pavement. "I've spent four years making sure I never needed anyone. Never stayed long enough for it to matter. Never let myself care enough that leaving would hurt."

A pause. They could see a café in the distance now, could smell the coffee stronger here.

"But I do care. About you. And that's terrifying because the last time I cared about someone I left them a note and disappeared to a different country."

Elena. Kind, patient Elena who'd deserved better than what Rowan had given her.

"I don't want to do that to you. I don't want to wake up one morning and panic and be gone before you realize I left. I don't want to be that person anymore."

They risked a glance at him. He looked tired still, but less closed off than he had on his parents' sidewalk. Warmer.

"I can't promise I won't freak out again. I probably will. This morning probably won't be the last time I have a breakdown over something normal people handle fine." Their hands twisted in their pockets. "But I'm trying. I'm here. I'm walking with you instead of buying a plane ticket. That's the best I've got right now."

The street art caught their eye again. They slowed slightly, looking at the chalk drawings some art student had left on the sidewalk. Temporary art. It would rain eventually and wash it all away. But for now it was beautiful.

"I want to try the scary thing too." The admission came out quieter. "Small steps. Together. Even though I don't know what that looks like or how to do it without fucking it up."

They stopped walking entirely now, standing in front of a chalk drawing of a bird mid-flight. The irony wasn't lost on them.

"Can I...?" They gestured vaguely between themselves and Dmitri, asking permission to close the distance without actually saying it.

Because their body was finally cooperating, finally letting them want closeness without the panic response that had kept them pinned to the wall in his kitchen. Finally allowing them to choose to move toward someone instead of away.

"I know I freaked out and pulled away but I miss holding your hand and I don't want to keep walking with three feet of space between us like we're strangers."

Vulnerable. Honest. The kind of admission that would have sent them running an hour ago but now just felt like truth.

"Is that okay?"​

 

[Solaris-]

Little by little, Dmitri was starting to feel normal again- whatever that entailed, he wasn't entirely sure, but at least his stomach had stopped trying to turn over and the anxious tension in his body and shoulders had mostly been released since they continued their walk. He'd seen this sort of thing in movies, in books. This doomed romance between two people who had tortured souls. Those things always seemed to gloss over the realism that came with it. The constant worry that you weren't good enough for someone who was thinking exactly the same. What it felt like to be terrified to want to be close to someone again when trauma told you distance was easier and that being vulnerable meant giving someone the chance to break you all over again. He knew that this wouldn't be easy- didn't want it to be easy either. He'd hidden behind the sheen of a perfect relationship on the outside for four years. If this is what a real partnership was like, then this is what he wanted to experience.

He remained silent just letting Rowan speak now- listening to them speak and worry about this happening again. They'd stopped there on the sidewalk now. The symbolism of the chalk bird on the sidewalk wasn't lost on him either. Ever since they'd met, things like this had followed him around- reminding him of how real their conversations felt and how easy it had been to speak with them about something that should have been difficult.

"I don't know how to do this either. I don't have all the answers." No amount of quick thinking or knowing how to read people amounted to much when he was the one put into the impossible scenario. "But I know that I want to try. For you, for myself, and for what we've started. I don't want to give up and be the thing you're afraid of." Rowan was asking to hold his hand like it was something they needed permission for. Like it was something Dmitri hadn't spent the last few minutes of their walk wishing they would do. It seemed silly that even just this simple amount of touch was something that meant more than it probably meant to most people.

His hand that was not wrapped in bandages reached between them now slowly. Sliding his fingers into Rowan's warm palm until the skin of their hands was flush and their fingers were entangled just as they'd been last night and earlier that morning. This already felt so much better than three feet of distance that might as well have been miles. "You don't need my permission to hold my hand, Ptichka." His grip on Rowan's hand was gentle, but firm and didn't demand anything they hadn't asked for. "I mean it. Any time you need someone to hold onto I'll be here." By their side, doing the thing that terrified him the most- offering closeness and desiring it in equal measure from a person who had begun to matter for far longer than just one night.

"When I worked at Verdigris, I learned about something I think could apply here." It sounded like the wind up to a weird topic switch, but Dmitri knew it was relevant enough to their conversation. "In some cultures, when things get broken, instead of throwing them away they get glued back together with precious metals. Somehow people manage to be able to create something beautiful out of broken pieces. Maybe that's what we can do too." Finding beauty in what they could create even though both of them were damaged souls. "Rather than trying to fix ourselves completely in a way that isn't feasible or each other, we can just find beauty in the imperfections." He offered the hand a gentle squeeze and rubbed his thumb slowly against the back of their hand. This time, it was much less of an unconscious gesture of comfort and something that he actively did.

"For now, it's enough for both of us to take it one step at a time. Slow progress. If you break down, I'll be here with you through it." Dmitri wasn't asking them to hide their breakdowns or that they shouldn't have them. If they happened, he just wanted them to know that he would be there like he was now even if they did need a little bit of space until they were able to come down from the panic. "We'll do this together, then even if it's scary."​

 

[Froshimaru]

The second Dmitri's hand slid into theirs, Rowan felt something in their chest unclench.

Warmth. Pressure. The familiar feeling of his fingers between theirs, skin against skin, the slight roughness of bandages on his palm from where he'd grabbed the blade. Proof he was real, here, alive, choosing to hold on.

Their breath came out shaky, not from panic this time but from relief.

"Okay."

Just that. Just okay. Because their brain was too busy processing the fact that touching him didn't make them want to crawl out of their skin anymore. That the contact felt grounding instead of suffocating. That they could hold his hand and breathe at the same time.

Progress.

They stood there on the sidewalk in front of the chalk bird, hand in Dmitri's hand, and listened to him talk about broken things and precious metals and beauty in imperfections.

Kintsugi. Rowan knew the word even though Dmitri hadn't said it. They'd seen it in Japan a month ago - pottery repaired with gold lacquer, the breaks highlighted instead of hidden, made more beautiful for having been broken.

Their photographer brain latched onto the metaphor immediately. The way light caught on gold seams. The way broken pieces became something new, something that couldn't exist without the breaking. Not fixed. Transformed.

"Kintsugi." The word came out quiet. "I photographed a gallery in Kyoto that specialized in it. Hundreds of pieces, all broken and repaired with gold. They were more beautiful than if they'd never broken at all."

They looked down at their joined hands. Dmitri's bandaged palm pressed against theirs. Both of them marked by different kinds of violence. Both of them still here anyway.

"I like that metaphor better than 'fixing.'" Their thumb moved against his hand, that gesture that had become theirs. "Fixing implies there's a correct way to be. Like we're supposed to go back to some version of ourselves that existed before everything went wrong."

They'd spent four years trying to fix themselves. Trying to therapy their way back to whoever they'd been before Syria, before Marcus died, before they'd learned that documenting horror didn't stop horror from happening.

It hadn't worked.

"But if we're both just... broken things with gold in the cracks, then maybe we don't have to be fixed. Maybe we just have to figure out how to exist like this."

The panic from earlier felt distant now. Still there if they looked for it, still ready to resurface if they pushed too hard. But manageable. Contained. Something they could live alongside instead of something that controlled them.

They started walking again, slower this time, hand still firmly in Dmitri's. The college district stretched out ahead of them. Students with backpacks, coffee shops with outdoor seating, murals on brick walls.

Normal. Peaceful. The kind of scene Rowan had photographed a thousand times in a dozen cities, always from the outside looking in.

This time they were part of it.

"One step at a time sounds good." They meant it. "Slow progress. I can do slow. It's the fast stuff that makes me panic."

Meeting parents had been fast. Breakfast with the family had been fast. Going from 'we kissed last night' to 'welcome to my home' had been very fast.

But this - walking through Portland holding hands, talking about broken things and gold and trying - this felt manageable.

"Thank you." The words came out softer. "For not giving up when I pulled away. For not letting me run when that's what I'm best at. For still being here even after I had a breakdown over your mom making me draniki."

A weak attempt at humor, but there was real gratitude underneath it.

"And for the kintsugi thing. That's... that's going to stick with me. Broken pieces and gold."

Their free hand found their camera bag, but not in the nervous fidgeting way from before. Just resting there, familiar weight, ready if they needed it.

"Can I take some photos?" They gestured vaguely at the street art, the chalk drawings, the morning light. "It helps sometimes. Putting things through a lens. Makes the world feel more manageable."

Documentation as coping mechanism. Observation as control. It was how they'd survived three years in conflict zones and four years running from anything that felt like commitment.

But maybe this time they could photograph something good. Something peaceful. Proof that the world had gentleness in it and they were allowed to be part of that instead of just documenting it from a distance.

"And maybe later we can actually get coffee? From that place you mentioned?" They squeezed his hand gently. "If you're feeling up to it. If the walking isn't too much with the stitches."

Worry creeping back in, but the good kind. The kind that came from caring about someone instead of the kind that came from panic.

"I'm still scared." They admitted it quietly. "But I'm here. And I'm not planning to leave today. Or tomorrow. That's the best I can promise right now."

One day at a time. One step at a time. One held hand and one morning walk and one moment of not running when every instinct said to flee.

Small steps. Slow progress. Together.

They could work with that.​

 

[Solaris-]

There was a weight lifted from his shoulders now that they were connected once more. It was such a simple gesture that he might have felt silly wanting if it didn't feel significant to him to be like this. He never wanted to make Rowan feel as though they had to ask permission to hold his hand when it seemed to just be a normal thing they did without thinking too much on the implications such contact brought with it. It made him wonder if one day the two could look back on this moment and realize they were both silly for worrying too much and trying too hard. For now, he just wanted to exist in this moment in time and focus on what was important now.

"Not things. People." Dmitri corrected gently. "Learning how to be gentle with ourselves and each other when we've barely been afforded such grace before." It seemed foreign, hard to accept without the constant reminders. But it was a process and it would take time and it couldn't be rushed no matter how impatient they were to see change or progress. If he wasn't allowed to give in to his self-depreciation about being damaged goods, then neither would Rowan be allowed to do that either. Even after hearing Rowan's story all those months ago, Dmitri had never thought of them as that- never thought of them as anything more than a person navigating through their own difficulties after bearing witness to trauma and tragedy. When you witnessed horror on the daily, he imagined dealing with one's own struggles with life seemed minuscule by comparison.

There was a smile now pulling at Dmitri's lips. Rowan was doing the silly thing again and thanking him for doing something he should have been doing from the start. He shouldn't have even entertained the thought of allowing them so many outs of whatever this was- giving them opportunities to run away and go back to their nomadic lifestyle just because this had become something more than they'd anticipated. "If I had let you run then, it would have been up there with the stupidest things I've ever done in my life." His tone was serious and quiet at the same time. He knew if he'd let them go, they wouldn't come back, there wouldn't be any returned texts, and no amount of wishful thinking would make that any different. His hand had tightened a bit around Rowan's in his own reflexively. The cut along the length of his palm burned from the effort, but he ignored it in that moment. "I don't want to give up on you, to say the things you're expecting to hear from me, or be that person you're afraid of just because you're a human being with human emotions. Having you in my life is better than not having you in it at all." He owed it to them and himself to do better than that. To be the person that sat with them even in silence while the panic ran its course.

"Just, next time, tell me it's too much. Or if you can't say it, let me know somehow so we can go somewhere that's more quiet. It's okay to panic, but you worried me when you pulled away so suddenly." They'd pulled their hand so fast from his own that it'd made him feel like he'd done something wrong or said the wrong thing somehow. Things had moved a little more quickly than he'd wanted them to as well. Going from becoming something that wasn't quite a relationship to meeting the family in less than twenty-four hours would have likely sent him reeling as well.

He'd loosened his hand- just holding Rowan's in his own comfortably as it'd been before. "You're asking me for permission?" The teasing question was followed by a soft laugh. They were the one with the camera and eye for photography. He'd never say no to them doing something that kept their mind occupied from the panic that was likely still there. "Take all the photos you like. This would be the place to do it." Here, surrounded by other people's art, by the quaint shops, and by people their age going about their daily lives.

The hotel was only a few blocks and a few streets away, and Dmitri had intended on taking them over that way once they were finished here. It would be a nice place to sit down and rest for a few moments. "I still want to get coffee with you," Dmitri answered honestly. That too had become as commonplace as their hand holding and no amount of pain in his chest was likely going to keep him from wanting to share quiet moments over warm beverages. "I feel fine for now. It does hurt, but not enough to where I'm not enjoying walking with you while there's no rain. But, if you are still worried about me once we're done walking around, I can promise to rest for a few minutes if it will set your mind at ease." He could promise that much- to be careful while he was still healing and sit down if it became too much to keep moving around.

"I won't ask you to stay forever. I'm just glad you're here now. But," There was a momentary pause. He'd thought on this before even if he'd never voiced it aloud. "Take me with you when you do decide to go. Even if Portland is temporary for you, I would like to continue experiencing new things with you." Even if Portland was temporary, he'd like to not be as well.​

 

[Froshimaru]

Rowan stopped walking.

Their brain needed a second to catch up to what Dmitri had just said. What he was offering.

Take me with you when you do decide to go.

Not stay. Not put down roots. Not meet my parents and build a life here and stop running.

Come with me.

Their hand tightened around his, fingers pressing between his before they could stop themselves.

"You want to..." The words stuck in their throat. "Leave Portland? With me?"

Elena had asked them to stay. To meet her parents, to build something permanent, to stop running. And Rowan had left a note and disappeared because staying felt like drowning.

But Dmitri was offering the opposite. Was saying he'd rather be temporary with Rowan than permanent without them.

And part of Rowan wanted to say yes immediately. Wanted to grab onto this offer with both hands and never let go because finally, finally someone was offering to come with them instead of asking them to stay.

But the other part - the part that had watched his family that morning, that had seen how they looked at him, that remembered Ashe's worried texts and his mother's gentle teasing and the way his sister smiled when he walked into the kitchen - that part felt sick.

"Dmitri, no."

The word came out before they could stop it. They pulled their camera from their bag with their free hand, needing something to do with the conflict tearing through their chest.

"I mean. I want to say yes. Part of me really wants to say yes because no one's ever offered that before and it's the most terrifying and amazing thing anyone's ever said to me."

They brought the camera up, photographed the chalk bird without really seeing it.

Click.

"But you have a family. You have people who love you. Who almost lost you three days ago. Who made you breakfast this morning and invited me to stay because they want you to be happy."

Click. The mural. The street art. Anything to keep their hands busy.

"You have Ashe. You have your parents and your sister and this whole city that you know. You have roots here. People who would notice if you were gone, who would miss you, who need you."

Their voice was getting tighter.

"I move because I have nothing to stay for. There's no one waiting for me anywhere. No one checking if I'm okay except a therapist in Berlin I pay to care, the fixers that text me begging me to crawl back to work... and now you."

They lowered the camera, looking at him directly.

"When I leave a city, no one notices except my landlord when the rent stops coming. When you leave a city, people grieve. There's a difference."

The conflict was churning in their stomach, making them feel nauseous. Because they wanted this. Wanted him to come with them so desperately it hurt. Wanted to not be alone anymore, wanted someone to choose them, wanted to build something even if that something was temporary and nomadic and unconventional.

But wanting it didn't make it right.

"You almost died. Three days ago someone who said they loved you tried to kill you. And now you're here, healing, with people who actually love you in ways that don't come with knives."

They raised the camera again, photographed him. Tired. Healing. Home.

Click.

"And I'm asking myself if you're offering this because you mean it or because you're vulnerable right now and I'm the first person who's made you feel safe in four years and you're confusing that with wanting to leave everything you know."

The words hurt to say but they needed to be said.

"I don't want to be the reason you leave your family. I don't want to be the reason Ashe loses her friend or your mom loses her son or your sister has to worry about you being halfway across the world with someone who has panic attacks in bathrooms."

They stepped closer, free hand coming up to touch his face gently.

"I want you to come with me. I do. More than I've wanted anything in four years. But I also want you to have the things I don't have. Stability. People who love you unconditionally. A place that feels like home."

Their thumb brushed against his cheekbone.

"You deserve more than living out of hostels and missing trains and sleeping in a different city every few months because your girlfriend can't handle basic human connection."

Girlfriend. The word slipped out before they could stop it. Was that what they were? They'd kissed. They'd slept in the same bed. They'd held hands through breakfast. But labels felt too big, too permanent.

"Whatever I am to you." They corrected quickly. "You deserve better than what I can offer. Which is nothing. No home, no stability, no promise that I won't wake up one day and panic and need to leave wherever we are."

They lowered their hand, stepped back slightly.

"So yes, let's get coffee. And let's talk about this. But not right now, not when you're three days out from almost dying and I'm still coming down from a panic attack. Let's talk about it when we're both thinking clearly and you've had time to heal and we can actually figure out if this is what you want or if it's just what feels safe right now."

Because Rowan had been the safe thing before. In Berlin, they'd been the person Dmitri could be honest with, could break down in front of, could exist beside without performing. And maybe that's all this was - Dmitri reaching for safety after trauma, not actually wanting the chaos of Rowan's life.

"I'm not saying no forever. I'm saying not yet. Not until you're sure. Not until you've thought about what you'd be giving up."

Their hand squeezed his.

"Because I'm selfish enough that if you asked me again in a month, I'd probably say yes. I'd probably let you come with me even knowing it's not fair to you. So I need you to really think about this before you offer it again."

The admission cost them something. Admitting they wanted this but knew it might not be right. Admitting they cared about him enough to try to protect him from their own dysfunction.

"Can we just. Get coffee? And talk about literally anything else? Because if we keep talking about this I'm going to either have another panic attack or say yes and I don't think either of those is a good idea right now."

They needed space from this conversation. Needed to process what he'd offered and what it meant and why the thing they wanted most was also the thing they absolutely shouldn't take.

Because taking Dmitri away from Portland would be taking him away from everything good in his life. And Rowan refused to be another person who hurt him, even if saying no hurt them both.​

 

[Solaris-]

Rowan's words made dark brows knit together in mild confusion. He knew what he was offering, was all too aware of what would come with leaving with Rowan. This city where he'd gotten to know all of its weird intricacies and details, people he knew from high school that still remained, safety in knowing his parents were just a car ride or Uber away even if he were to move to the other side of the city to have his own space, even his close proximity to his best friend who was living in Avalon now with her grandparents. The truth was that Rowan did feel safe. There was safety in caring for them, for wanting whatever this was. He could just be himself without the pretense of being asked for more- could be sad and hurting without being judged or glared at. He wanted to experience new things even if that meant leaving this safety, this permanence. People would miss him, sure, but he could still call them or text them or even visit when they weren't traveling.

Dmitri understood why Rowan wanted to protect him like this- to say that it was selfish of them to ask him to leave and be a permanent occurrence in their temporary existence. But it still made him feel as though he were being scolded. Like a petulant child instead of a grown man who knew what he was saying and knew what he wanted in that moment. He didn't have the job that had anchored him here for the last five years, didn't have an apartment to pay rent to, and his parents would only want him to be safe if he did choose to leave.

He'd already thought of millions of things to say in response to how Rowan was deflecting him, but the term 'girlfriend' caught him off guard and made him lose his train of thought. Dmitri didn't really know how they identified themselves, hadn't really thought it appropriate to ask such an intimate question when they'd poured their hearts out to each other in Berlin. Nor did he truly care. Rowan was Rowan to him no matter what their identity. The word itself though was tainted by mixed feelings of resentment and unhappiness of the last four years which made his own stomach settle uncomfortably. The deflection still made him feel upset- not at them, no, but at being told that they had nothing to offer him which he felt was untrue. What they offered him was unconventional, sure, but he liked them enough that whatever proverbial reward far outweighed the risks. But Rowan seemed settled in creating distance where it was safer and Dmitri supposed he couldn't blame them for falling back on what they knew rather than what was new and overwhelming.

His other hand settled on the one that had brushed against his face and he raised the palm to his lips- brushing them against the skin there before releasing it. "Please don't do that. Protecting me from you when you're not a problem or an inconvenience. It makes me sad when you think so little of yourself." They were hardly such things, and he didn't need protection in this way. Their words hurt him just as much as a knife to the chest. Deciding on their own that Dmitri was better off here where things were familiar, thinking that by saying these things they were protecting him, but it just fucking hurt more to be told no in this way. It felt as though he were being told to get lost without having been told those words directly. But he didn't voice this thought- nor would he ever likely. "But we can talk about it later." He was afraid that pushing where he shouldn't wouldn't get him what he wanted and would only push Rowan further away from him in the end and he was scared to do that- scared to lose them again when they had undoubtedly become someone important in his life. "Let's get coffee."

Dmitri offered a gentle pull of Rowan's hand as he led them back to the coffee shop. It too was familiar. In five years since he'd worked there, not much had changed other than a few items of decor inside and a few of the items on the menu and maybe a couple of staff members. It smelled heavily of dark roast coffee. "Do you want anything other than coffee? They make nice bread here too." Not as nice as Ashe's cinnamon rolls, but he doubted that anything would come close to that. There was a table near the back that would give them a nice view of the outside patio where the two could sit relatively unbothered by the few customers that were there with their laptops open.

He was gone for a few moments- releasing the hand reluctantly after another gentle squeeze to it before he returned just as quickly with two large mugs full of of the scalding liquid. One was set down in front of Rowan and his hands wrapped around his own. "Can I ask you something? Maybe it's a bit personal, and before I do, let me just say first that I don't really mind how you answer as it won't change my feelings, but I'd like to know how to refer to you as." Dmitri was asking about their pronouns and preferences as to what he called them. He took the seat opposite them. "You said 'girlfriend' earlier, and it made me realize I've never asked." The label still felt uncomfortable for now, and he hoped that Rowan didn't mind if he avoided using such definitive things. Despite the kiss, despite sleeping in the same bed, he'd never properly asked them out as they'd agreed that things should remain how they were for now with the added closeness. This whole time, based on appearance, Dmitri had assumed Rowan was a soft spoken boy, but even that hadn't deterred his interest in them. ​

 

[Froshimaru]

The coffee shop was exactly what Rowan needed. Familiar smells, ambient noise, the ritual of hot drinks and neutral territory. They sat across from Dmitri at the back table, hands wrapped around their mug, watching steam rise into the air.

The question about pronouns caught them completely off guard.

Not because it was invasive. Not because it bothered them. But because in four years of moving through dozens of countries and hundreds of temporary interactions, almost no one had ever asked.

"They. Them. He. She... It? Honestly, whatever works for you."

They said it casually, like confirming their coffee order.

"Non-binary, I guess, if you need a label for it. But I'm not picky."

It was just a fact about themselves. Like having brown hair with pink ends, like being 5'8", like preferring their coffee black. Not something they'd ever had to fight about because they'd spent most of their life behind a camera where people didn't really look at them long enough to care.

"I've always been pretty good at not being noticed. Grew up behind a camera, spent years in conflict zones where blending in kept you alive. People don't really gender you when they're not paying attention to you in the first place."

Which was true. Rowan had perfected the art of being invisible. The quiet kid at yet another new school. The photographer documenting war zones who people looked through instead of at. The traveler in hostels who checked in and out without anyone remembering their name.

"Most people just make assumptions and move on. Doesn't really affect me either way."

They took a sip of coffee.

"But you asked, which is nice. Shows you actually want to get it right." A small smile. "Use whatever you're comfortable with. I'll answer to any of it."

Because that was the truth. Rowan didn't need people to perform perfect pronoun usage. They just needed to be seen as a person, and Dmitri already did that.

"Girlfriend, partner, person, whatever. The label doesn't matter."

But their chest felt warm anyway. Because someone wanted to date them. Actually wanted them, not some theoretical version of them that would stay in one place and be normal. Dmitri knew about the panic attacks and the running and the four years of avoiding commitment, and he still wanted them anyway.

Elena had wanted them to stay. Had needed them to be someone who could put down roots and meet parents and build a life in Berlin. And that had felt like drowning.

But Dmitri wasn't asking them to stay. Wasn't asking them to be different. He'd offered to come with them, which somehow made staying feel possible. Like if they wanted to stay it would be a choice instead of a demand. Like temporary or permanent or anything in between was okay as long as they figured it out together.

That was new. That was terrifying. That was everything.

They took another sip of coffee, burning their tongue again, using the physical discomfort to ground themselves.

The tension from the sidewalk conversation still hung between them like smoke. Dmitri was hurt - they could see it in the careful way he was holding himself, in the way his hand had squeezed theirs before letting go to get coffee. Like he was trying not to show how much their words had stung.

And Rowan still thought they were right. Still thought offering to leave Portland was something Dmitri would regret in six months when the novelty wore off and he realized what he'd given up. Still thought taking him away from Katya's draniki and Yana's teasing and Ashe's friendship would be the most selfish thing they'd ever done.

But they'd already said that. Already made their point. Already hurt him by rejecting an offer he'd made with his whole chest.

And continuing to argue about it would just drive the knife deeper.

"I'm sorry for being patronizing earlier." The words came out stiff, uncomfortable. "That wasn't fair. Deciding for you what you should want. You're an adult who can make your own choices."

Even if Rowan thought those choices were mistakes. Even if every protective instinct they had screamed that they needed to save Dmitri from his own generous impulses.

God, when had they become the kind of person who decided what was best for others? When had they started thinking they knew better than the people making their own choices?

Probably around the same time they'd started running from anything that felt real.

But they couldn't keep having this conversation. Not here, not now, not when they were both exhausted and Dmitri was still healing and every word felt like it was coming out wrong.

"Can we. Talk about something else?" Awkward. Forced. Obvious deflection. "Not avoiding it, just. Tabling it. For now."

Absolutely avoiding it. But they didn't know what else to do. Didn't know how to navigate this tension when their usual response was to book a flight and disappear.

Their eyes tracked around the coffee shop, cataloguing exits out of habit. Front door. Back exit through the kitchen probably. Windows if they got desperate.

Old patterns. Hard to break.

"You said you worked here? For how long?"

Small talk. Safe territory. Anything to fill the silence that felt too heavy, too loaded with everything they weren't saying.

Their coffee was too hot still but they kept sipping it anyway, needing something to do with their hands, needing a reason not to meet his eyes fully and see the hurt there that they'd caused.

This felt wrong. The distance between them felt wrong. The careful politeness felt wrong. An hour ago they'd been holding hands and talking about kintsugi and small steps together. Now they were sitting across from each other like strangers making awkward conversation after a bad first date.

Except this wasn't a first date. This was. What was this? The morning after sleeping together but not sleeping together. The day after meeting his family. The hour after rejecting his offer to uproot his entire life.

No wonder it felt wrong.

"The bread smells really good." More awkward small talk. More desperate attempts to fill the silence with anything that wasn't the elephant sitting between them. "Maybe we should get some. When did you eat last?"

The question left their mouth before their brain caught up. When did he eat last. They'd literally just had breakfast together at his parents' house two hours ago. Draniki and eggs and bacon and coffee while Rowan had a breakdown about basic human kindness and then escaped to the bathroom to text their therapist.

Jesus Christ, they were a disaster.

Their face heated up and they had to resist the urge to put their head down on the table and just stay there until the earth opened up and swallowed them whole.

"Sorry. That was stupid. We just ate. I'm just. I don't know. My brain isn't working."

Understatement of the century. Their brain had apparently left the building entirely, leaving them here to flounder through social interaction like someone who'd never had a conversation before.

This was why they didn't do relationships. This awkward navigation of feelings and conflict and trying not to hurt people while also being honest. This was why they kept everything surface-level and temporary and easy to walk away from.

Except they'd already promised they weren't walking away. Were actively trying not to walk away even though every instinct screamed at them to run.

Progress, maybe. Painful, awkward progress.

Their fingers drummed against their coffee mug nervously, that restless energy that needed an outlet finding the closest target.

"I'm really bad at this." The admission came out quiet, honest in a way that made them feel exposed. "The navigating conflict thing. Usually I just leave before it gets to this point. Pack my bag, book a flight, send a text from the airport if I'm feeling generous. But I'm trying not to do that this time so instead I'm just. Sitting here. Making bad small talk. Asking about bread and when you last ate even though I was literally there when you ate."

At least that was honest. At least they were admitting they were a mess instead of pretending everything was fine.

Small victories.

"I don't know how to fix this. The weird tension. I don't know if apologizing again would help or make it worse. I don't know if we should keep talking about it or if we should just. Exist in the awkwardness until it passes."

They finally looked at him properly. Really looked at him. Tired amber eyes, cherry cola hair, bandages still covering wounds that should have killed him three days ago. Someone who'd offered them something impossible and generous and Rowan had thrown it back in his face because they were too scared to take it.

God, they were such a coward.

"I'm still here though. That's something, right? I'm not running. I'm just. Really uncomfortable. And probably making you uncomfortable. Which isn't great but it's better than being gone."

The bar for their behavior was apparently very low. Still here and visibly uncomfortable - that was progress. Not good progress, but progress.

They set their coffee down with slightly shaking hands and reached across the table, palm up, offering. Not taking, just offering. Letting Dmitri choose whether he wanted the contact or not after Rowan had spent the last hour pushing him away.

"I care about you."

The words felt huge. Felt too big for a coffee shop conversation. But they needed to be said because Rowan had spent the morning making Dmitri feel like he didn't matter, like his offer wasn't enough, like Rowan didn't want him.

And none of that was true.

"I know I'm shit at showing it. I know I just hurt you by saying no to something you offered. But I do care. And I want this to work. Whatever this is."

Their hand stayed there on the table, open, vulnerable, waiting. This felt more intimate than the kiss last night. More exposed than sleeping in his bed. Because this was choosing to reach out after pushing away. This was admitting they'd fucked up and still wanting to try anyway.

"I'm trying. I'm here. I'm awkward and anxious and probably saying all the wrong things but I'm trying not to run. That has to count for something."

Please let it count for something. Please let them get past this tension and back to the ease of this morning. Please let Dmitri take their hand and prove they hadn't completely ruined this in the span of two hours.

Their heart was doing that complicated thing again where it felt too big for their chest. Not panic this time. Something else. Something that felt like hope mixed with fear mixed with desperate wanting.

"Can we just. Start over? From right now? Coffee and conversation and holding hands if you still want to?"

A reset button. A chance to move past the awkwardness. A way forward that didn't involve either of them sitting in uncomfortable silence or Rowan fleeing to the nearest airport.

Their hand was still there, palm up, waiting. Proof they were trying. Proof they weren't running even when running would be easier.

Small steps. Slow progress. Together.

Even when together meant sitting across from each other in a coffee shop, navigating tension neither of them knew how to resolve, trying to find their way back to the connection from this morning before Rowan's fear-brain had taken over and ruined everything.

They were trying. Clumsily, anxiously, with shaking hands and bad small talk and apologies that didn't feel like enough. But trying.

That had to count for something.​

 

[Solaris-]

His body felt tense- still constantly living in fear that a fight was coming. Even when a topic was dropped, neither he nor Marina had ever been good at just letting it go and stay there until they were mentally stable enough to pick it back up again. If it sat there, it festered and made him anxious. But he didn't want to argue or fight, didn't want to yell at Rowan for just being who they were and make them feel worse than they likely already were feeling about pushing him away again. He just wanted to have a conversation with someone he cared too much for about a topic that seemed too big for either of them right now. "Not 'girlfriend'. I will gladly call you whatever else. But honestly, just letting it be what it is, not giving it a label is better. I don't know if this will make any sense, but forcing a title onto it makes it feel less real in a way. And I want what I feel for you to be real." He didn't want it to feel as though Rowan were just there to assuage his lonely mind, just there to make him feel better only when things were good. Things were awkward, painfully so, between them now sitting here and still dwelling on the conversation from earlier, but the growing pains were proof enough that the last two hours weren't enough to sway his feelings towards avoiding Rowan like they seemed to think he would.

They were at least talking about it a little. The topic from earlier avoided and boxed for now, but it was enough for him to feel less anxious. There was no argument, just two people trying to navigate through the soup of complex feelings until they stumbled into what felt right. "I want to be able to hold your hand, to kiss you, and sleep beside you in the same bed because I like doing those things with you." He had been the one, after all, to initiate such things. Holding Rowan's hand, kissing them first, and even sharing the same bed had been his idea. "And I want you to enjoy doing those things with me without feeling like you're an inconvenience or without feeling bad that you want those things." Rowan might have been used to being a ghost in other people's lives, but Dmitri didn't feel as though he could ignore them if he tried.

Dmitri was still thinking about what to say. Drinking coffee in silence seemed wrong. But he didn't want to keep picking at a conversation that made them both feel awkward and uncomfortable either. He was usually better at this- better at keeping a conversation going without his brain feeling like it was scrambled. But the past few days where he'd barely spoken to anyone other than to tell him he was fine, and dealing with the residual effects of a trauma few people experience in their lives if they live to tell about it suddenly made the last five years of perfecting conversations with all kinds of different people feel like lifetimes.

"I care about you."

It only took four words to bring him back into the moment- to refocus on Rowan who was sitting there with their palm outstretched. It felt substantial in a way Dmitri didn't know how to explain. Most people started with 'I like you' or even jumped straight into 'love'. But this wasn't that. Neither of them were rushing things along out of some weird obligation, and caring felt significant. He knew they cared about him or they wouldn't force themselves to stay in this weird tension in a city they didn't know. They wouldn't have answered Ashe's texts and reached out to him to check and make sure he was really okay. And he doubted they would be sitting there, hoping that he too would reach out and take their hand again. He didn't take the olive branch right away. Dmitri got up from his chair and rather than sit across from them as he'd been doing, moved his chair to sit closer so he didn't have to reach across the table. Now that they were closer, he did take Rowan's hand into his own. Their hand was becoming familiar, and he still enjoyed this simple amount of contact. It was significant in it's own right without the need or demand for them to be all over one another. Intimate, but not overwhelming.

"I care about you too." The photos that still hung on his wall, the photos Rowan had taken of him in Berlin on that first day, and the tattoos on his arms that were covered by his jacket now were testament enough of him caring. He had cared and listened to the things that Rowan had said because they'd been important to him- still were important to him. "We're both fucking terrible at this." The words were said with a light-hearted tone, but it wasn't untrue. "I'm not uncomfortable. My body has just been tense since we've started the conversation. I've been so afraid to say the wrong thing or say something that makes you want to leave. And I know this time I won't ever hear from you again, and something about knowing that fact, knowing that you'll forget about me or never talk to me again just... hurts. I'm also used to arguing with someone over the most perceived slight. If something big comes up and just sits there, it just gets worse to leave it alone. But I really don't want to argue or fight; I just want to be able to talk it out at some point. Even if not right now, I don't want to just ignore it forever." Dmitri was willing to let it go for Rowan because he didn't want this to become worse for either of them- didn't want them to sit there in perpetual uncomfortableness. "We need to find a way to not project onto each other like this. It feels like we're both giving it a chance, but not really at the same time."

Like they both expected it to fail from the start. And that wasn't fair to either of them.

With the hand not occupied, he reached over carefully to rest his hand on Rowan's face. Cupping their cheek gently and brushing his thumb across. Once again touching them like they were precious, like they meant something to him. Because they were and they did. "I want you to hear me when I say this, Rowan. Please really hear me. I'm not going to walk away from you because you're awkward or because you're bad at communicating with people. I don't think you're an inconvenience or a problem, and you can't ghost your way through my life without being noticed. You're trying so hard to be here when it's hard, and the fact that you're here now makes me so, so happy. I know it might be difficult to believe, but I care about you. The nervous Rowan whose leg shakes in awkward situations, the confident one behind the camera whose eyes light up when they see a good shot, and even the one who has panic attacks in bathrooms because they sat through an awkward family breakfast even though it was too fast." He offered them a gentle smile- the kind of smile that met his eyes. "So remember to give yourself some grace."

He'd said those words in Berlin too when they'd discussed things bigger than this. Traumas they were still recovering from. They were no less sincere now than they'd been then. There was a momentary pause in their conversation, but unlike the previous silence, it felt less stilted, less awkward than it'd been. At least for Dmitri. "I worked here for about two years before I started working at Verdigris. I didn't go to college, and I didn't really have any goals or aspirations for the future- just that I wanted to get out of the house and away from expectations placed on me to be more than I was." His parents had meant well. And he knew he'd been a stupid teenager that thought he knew better than them at that moment in his life. "I love my parents, but I'm not smart like Yana. So I started working here, overnights mostly because I preferred working nights. And then Ashe told me about Verdigris. After a few visits, they recruited me to work for them. I like being around people and I'm pretty extroverted, so it made sense at the time." Part of him did miss it, but he didn't want to put himself back in that position where flirting with strangers attracted the wrong kind of attention.

"Which is probably why being around you is easy, safe, comfortable. We can sit in silence without it being weird or fill it with whatever came to mind even if it was mundane. I hope it doesn't scare you to think about two people who care about you being extremely extroverted." Dmitri meant himself and Ashe. She'd cared enough to seek Rowan out, and he knew when they finally did have a conversation with her, there would be questions.​

 

[Froshimaru]

Dmitri moved his chair.

Not just reached across the table, not just held their hand from a distance. Actually got up and moved closer, eliminating the space between them that had felt like miles.

And Rowan couldn't breathe.

Not from panic this time. From something bigger. From the overwhelming realization that someone was choosing to get closer instead of pulling away. That despite everything - the rejection, the awkwardness, the clear evidence that Rowan was a disaster - Dmitri was moving toward them instead of away.

Then his hand was in theirs and the relief was so intense it almost hurt.

"We're really fucking terrible at this," they agreed, voice shaking more than they wanted it to.

Then Dmitri said it. The thing Rowan had been trying not to think about.

If you leave this time, I'll never hear from you again.

The words landed like a physical blow. Sharp. Final. True.

Six months of ignored texts had used up Dmitri's patience. He'd already done the hoping, the waiting, the wondering if Rowan was okay. Already given them chance after chance to respond and got nothing back. Why would he do it again? Why would anyone?

There was no third strike here. No safety net. Just this moment, this choice, this singular opportunity to be different than they'd always been.

Stay and figure it out, or leave and lose him permanently.

The simplicity of it was terrifying.

"You're right." The words came out barely above a whisper. "If I leave this time, you won't hear from me again. Because you'd be smart enough not to waste your time on someone who keeps running. And I wouldn't blame you. I'd deserve it."

Their hand tightened around his, fingers pressing hard enough that the bandage on his palm must have pulled against the wound underneath.

God, even now they were hurting him. Even holding hands became something that caused pain.

"And I don't want that. I don't want to lose you. I don't want to be the person who runs anymore." Their voice cracked. "I'm just terrified I don't know how to be anything else."

Four years. Four years of perfecting the exit. Of being forgettable. Of leaving before anyone could ask them to stay.

And now someone was asking them to stay and they didn't know if they were capable of it.

Then Dmitri's hand was on their face and everything stopped.

The coffee shop. The ambient noise. The thoughts spiraling in their head. Everything just. Stopped.

He was touching them so carefully. Like they were something precious instead of broken. Like they mattered instead of being disposable. And Rowan's eyes were burning, pressure building behind them that they hadn't felt in years because they didn't cry. They documented other people crying but they didn't do it themselves because crying meant feeling things and feeling things meant hurting and they'd learned to stop hurting a long time ago.

Except now Dmitri was talking about all the versions of them - nervous and confident and breaking down in bathrooms - and saying all of them mattered. That he wasn't going anywhere. That they couldn't ghost through his life unnoticed.

And something in Rowan's chest cracked wide open.

No. No no no. They couldn't do this. Couldn't fall apart here. Not in public. Not with strangers around. Not when they'd spent four years holding it together through war zones and grief and Marcus's death and everything else.

They'd stood in hospitals while people bled out. Had photographed children who'd lost parents. Had documented mass graves and bombed schools and mothers wailing over bodies. Had seen things that would break most people and had come away functional, contained, together enough to file their photos and move to the next crisis.

They didn't break. That was the rule. That was how they'd survived.

Except the crack was spreading. Fault lines running through every defense they'd built. And Dmitri's hand on their face was making it worse, making it impossible to shut down, to go numb, to retreat into the part of themselves that observed instead of felt.

Push it down. Lock it away. You've done this before. You can hold this for another hour, get back to the hotel, fall apart in private where no one has to see.

But their chest was getting tighter. Their throat was closing. The pressure behind their eyes was building and building and no amount of biting their cheek or clenching their jaw was stopping it.

The walls were crumbling. Four years of carefully constructed emotional distance, of professional detachment, of training themselves not to feel too much or want too much or need too much - all of it was coming apart.

And they couldn't stop it.

This was what they'd been running from. Not the memories. Not the guilt. This. This moment where all their defenses failed and they were left raw and exposed with nowhere to hide.

Their hands were shaking. Not the small tremor from earlier but actual shaking, the kind that came from trying to hold something too heavy for too long. Their whole body was trembling with the effort of keeping the breakdown contained.

Dr. Vogler had warned them about this. Had said you can't run from grief forever, you can't keep moving fast enough to outpace your own feelings, eventually your body gives out and makes you feel everything you've been avoiding.

Rowan had thought they were stronger than that. Thought they could keep going indefinitely. Thought if they just never stopped moving, never let anyone close enough to matter, never allowed themselves to want things they couldn't have, they'd be fine.

They weren't fine.

They were breaking. Right here, right now, in a Portland coffee shop with Dmitri's hand on their face and his eyes seeing everything they'd tried to hide.

Please. Please just let me hold it together for five more minutes. Let me get outside. Let me make it somewhere private. Don't let me fall apart here where he has to watch, where strangers can see, where I can't take it back.

But their body had other plans. Had been holding this for four years and was done waiting. Done pretending. Done carrying the weight of everything Rowan had refused to process.

"Don't."

The word came out harsh, almost angry, except it wasn't anger. It was fear so intense it felt like drowning.

"Don't say things like that. Don't tell me I can't ghost through your life when that's all I know how to do. Don't tell me I matter when everyone I've ever mattered to I've hurt."

Their free hand came up to grab his wrist, not pulling his hand away but holding it there against their face like they were trying to prove to themselves this was real.

Real meant it could be lost. Real meant it would hurt when it ended. Real was dangerous.

"I photographed Marcus dying. I left Elena without explanation. I ghosted my therapist who actually cared about me. I ignored your texts for six months."

The list of their failures, laid out like evidence. Like proof they were exactly what they thought they were - someone who destroyed the things they touched.

"I hurt everyone I get close to because I don't know how to be close without eventually running."

The pressure behind their eyes was building, building, building. Their throat felt tight. Their chest hurt.

Don't cry. Don't cry. You don't cry. You document other people crying but you don't do it yourself.

"So don't tell me you see me. Don't tell me I'm precious. Because when you finally realize what a disaster I am, when you finally understand that I'm not worth the effort, it's going to destroy me and I don't know if I can survive that."

And there it was. The real fear. The thing they'd been running from all along.

Not that they'd hurt him. They'd already accepted that as inevitable.

But that he'd hurt them. That they'd stay, and let him in, and matter to him, and then he'd realize they weren't worth it. That all their damage was too heavy. That caring about them was exhausting work with no reward.

And losing him after letting him see them would be worse than anything they'd survived so far.

Worse than Aleppo. Worse than Marcus dying while they photographed it. Worse than three years of documenting horror.

Because those had broken them professionally. This would break them personally. And they didn't know if there was anything left to rebuild from if that happened.

Their breath was coming too fast now. Not a panic attack, not quite, but close. That edge where breathing became conscious effort and their chest felt too tight and they couldn't get enough air.

"I don't know how to be noticed without disappointing people. I don't know how to matter without eventually failing."

Their grip on his wrist tightened.

"Everyone I've cared about I've let down and I can't—"

Their voice broke completely.

No. Not here. Not now.

But the first tear fell and with it, any hope of stopping the rest.

They bit down on the inside of their cheek hard, trying to force it back. Trying to stop the next one. Their free hand released Dmitri's wrist and grabbed at his shirt instead, fingers curling into the fabric near his ribs like they were trying to hold themselves up.

Don't make a scene. Don't embarrass him. Keep it together. You can fall apart later, in private, where no one has to see.

But more tears came anyway. Silent, because they were biting their lip now, pressing their face harder into Dmitri's palm to muffle any sound that might escape. Just tears sliding down their cheeks, hot and shameful and impossible to stop.

They were shaking. Shoulders trembling with the effort of keeping the sobs locked in their chest. Their hand twisted tighter in his shirt, pulling themselves closer without meaning to. Their body moving on instinct, seeking comfort even while their brain screamed that they needed to stop, needed to pull back, needed to not make this his problem.

But they couldn't let go. Couldn't release the fabric. Couldn't stop leaning into the warmth of him.

God, when was the last time someone had touched them gently? Elena, probably. Four months ago in Berlin before Rowan had left a note and disappeared. Four months of no physical affection, no comfort, no one to lean on.

Four years if they counted further back. Four years since they'd let anyone close enough to touch them without it being transactional or temporary or part of some professional interaction.

Their body was starving for this. For gentleness. For someone's hand on their face and the solid warmth of another person close enough to feel real.

"I'm sorry," they whispered, barely audible. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

For the tears. For making a scene. For being too much. For all of it.

Their shoulders were still shaking but they kept the sounds trapped. Just silent crying, face pressed into his palm, fingers gripping his shirt like a child holding onto a parent. Pathetic. They were pathetic.

But they couldn't stop. Couldn't make themselves let go. Four years of grief and guilt and loneliness spilling out in quiet, desperate tears while they tried not to make it worse by actually sobbing out loud.

"I want to stay," they managed, voice breaking over the words. "I want to be someone you can care about without it being a mistake. I want to believe you when you say I matter."

Their hand pulled at his shirt again, tugging him closer. They were pressed against him now, or as close as they could get sitting in separate chairs. Forehead almost touching his shoulder, their face still in his hand, breathing in the smell of him - coffee and laundry detergent and something underneath that was just Dmitri.

"But I'm so scared." A whisper. Almost inaudible. Just for him. "I'm so fucking scared that I'm going to ruin this. That I'm going to hurt you the way I've hurt everyone else."

Another tear. Another breath that hitched wrong. They were losing the battle to keep quiet, small sounds escaping despite their best efforts. Nothing loud. Just these tiny, broken sounds that they couldn't quite contain.

"That you're going to wake up one day and realize I'm not worth this much effort and I'll have stayed long enough that losing you will actually break me."

There it was. The admission that made them feel like they were standing on a cliff edge with nothing to catch them if they fell.

They were already in too deep. Already cared too much. Already attached in ways that meant leaving would hurt and staying could hurt worse.

The math didn't work out in their favor either way. That was the cruel joke of it. Run and lose him. Stay and eventually lose him anyway when he realized what a disaster they were. There was no version of this where they didn't get hurt.

Unless.

Unless Dmitri meant it. Unless he actually saw all their damage and wanted them anyway. Unless this wasn't them being a temporary project, a broken thing to fix, but someone worth caring about despite being unfixable.

Their fingers loosened slightly on his shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles they'd created, then grabbed on again like they couldn't help it. Their body kept pulling them closer, seeking more contact, more warmth, more proof that this was real.

"I can't ghost through your life. You won't let me."

They pressed closer, their face moving from his hand to his shoulder. Hiding there. Letting themselves have this even though it felt too vulnerable, too needy, too desperate.

"And that's the most terrifying thing anyone's ever done to me."

More tears soaked into his shirt. They'd stopped trying to hold them back now, stopped caring if they made his shirt wet or if strangers in the coffee shop were watching. Their whole body was curled toward him, pulled as close as two people in separate chairs could get.

Touch-starved. That's what this was. Four months since Elena. Four years since anyone before that. Their body was screaming for contact, for comfort, for someone to hold them while they fell apart.

And Dmitri wasn't pulling away. Wasn't telling them to get it together. Wasn't acting like this was too much.

So they let themselves have it. Let themselves lean into him fully, face pressed into his shoulder, hand still gripping his shirt, breathing shaky and wet but quieter now. Just existing in his space. Letting him be close. Letting themselves be held without asking for it out loud.

"I'm trying," they whispered into his shoulder. "I'm here. I'm not running even though every instinct I have is screaming at me to leave before this gets worse."

But their body was doing the opposite of running. Was pressing closer. Was seeking more contact. Was wrapped around him like they were trying to crawl inside his ribcage and hide there.

"But if we do this—if I stay and we figure this out and I let you matter—you have to promise me something."

They still didn't lift their head. Couldn't look at him. Could only speak into the fabric of his shirt while tears kept coming.

"Promise me that when I fuck up—and I will fuck up—you'll tell me. You'll give me a chance to fix it instead of just deciding I'm too much work."

Their voice was muffled but steady now, even through the tears.

"Because I can handle you being angry or disappointed or frustrated with me. What I can't handle is you giving up without telling me why."

Like everyone else had. Like they'd expected every time.

"Promise me you'll fight with me instead of just walking away. Because if you're going to leave eventually anyway, I need to know you tried first."

They took a shaky breath.

"I need to know it wasn't just me being too broken to love."

The word slipped out before they could stop it. Love. Too big, too soon, too much.

But they didn't take it back. Just stayed pressed against him, face hidden in his shoulder, hand gripping his shirt, waiting to see if that would be the thing that made him finally pull away.

Their other hand found his, fingers lacing between his even though their palm was wet from wiping at tears. Holding on. Anchoring themselves to him while they fell apart as quietly as they could manage.

"I'm sorry," they whispered again. "I'm making this harder than it needs to be. You were just trying to be nice and I'm having a breakdown about it."

But they didn't pull away. Didn't create distance. Didn't try to put themselves back together and pretend this hadn't happened.

They just stayed. Pressed against him. Crying quietly into his shoulder. Gripping his shirt and his hand like he was the only thing keeping them from flying apart completely.

"But I mean it. About trying. About staying. About not running even though I want to."

Another shaky breath. The tears were slowing now but they still felt raw, exposed, like they'd peeled off a layer of skin.

"Just. Be patient with me? While I figure out how to be someone who gets to be cared about?"

The question came out small. Vulnerable. Everything they'd tried not to be for four years.

But their body had made the choice their brain couldn't. Had pulled them close, had sought comfort, had stopped caring about public spaces or strangers watching or making a scene. Had chosen closeness over safety. Had chosen Dmitri over the familiar emptiness of being alone.

They lifted their head finally, just enough to look at him. Face wet, eyes red, probably a complete mess. But they looked at him anyway.

And they didn't let go. Didn't pull back. Didn't try to salvage their dignity by pretending they hadn't just fallen apart in a coffee shop.

They just stayed. Close. Connected. Holding on.

Trying.​

 

[Solaris-]

Dmitri hadn't expected what he'd said would cause Rowan another breakdown. But he wasn't entirely surprised either.

This was so much different than his last relationship where they pretended things were fine until they weren't. Where arguing was the normal and caring felt like a trap. But this wasn't that, and he couldn't compare the two. He had no frame of reference for what he should be doing or how to speak to Rowan to get them to really hear what he was saying. That he wasn't going to give up on them even if they thought they were a lost cause. He didn't want to fix them or mold them into being the perfect partner for him, didn't want them to be a version of themselves that was easier to handle because their feelings were too difficult. There was concern written in his features and worry in equal measure- fearful that this would be the thing that made Rowan run away for good. That they would realize this was too much, that his feelings were too big for them to handle. And then they would be gone for his life, and he would be alone again, trying to figure out how he'd gone wrong twice in such a short amount of time.

They were both fearful that the other would run away from them and the irony wasn't lost on him.

But even as the tears came and Rowan's hand tightened around his bandaged one and his other hand became slick with tears, Dmitri didn't pull away. The hard squeeze to his hand did make the deep wound burn much as it'd done when he'd applied the same pressure, but he made no attempt to pull himself away. He wanted to move closer, to hold them as close as he could though it was awkward in their seated position. Perhaps it would have been best to wait to say these things when they weren't in a public space, but he wasn't about to take back words he'd meant when he spoke them. His hand was released and he wrapped it around Rowan- resting his hand against their back. They were as close as they possibly could be seated like this, but it still didn't feel close enough. Dmitri too was incredibly touch starved. So much so that even six months ago, leaning into Rowan and resting his head on their shoulder while they talked about life had been comfortable. They'd been strangers then, and now, holding them like this while they cried into his shirt felt as though he was giving them back what they'd given him all those months ago.

"You talk about yourself like you're some monster that's incapable of being loved and cared for." Rowan had spent their whole life running from this exact thing- scared to let people in for fear that they might treat them the same as everyone else. "But you give yourself and me such little credit. Even if I have remind you that you're worth loving, worth caring about with my whole chest each time, then that's what I will do. I'm not telling you these things with no merit or meaning behind them. I'm not telling you pretty words to make you feel better, Ptichka." He would say it until he made Rowan believe that they weren't just something he was going to toss to the side when he was done with them or that he might suddenly believe that this was too hard for him even though he'd never given them that indication. His words were quiet too, said only loud enough so Rowan could hear them above the ambient noises that felt like white noise in that moment. He was sure that some people were staring, but they didn't matter right now, and he paid them no attention.

He lowered his head to gently rest on theirs that still smelled of his shampoo from their shower earlier. With Rowan resting their face against his chest, surely they could hear his quickened, nervous pulse with each beat of his heart. Dmitri was good at hiding his nervousness- good at pretending he wasn't scared too. But he was, and he could understand Rowan's fear in not wanting to fuck up something good in their life. For a moment, Dmitri just held them- tightly and protective against his body, just letting them cry there without judgement or words. The hand that was on their back moved up to press against the nape of their neck now- threading long fingers through faded pink ends. "It's okay to be scared. I'm scared too. I'm scared that you keep pushing me away and that you'll keep pushing me away. Scared to say the wrong thing that will make you leave me behind because I pushed too hard when I shouldn't. I'm not as confident as I let people think, and the first time we held hands, the first time that I kissed you, and when you held me last night, I was so nervous. Letting myself feel things for you and crying because I'm not okay. I'm fucking terrified." It was hard to be vulnerable when you were used to faking it until you made it. Letting people think you were okay even when your world was crashing and burning around you. "But I want this- us- to work. I want you, Rowan."

And he meant it. Not just the Rowan who had held him last night and comforted him while he cried, but the one who broke down and cried against him as well and everything in between.

"I promise. If anything happens I'd rather talk it out than give up. You mean a lot to me and I don't want you to feel like you don't matter."

Rowan looked up at him and Dmitri offered them a gentle smile once more- hand moving back to their face to gently brush tears from their cheeks. "Stop apologizing. I'm not mad or upset with you. You have nothing to be sorry for." He wasn't embarrassed to be like this with Rowan and was more concerned for them than anything else. They'd tried so hard to keep themselves held together for so long and all it'd taken was gentle words to make those defenses crumble into nothing. It'd never been his intention to cause this reaction from them when all he'd wanted to do was give back the gentleness they'd given him. "I will gladly give you my patience. I don't want you to think you have to be the perfect version of yourself for me to like you. I don't want that. I want the real you no matter what that looks like. All I ask is that you let me in at least a little." Being held at arm's length like he was only hurt them both in the end. Dmitri was still gently stroking their cheek and he leaned down to press a kiss against their forehead.

"Do you want to walk with me still? We can go get your hotel room situated and we can have a bit more privacy than here to talk about things. Or we can just rest for a bit." Even as much as he was enjoying holding them, they both deserved some privacy after feeling so vulnerable here. Saying these things and being so open had cost them both a lot, and it had to be even more draining for Rowan.​

 

[Froshimaru]

Dmitri's hand was in their hair.

The realization hit somewhere between one shaky breath and the next. His fingers threading through the faded pink ends, gentle against the nape of their neck, holding them close while they fell apart against his chest.

He hadn't pulled away.

Rowan had cried into his shirt, made a scene in a public coffee shop, admitted they were terrified of being too broken to love, and he hadn't pulled away. Hadn't told them to get it together. Hadn't looked for an exit.

He'd pulled them closer instead.

The words he was saying filtered through slowly, muffled by the fabric of his shirt and the ringing in Rowan's ears. Something about being worth loving. About not being a monster. About him meaning what he said.

But it was his heartbeat that made them believe it.

Fast. Racing. Nervous.

Dmitri was scared too.

The realization made something in Rowan's chest loosen. Not fixed, not healed, but. Less alone. Less like they were the only broken person in this equation trying to figure out how not to ruin something good.

He was scared they'd push him away. Scared he'd say the wrong thing. Scared of his own feelings and the vulnerability of admitting them.

Rowan wasn't the only one standing on a cliff edge. They were both there, both terrified, both choosing to stay anyway.

"You're scared too," they whispered into his shirt. Not a question. Just. Recognition. Relief.

Their grip on his shirt loosened slightly, hand spreading flat against his chest where they could feel his heartbeat. Proof he was as nervous as they were. Proof this mattered to him the way it mattered to them.

I want you, Rowan.

The words echoed in their head. Direct. Clear. No ambiguity. He wanted them. Not some theoretical better version. Not the person they could be if they got their shit together. Just them, as they were, crying and broken and terrified.

Their breath hitched again but not from crying this time. From something bigger. From the weight of being wanted settling into their bones.

The tears were slowing now, exhaustion replacing the sharp edge of panic. They felt wrung out. Hollowed. Like they'd been carrying something heavy for years and had finally set it down.

Dmitri's hand moved from their hair to their face, brushing away tears, and they let him. Didn't pull back or try to hide the mess they'd made of themselves. Just stayed there, face wet and eyes swollen, letting him see all of it.

"I'm not good at letting people in," they said quietly. "I don't know how. But I want to try. With you."

The admission cost them something but felt right anyway.

Then his lips pressed against their forehead and they stopped breathing entirely.

The kiss was soft. Gentle. The kind of affection that had nothing to do with want or need or any of the complicated things. Just tenderness. Just care.

When was the last time someone had kissed their forehead? Their mother, probably, before they'd left for college. Before everything had gone sideways.

They pressed closer on instinct, face finding the space between his shoulder and neck, breathing him in. Coffee and clean laundry and something underneath that was just Dmitri. Safe. He smelled safe.

"Yeah," they managed after a moment. "The hotel. Privacy would be. Yeah. Good."

Because they were exhausted. Because they'd just had a breakdown in public and probably looked like a disaster. Because being this vulnerable in a coffee shop full of strangers was taking everything they had left and they didn't have much.

But also because they wanted more time with him. Wanted to exist in the same space without performing or worrying about who was watching. Wanted to figure out what this was when they weren't both raw and exposed in public.

They pulled back slowly, reluctantly, their hand still pressed against his chest. Their face was probably a mess - eyes red, cheeks wet, hair disheveled from where his fingers had been. But they looked at him anyway.

"Thank you," they said, voice rough from crying. "For not leaving. For saying you're scared too. For. All of it."

For proving that staying was possible. That they could fall apart and someone would hold them through it instead of walking away.

Their hand found his again, fingers lacing properly this time. Grounding. Anchoring. The simple contact that had become theirs over the past twenty-four hours.

"I heard you," they added quietly. "When you said I'm worth caring about. I don't believe it yet but I heard you. And I'll try to remember it when my brain tells me otherwise."

That was the best they could offer. They couldn't promise to believe him immediately, couldn't flip a switch and undo four years of thinking they were too damaged to deserve good things. But they could promise to try. To let his words exist alongside their doubts. To give him a chance to prove them wrong.

"And I want you too," they said, because he'd been brave enough to say it first and they owed him the same honesty.

"I'm terrified of wanting you but I do. I want this. Us. Whatever we're figuring out."

The words felt too big but also exactly right. Like admitting something they'd been trying not to think about since Berlin.

They stood slowly, legs unsteady, still holding his hand like it was the only thing keeping them upright. Their coffee sat forgotten on the table, cold now. The world outside the bubble they'd created was still happening - other people having their own conversations, living their own lives, completely unaware that Rowan had just survived something they'd been running from for years.

"Lead the way," they said. "I don't actually know where the hotel is from here and my brain isn't really working right now."

Exhaustion was settling in properly now. The adrenaline crash after the breakdown. They felt hollowed out but also somehow lighter. Like crying had released pressure they hadn't known they were carrying.

They were still holding his hand. Still standing close enough to feel his warmth. Still choosing to stay even though every old instinct whispered that they should run before this got more complicated.

But it was already complicated. It had been complicated since Berlin, maybe. Since Dmitri had asked to photograph them and then asked for coffee and then refused to let them be invisible.

And maybe complicated was okay. Maybe complicated was worth it if it meant being seen and wanted and held through breakdowns instead of facing everything alone.

Their thumb brushed against his palm, that unconscious gesture of affection and comfort that kept happening without them thinking about it.

"I'm really tired," they admitted. "Like. Exhausted. Is it okay if we just. Exist for a while? When we get there? No heavy conversations, just. Being?"

Because they'd used up all their words. All their emotional capacity. All their ability to process big feelings and make important decisions.

They just wanted to exist in the same space as him. Maybe lean against him again. Maybe let themselves be held without having to talk about what it meant or where this was going or any of the complicated questions they couldn't answer right now.

"You said something earlier. About not projecting onto each other. About both giving this a chance but also not really."

They looked at him, still holding his hand, still close enough to see the amber in his eyes.

"I'm going to try. To not assume you're going to leave. To not protect myself by expecting the worst. It's going to be hard and I'm probably going to fuck it up sometimes but I'm going to try."

A promise. A real one. Not just empty words but actual commitment to doing the work of staying.

"Can we go now? Before I change my mind about being this vulnerable in public?"

A weak attempt at humor but it felt good to try. Felt good to acknowledge that they'd just had a massive breakdown in a coffee shop and were somehow okay. Still standing. Still here.

Still holding Dmitri's hand and choosing to walk out with him instead of running in the opposite direction.​

 

[Solaris-]

Dmitri too was tired. Barely sleeping in three days and baring his soul to the person who needed to hear his words the most in that moment had left him drained, but not in the way it'd drained him to speak with Marina. It was a different feeling that came from getting something heavy off your chest and just letting it be known. Rowan couldn't be invisible, and Dmitri couldn't fake a confident smile and pretend around them. Neither seemed to be able to let the other wear the mask they'd worn for so long when it was the only thing they'd known how to do. But at least he knew he wasn't alone because Rowan too had finally let him in at least a little, and that meant so much there in that moment. He had released Rowan with the arm that had been petting them gently, but stayed connected with his other hand in theirs. They had so rarely released one other since the night previous that this had become as normal as breathing. "You don't have to thank me. Really, I don't want you to thank me for this, Ptichka. I want to learn how to exist alongside you- however that looks like." Wherever they were didn't matter. He just wanted to figure these things out together and navigate through this complex soup of emotions with the person that he probably cared a little too much for. They weren't a charity case or a project for him to invest his time into, and he definitely didn't want them thanking him for basic human decency.

Still, his hand squeezed the one in his own firmly- letting them know that he wasn't going anywhere even as he stood from his chair. "I'm tired too." Exhausted, really. His heart was still beating quickly, but at least the panicked thoughts of pushing Rowan to leaving him had subsided enough to let him remember how to be a person. Neither of them were leaving for now. Not today, not tomorrow, and that was good enough for now.

Outside the coffee shop, the air was brisk. Early spring air in a city that was always cold and gloomy. Earlier, the weather had been nice, but now with dark clouds moving in, the skies threatened rain. "All I can ask is that you try. I'm not asking for it to be all at once. We can't really give each other everything we are right now. We've been doing this for less than a day and we're still getting used to these feelings and each other." He was leading them now past the mural, the street art, past the familiar comforts of what he knew- thumb brushing the top of their hand gently and reassuringly. "I won't pretend and lie and say this is going to be easy, but I want to do this. To try for you- for us- for what this could be." Two people that had unlucky lots in life learning to be gentle when life was oftentimes not was going to be a challenge, but he wasn't backing away from it even though it terrified him to think about.

The city block was occupied by other businesses, stores, gas stations. Dmitri held them close as they crossed the street into the hotel parking lot which was largely empty. "Once we get your room, we're going to do the thing I suggested we do this morning." He let out a quiet chuckle- remembering that both of them had wanted to stay in bed and cuddle even though they knew they had to get up. For now though, there were no expectations on them and no reason to not just rest and enjoy the close company that both were offering. He too was trying to gently lighten the mood at least a little.

By the time the two reached the automatic doors, it began to drizzle and then the skies opened up and it was pouring. Not unlike the previous night when Rowan had first arrived. "At least it was nice out for a bit." They'd asked him about the weather here before and now they were bearing witness to its truly bipolar nature. Perhaps it was a reflection of how their day had gone so far. A reflection of two people who were hurting and chose to stay together anyway even though that came with risk of hurting the person you cared about most.

Getting the room was a relatively seamless process. Questions asked and answers given as Dmitri had wrapped his arm loosely around Rowan's side to hold them closer. If people were staring at them, he hadn't seemed to notice. They took the elevator up to the third floor, and he placed the key card into the lock to let them in. Small, standard fare room with a small kitchen area. The television was already on a random channel which provided a small amount of ambient noise other than the gentle hum of the air conditioner beside the bed. Dmitri slipped off his shoes and his jacket at the door. "Before we rest, do you need anything? And if we still don't feel like getting up by the time we get hungry again, we can just get pizza and eat here." He wasn't pressuring them into another session of sitting through an awkward meal with his parents. They would likely understand with how the weather had turned in such a short amount of time. He was still holding them close to him and he brought his other arm around them as well- wrapping them in a proper embrace now. ​

 

[Froshimaru]

The hotel room door clicked shut behind them and something in Rowan's chest finally loosened.

Privacy. Finally. No strangers watching. No need to keep the breakdown quiet or worry about making a scene. Just them and Dmitri and four walls that felt safer than anywhere they'd been in months.

They stood there for a moment, taking it in. Standard hotel room - small kitchen area, TV already on to some channel they weren't paying attention to, the hum of the air conditioner providing white noise. Nothing special. Nothing remarkable.

But it felt like a sanctuary anyway.

Dmitri was taking off his shoes and jacket, moving through the space with the ease of someone who knew how to exist in temporary places. Rowan was still by the door, camera bag heavy on their shoulder, feeling suddenly unmoored now that they weren't walking or talking or actively trying to hold themselves together.

The adrenaline was completely gone now. The crash had hit somewhere between the coffee shop and here, leaving them hollow and shaky and so tired they could barely think.

Then Dmitri's arms were around them and they stopped thinking entirely.

A proper embrace this time. Not sitting awkwardly in chairs, not pressed together in public with strangers watching. Just him holding them, both arms wrapped around them, pulling them close like he'd been wanting to do this the whole walk here.

Rowan's camera bag slipped off their shoulder, hitting the floor with a soft thud they barely registered. Their jacket was still on, shoes still on, but none of that mattered because Dmitri was holding them and they were letting him and their body was melting into the contact like it had been waiting for permission.

Four months since Elena. Four years since anyone before that. Their body remembered this - remembered being held, being wanted, being close to another person without fear or performance or the expectation that they'd leave soon.

Their arms came up slowly, wrapping around his waist, fingers finding the fabric of his shirt and holding on. Not desperately like in the coffee shop, just. Holding. Anchoring themselves to him while exhaustion pulled at every muscle.

"I don't need anything," they said quietly, face pressed against his shoulder. "Just this. This is good."

The truth. Simple and uncomplicated. They didn't need food or water or anything practical. They just needed to be held while their nervous system slowly convinced itself they were safe.

The rain was coming down harder now, audible against the window. They'd barely made it inside before the sky opened up. Portland living up to its reputation, weather shifting as quickly as their day had - morning awkwardness to sidewalk arguments to coffee shop breakdowns to this. Whatever this was.

Quiet. Close. Safe.

"Pizza sounds good," they added after a moment. "Later. When we're hungry. Right now I just want to. Stop. For a while."

Stop moving. Stop thinking. Stop carrying the weight of four years of running and two days of feeling too much.

They stayed like that for a long moment, just breathing together, hearts beating against each other's chests. Then slowly, reluctantly, Rowan pulled back just enough to move.

Their hands were clumsy as they toed off their shoes, letting them fall wherever they landed. The jacket came next, fingers fumbling with the zipper in a way that felt too vulnerable, too domestic. Like they were settling in. Like they were staying.

The jacket slipped off their shoulders and they draped it over the back of the desk chair, movements sheepish. This felt significant somehow - taking off layers, getting comfortable, making themselves at home in a space that was technically theirs but felt shared.

They were just in their t-shirt now, the one that had been under their jacket all day. Soft and worn and probably wrinkled from being held in the coffee shop. Their arms felt bare suddenly, exposed, even though the room was warm.

But they didn't reach for the jacket again.

Instead they reached for Dmitri's hand, fingers lacing with his in that gesture that had become automatic.

"Come here," they said quietly, tugging him gently toward the bed.

Not for anything complicated. Not for sleep, not yet. Just. Close. They needed to be close to him where they could see his face, where they could touch him, where the exhaustion wouldn't feel quite so heavy.

The bed was standard hotel fare - clean white sheets, too many pillows, firm enough to be comfortable. Rowan climbed on first, settling on their side facing out, making room for him.

When Dmitri joined them, they were face to face. Close enough to see the amber in his eyes, the tired lines around them, the way his hair was slightly mussed from the rain and the long day. Close enough that their breath mingled in the small space between them.

Rowan's hands came up slowly, carefully, cupping his face between their palms. The gesture felt huge. Intimate in a way that had nothing to do with the kiss from last night and everything to do with tenderness, with wanting to hold him gently, with needing to touch him while asking for what they needed.

Their thumbs brushed against his cheekbones, feeling the warmth of his skin, the realness of him.

"You're not going to leave, right?"

The question came out smaller than they intended, barely above a whisper in the quiet room.

"I know you said you wouldn't but my brain keeps trying to convince me this is temporary. That you're going to realize I'm too much work and. I just need to hear it again. That you're staying."

Their hands stayed on his face, holding him gently like he was something precious. Like they were allowed to touch him this way. Like this closeness was theirs to have.

Vulnerable. So vulnerable. But the exhaustion had stripped away their ability to pretend they didn't need reassurance. Had made them honest in ways they usually avoided.

They kept their eyes on his, not hiding this time. Letting him see the fear there, the desperate wanting, the part of them that was still waiting for him to change his mind.

The rain continued outside. The TV murmured in the background. And they lay there face to face, Rowan's hands cupping Dmitri's cheeks, asking him to promise one more time that this was real.

That he was staying.

That they hadn't imagined the whole thing.​

 

[Solaris-]

Stopping to rest seemed like a foreign concept to Dmitri. His life had always been fast paced. Too many people vying for his attention, too many people to pretend to smile at and enjoy their company. Someone that had demanded he be too much when all he wanted to be was himself. And now that he was offered that, it was like his mind was fighting him against the thing he'd wanted for so long. But he wasn't about to let it win this time. He'd nearly given into those dark thoughts a few times in the last six months, and they still lingered near the back of his mind waiting for their chance to fill his head with doubts again, but for right now, in this moment, the only thing that mattered to him was the person he held in his arms. Against the warmth of his chest while they stood there quietly enjoying the closeness. For the first time in a long time, his skin didn't crawl or itch when someone was touching him, he didn't want to pull away, and being wrapped around Rowan felt right.

Dmitri didn't need to be asked twice to follow, and he moved onto the bed as well- laying down to face Rowan. Arms tattooed with blooming sunsets wrapped again around their middle. Where he'd been concerned the night before that holding them too closely would cause them anxiety, he had no such reservations now, and both of them were there, pressed against one another, laying in the same bed while Rowan's hands found his face. He couldn't remember the last time someone had touched him so gently other than them. The last time someone had held his face in their hands and looked at him like they saw past that veneer of confidence and charm. They hadn't fallen for that fake charm when they'd first met, hadn't let him weaponize it in the same way he did with others, and he didn't want to do that now.

Rowan too looked exhausted, vulnerable. He felt some guilt in having pushed them so hard. Never really good at leaving a heavy topic where it should stay until they were well enough to pick it back up again. He just didn't want it to sit there, untouched, because they were both avoiding it, dancing around it like they were the idea of labels and commitment. It was better now that all of that had been said then rather than leaving it to fester in the ether while they held each other at arm's length because they were too afraid to be closer. But they were committing in their own way as scary as that was to think about. Committing to not leaving, to trying, to being better at being open with each other and themselves. No labels, no boxes, but they were doing the relationship thing anyway.

"I'm not leaving." His hand that rested against their back moved up and down in reassuring pets against their t-shirt and back. "Not right now, not today, or tomorrow. I want to be here with you for as long as you want me." No obligations to be anywhere else than here, no job to keep him away. "I'm exactly where I want to be. Healing, tired, resting, with you." Dmitri leaned against Rowan's touch on his face- letting soft amber hues close behind his glasses for a moment. Existing in the moment hadn't been something he did in a while, and it felt nice to be held like this- to matter to someone else like he was someone who could exist alongside them and not be their possession.

When his eyes opened again, there was still tiredness behind them, but also a warm look of appreciation only amplified by soft honeyed hues. With the hand that wasn't wrapped around them he lifted their face up a bit and pressed his lips against theirs. Three kisses now. Each had been different in their own ways, but none had lacked any less meaning behind them. This one was a little deeper than the last two, but wasn't forceful or intrusive. Dmitri pulled his lips away and rested his forehead against theirs gently.​

 

[Froshimaru]

I'm not leaving.

The words settled into Rowan's chest like a stone dropping into still water. Not heavy, just. Solid. Real. Something they could hold onto.

His hand was moving up and down their back in slow, soothing strokes. The kind of touch that had nothing to do with wanting anything and everything to do with comfort. With being present. With meaning what he said.

Not right now, not today, or tomorrow.

Rowan's thumbs continued their gentle movement against his cheekbones, feeling the warmth of his skin, the slight stubble they hadn't noticed before. Learning the geography of his face through touch while he said the things they needed to hear.

I'm exactly where I want to be.

Their chest felt tight again but in a different way. Not panic. Not fear. Something else. Something that felt dangerously close to hope.

Dmitri's eyes closed as he leaned into their touch, and Rowan took the opportunity to really look at him. The tired lines around his eyes. The way his dark hair fell across his forehead. The gentle curve of his lips. The glasses he still wore even though they were lying in bed.

He looked peaceful. More peaceful than they'd seen him since arriving yesterday. Like being here with them, exhausted and healing and just existing, was exactly what he needed too.

When his eyes opened again, amber and warm and looking at them like they mattered, Rowan's breath caught.

Then his hand was on their face, tilting their chin up slightly, and his lips were on theirs.

Rowan went still.

Not pulling away, not pushing closer, just. Frozen in that moment of surprise and sensation.

This was different from last night. Last night had been quick, impulsive, driven by emotion they didn't know what to do with. This was deliberate. Intentional. Deeper in a way that made Rowan's heart race for entirely different reasons.

They didn't know what to do with their hands. Didn't know if they were supposed to move or stay still or kiss back or just let it happen. Four months since Elena. Four years since anyone before that. They'd forgotten how this worked, if they'd ever really known in the first place.

But Dmitri's lips were soft. Warm. Patient in a way that suggested he wasn't expecting anything, wasn't demanding a response, was just. Here. Close. Offering this moment without pressure.

Slowly, carefully, Rowan let their eyes close. Let themselves feel it instead of thinking about it. The warmth of his mouth. The gentle pressure. The way their own lips parted slightly, almost on instinct, responding in small ways they didn't consciously choose.

Their hands were still on his face, thumbs still resting against his cheekbones. They didn't move them, didn't know where else they would go. Just held his face gently while he kissed them, while they learned how to kiss him back in these small, tentative ways.

It felt. Good. Different from the panic of last night's kiss, different from the desperate need for contact in the coffee shop. This felt careful. Exploratory. Like they were both figuring something out together.

Then his lips pulled away and his forehead pressed against theirs instead, and Rowan could breathe again.

Their eyes stayed closed for a moment longer, processing. Their lips felt warm, slightly sensitive. Their heart was racing but not from panic. From something else. Something they didn't have a name for yet.

When they finally opened their eyes, he was right there. So close they could see the darker flecks in his amber eyes, could feel his breath against their face, could count his eyelashes if they wanted to.

"Oh," they said, barely a whisper. Eloquent as always.

Their hands were still on his face and they didn't know if they should move them or keep them there or what the protocol was for after someone kissed you like that. Like you mattered. Like they had all the time in the world and weren't in any rush.

So they just. Stayed. Forehead pressed to his, hands on his cheeks, close enough that they were sharing the same air.

"I'm not good at this," they admitted quietly. "The. Intimacy thing. I don't know what I'm supposed to do with my hands or if I'm doing it right or. Any of it."

Vulnerable honesty. Admitting they had no idea what they were doing. That they wanted to do it right but didn't know how.

"But I liked that. The kiss. I liked it."

Simple. True. The most honest thing they'd said in a while that wasn't about their damage or their fear or their past.

Their thumb moved slightly against his cheek, that small gesture of affection they were still learning how to give. Learning that they were allowed to touch him this way. That he wanted them to.

"Can we just. Stay like this? For a while?"

Not kissing, not yet. That felt like too much too fast when they were still processing the first one. Just this. Close. Foreheads pressed together. Hands on faces. Breathing the same air while the rain came down outside.

Learning how to be intimate in small ways before the bigger ones. Learning that closeness didn't have to be complicated or scary or require them to know what they were doing.

They could just exist here. Together. Figuring it out.

"Is that okay?" they added, suddenly worried they were disappointing him by not knowing how to do this properly. "I'm not. I don't want you to think I don't want. I just. Need to go slow."

Four years of running. Four years of avoiding anything that felt like this. Four months since the last time someone touched them with intention. They were out of practice. Rusty. Uncertain.

But they wanted to learn. Wanted to figure out how to be close to him in ways that didn't make their heart race with panic. Wanted to understand how their body could seek contact while their brain screamed caution.

Their eyes stayed on his, searching for understanding. For patience. For confirmation that going slow was okay, that they didn't have to have all the answers right now.​

 

[Solaris-]

This kiss might have been too soon, too fast since the one they’d shared last night. He had done it quickly then so he wouldn’t chicken out of doing it again when he’d been holding his breath six months ago waiting for it to happen then. But he’d taken his time this time, making sure not to demand anything, not to push, or force Rowan to take things too quickly. As much as he desired closeness, jumping straight to taking their clothes off was the furthest thing from his mind. He’d lived without such things for nearly the whole of the four years of his last relationship, and could live without it now. He didn’t want them both to make decisions they would regret later.

He moved back for just a moment to slide dark frames from his face and place them on the nightstand before returning. Forehead pressed against Rowan’s, soft eyes taking in pleasant facial features, admiring them even despite the tiredness and redness behind their eyes. Evidence of making them feel too much too soon. He wanted to make it up to them somehow, but for now, he was content to just be, to exist in their presence and be comfortable. “It’s okay, Ptichka.” Dmitri reassured them quietly. “Even with as much as I care about you and like you and with how fast some things have gone since we’ve started this, I don’t want to rush this with you because I don’t want you to think that’s why I want you when it’s not. Besides, intimacy isn’t just sloppy make outs and sex. It’s this too. This closeness, sharing each other’s space.” This was the gentle intimacy that most people ignored in favor of other things that were more concrete and less abstract of a concept to hold onto.

“If you want, you can put your arms around me too. Either my shoulders or here where I’m holding you.” Dmitri offered a gentle press of his arm that wrapped around their side and settled on their back. The gentle petting had stopped for now, but he still kept his hand there against their small of their back. He’d gotten better at not jumping or flinching away from the touch of someone else, and he certainly didn’t want to flinch away from Rowan’s gentle hands. “Whenever you feel ready for it, you can kiss me, then. As long as we can just be close like this, and you still want to hold my hand, I will happily be patient.” The little things like that were really what made the difference for him and what mattered in the end.

“You’re important to me. Don’t minimize your comfort because you think I’d be disappointed.” Sure, Dmitri still wanted to kiss them, to enjoy the softness of their lips against his own- to listen to the soft hitches of breath Rowan made when he kissed them and the single syllables of noise they made when he pulled away. As though he’d stolen their vocabulary from them without trying to. It was nice, but not necessary. “So, hold me as you please. Since you hugged me so earnestly last night, letting me lean into you like that, I was hoping you might do it again.” A small laugh left him through his nose. It felt silly to say out loud- to voice what he wanted like that into the open. “And if I do something that feels too fast for you, please tell me so I know. I don’t want to do something that upsets you.” Or at least, he would like to know that they were uncomfortable if he did so that he could correct his behavior.

“Thank you, Ptichka. And I’m sorry for being pushy earlier and now.”​

 

[Froshimaru]

Dmitri moved back slightly and Rowan's first instinct was panic - too much, they'd asked for too much, he was pulling away - but then they realized he was just taking off his glasses. Setting them carefully on the nightstand before returning, forehead finding theirs again like he'd never meant to create distance at all.

Just the glasses. Not him. Not leaving.

Their heart settled back into something resembling a normal rhythm.

It's okay, Ptichka.

The reassurance washed over them like cool water. He wasn't disappointed. Wasn't expecting things they couldn't give. Understood that going slow wasn't rejection, just. Caution. Fear. The weight of too many years running from exactly this.

Intimacy isn't just sloppy make outs and sex. It's this too. This closeness, sharing each other's space.

The words settled into Rowan's chest slowly, each one landing with weight they needed to process. Intimacy as more than just the physical act. As more than bodies moving together in ways that felt mechanical and temporary. As something that could exist in the quiet spaces between people. In the choosing to be close. In the learning how to touch each other without expectation or pressure or the demand that it lead somewhere else.

This - foreheads pressed together, breath mingling, hands learning the geography of faces - this counted. This mattered. This was intimacy too.

Except Rowan's body wanted more than this. That was the shameful part. The part they didn't want to examine too closely because Dr. Vogler's voice was already in their head, saying the things she'd said in Berlin when Rowan had admitted to the string of meaningless encounters across three continents.

Sometimes trauma makes us seek physical connection as a way to avoid emotional connection. Sometimes our bodies want intimacy as a shortcut - because sex feels concrete and temporary and doesn't require you to stay after. You don't have to process feelings or have difficult conversations if you can just make it physical.

God.. Was that what this was? Their body humming with want, craving more than gentle touches and soft kisses - was that just their fucked-up brain trying to skip past the hard part? Trying to make this transactional like all the others, like the hotel rooms in cities they couldn't remember, like the brief encounters that filled empty hours without requiring them to feel anything real?

But this wasn't that. This was Dmitri, who'd been stabbed three days ago, who was exhausted and healing and barely functional. Who probably looked at Rowan and saw exactly what they were - an injured bird with broken wings who didn't know how to be close to people without destroying things. Of course he didn't want that. Of course he was offering slow, gentle intimacy instead. Because he saw them as fragile. As someone who needed patience and care and definitely not someone who was thinking about sex after knowing each other for two days.

Shame crawled up Rowan's throat. Hot and immediate and familiar.

What was wrong with them?

Why couldn't they just accept this for what it was - something good and gentle and safe? Why did their brain have to spiral? Why did their body have to want things that would prove Dr. Vogler right about their patterns, that would confirm they were using physical intimacy to avoid emotional vulnerability?

But Dmitri's words were still there, patient and clear. Not just sex. This too. Like he knew exactly where Rowan's brain would go and was preemptively offering reassurance. Or like he was gently redirecting them away from the themselves.

Their limited experience with intimacy had always felt transactional somehow. A progression of steps you were supposed to follow, or a shortcut to connection that didn't require staying. Kissing led to touching led to more until you reached some endpoint that felt concrete - and then you could leave. You didn't have to process the emotional intimacy if you just made it physical.

But Dmitri was saying it didn't have to be like that. That they could exist here, in this space of gentle exploration, without needing it to become anything else. That the closeness itself was the point. The choosing to share space and breath and vulnerability - that was intimacy. That was what mattered.

Even if Rowan's body wanted more. Even if some part of them was already calculating how to skip to the part that felt safer because it was temporary. Even if the shame of wanting it was sitting in their chest like a stone. [COLOR=rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.7)]It felt revolutionary. It felt like permission to want things in smaller increments. To not have to choose between jumping straight to physical intimacy or keeping everyone at arm's length. To sit with the uncomfortable wanting without acting on it, without using it as an escape route from actual emotional connection.[/COLOR]

They could have this. Just this. And it would be enough.

Even if their body disagreed. Even if Dr. Vogler would probably say that learning to sit with wanting without immediately acting was exactly the work they needed to do. Even if it felt impossibly hard to accept gentle intimacy when their instinct was to either run or jump straight to something more concrete and temporary.

Elena had wanted more than Rowan could give. Had needed commitment and future plans and the kind of intimacy that came with building a life together. The few people before her had been brief, forgettable, more about proximity than connection. About filling empty hours in empty hotel rooms in cities whose names Rowan could barely remember. [COLOR=rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.7)]This felt different. This felt like being seen. Like Dmitri understood that learning to be close was its own kind of brave. That asking to go slow wasn't rejection but trust - trusting him enough to admit they didn't know what they were doing, that they needed guidance, that they wanted to try despite being terrified.[/COLOR]

You can put your arms around me too.

Permission. Guidance. The kind of concrete direction Rowan desperately needed when they had no idea what they were doing.

Either my shoulders or here where I'm holding you.

Their hands were still on his face, thumbs resting against his cheekbones. They'd been there so long they felt glued in place, like moving them would require conscious decision-making they weren't sure they were capable of.

But maybe they could do something with the wanting. Something that wasn't running or avoiding or jumping to endpoints. Something small and gentle that acknowledged it without acting on all of it.

Slowly, carefully, Rowan leaned in. Their lips found the edge of his jaw, pressing a soft kiss there. Then another, slightly higher. Learning the line of his face through touch, through these small gestures that felt safer than what their body actually wanted.

Burning away the complicated thoughts with something simpler. Something they could give without it meaning they were falling back into old patterns. Just soft kisses along his jaw, gentle and exploratory, a middle ground between wanting everything and taking nothing.

Their hands slid down as they continued the trail of kisses. Following the line of his jaw to his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin under their lips. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just. Present. Learning him slowly instead of trying to skip to some concrete ending.

When they finally pulled back, their hands found his shoulders. Solid. Real. Still here.

They paused there for a moment. Testing. Making sure this was okay. Making sure their body didn't panic at the increased contact, that they hadn't pushed too far or made it weird.

It didn't feel weird. It felt. Right. Like they'd found a way to acknowledge what they wanted while still respecting the pace Dmitri was setting. Like they could exist in the wanting without letting it control them.

Their arms slid around his shoulders then, pulling themselves closer until there was barely any space between them. Chest to chest. Their face found that space between his shoulder and neck that had become familiar over the past day. Safe. The place they kept gravitating toward when they needed to hide or breathe or just exist.

Like last night. When he'd cried in their arms and they'd held him through it. When being needed had felt less scary than being wanted.

But this was both now. He needed this closeness and he wanted them to give it. And somehow that was okay. Somehow that wasn't terrifying.

"Like this?" they asked quietly, voice muffled against his shoulder.

Their body was pressed against his now, his arm around their back, their arms around his shoulders. Properly holding each other. The kind of embrace that meant something, that required trust and vulnerability and the willingness to stay.

It felt. Good. Really good. Better than it had any right to feel given how exhausted they were, how raw from crying, how uncertain about everything.

Their body was practically humming with it. Four months of no physical contact. Four years of deliberately keeping people at arm's length. And now they were wrapped around Dmitri like they were trying to merge into one person.

Touch-starved. That was the clinical term. Their body was making up for lost time, seeking comfort they'd denied themselves, trying to absorb as much contact as possible before the opportunity disappeared.

"You're not being pushy," they said after a moment. "Earlier or now. You're just. Being honest about what you want. And I need that. I need you to tell me what's okay because I don't know. I can't read your mind and my default assumption is always that I'm doing something wrong."

Their arms tightened slightly around his shoulders, that unconscious gesture that meant stay, don't go, please.

"So don't apologize for being clear. It helps. It makes this less scary."

Because it was scary. Being this close to someone. Letting them see the mess behind the camera. Admitting they wanted things they'd spent years pretending they didn't need.

But it was less scary when Dmitri told them where they could put their hands. When he said going slow was okay. When he admitted he wanted to be held and gave them permission to do it.

Their fingers found the fabric of his shirt, gripping it lightly. Not desperately like in the coffee shop, just. Holding. Anchoring themselves while they learned how to do this.

"I'll tell you," they promised. "If something feels like too much. I'm trying to be better at that. At saying what I need instead of just running when things get hard."

Already they could feel their body starting to relax. The constant low-level tension they carried everywhere was easing, muscles unclenching, breath coming easier. Like their nervous system was finally getting the memo that they were safe. That they could stop being ready to run.

The rain outside had settled into a steady rhythm. The TV continued its ambient murmuring. The air conditioner hummed. Normal sounds. Safe sounds.

And they were here, wrapped around Dmitri, learning that being held didn't have to lead to anything more complicated. That sometimes closeness was just closeness. That intimacy could be gentle and slow and exploratory instead of rushed or expected.

"This is nice," they whispered into his shoulder. "Just. Being close. I forgot it could be like this."

Not transactional. Not temporary. Not something they had to perform or perfect.

Just two exhausted, damaged people choosing to exist in the same space. Choosing closeness over safety. Choosing each other even though it was scary.

Their eyes closed. Not from tiredness, though they were tired. Just. Feeling. Being present in their body for once instead of observing from behind a camera lens.

This was what they'd been running from. This vulnerability. This softness. This quiet intimacy that required them to stay instead of document and leave.

But maybe staying was okay. Maybe this was worth the risk of getting hurt. Maybe being held was worth admitting they needed it.

"Thank you for being patient with me," they said quietly. "For not making me feel stupid for not knowing how to do this. For just. Being here."

For not giving up when they made everything complicated. For choosing to stay even though leaving would be easier.

Their breath evened out, matching his. Their heart slowed to something sustainable. Their body settled into the embrace like it had been waiting for permission to stop fighting.

And for the first time in four years, Rowan felt like they could rest.

Not sleep, not yet. Just. Rest. Stop running. Stop thinking. Stop carrying the weight of everything alone.

Just exist here, held and safe and wanted.

It was enough.​

 

[Solaris-]

The kiss against his jaw and neck sent a warm shiver down the length of Dmitri’s spine. Warm, involuntary, and reflexive. The lips pressing against his neck created a sensation that made those places tingle with excitement. Rowan couldn’t have known just how sensitive those places were before they’d brushed their lips there- just how excited they could make him if they really tried to press his buttons. That could be dangerous if he chose to dwell too much on it. He was quick to get his quickened, excited pulse under control- to force it to not think too much on what those kisses implied. And though he’d just said and meant he didn’t need physical intimacy to be happy, he was just a man. His arms had tightened around them somewhat as they finally settled against him and he remembered how to breathe. Their warmth against his and their arms around his shoulders. Rowan had said earlier that they made him feel safe, and he did. Their arms felt like safety in their tentative embrace of him. His head rested on top of theirs that was nestled against his shoulder and neck and once again, the smell of his shampoo and Rowan’s own natural smell tickled his nose.

“Yes, Ptichka,” His voice was slightly muffled by brunette hair. “It feels nice to be held by you even when I’m not a pitiful crying mess.” The words were self-depreciating, but said in a joking tone at his own expense. He breathed out a quiet sigh against their hair. It was content- one that came from letting go and putting down the worries that had built up since he’d opened his eyes that morning. It was good to know the two could still enjoy being this close after heavy conversations that turned into disagreements and breakdowns. “I forgot how this felt too. That this could be pleasant and warm without being awkward and forced out of obligation rather than caring for someone.”

Dmitri pulled the soft coverlet up over them both even though the room was warm and Rowan was warm. He wanted to exist in this moment as long as he could before falling asleep if he managed to. Exhaustion was settling in and the exertion of walking had left him more tired than he’d expected. “You were just protecting yourself. I don’t blame you for that.” He’d asked them not to leave, and so it felt as though they held him at arm’s length- instinctively pushing him away until he left them. But Dmitri was too stubborn to listen to those words, too stubborn to drop the topics and leave it be, and far too stubborn to let Rowan slip through his fingers again when he knew that after this, if they left, they wouldn’t be back. No amount of pining, wanting, and hopeful texts would change their mind this time. He didn’t want that. Even if Portland was temporary in their lives, he didn’t want to be alone again.

“You deserve someone who can be patient with you, Rowan. And I want to be that for you- to be someone that you feel as though you can be safe with without needing to be anything other than yourself.” Dmitri didn’t need them to be perfect- wasn’t asking or demanding that and never would. Nor was he going to let them try to ghost their way through his life without being seen because he wasn’t embarrassed about his feelings towards them. “I want to learn how to trust people again, to smile and feel confident without faking it. You’ve always been safe, pleasant, easy to talk to and gravitate towards.” Even the silences between them had been comfortable rather than awkward.

“So, Ptichka, for as long as you want me, I will be here with you learning how to do this as well because even I don’t know what I’m doing.” The words teetered dangerously close to actually asking them out. But it was already real enough for Dmitri that such words seemed unnecessary. Asking a question he already knew the answer to seemed pointless.

“You still need to show me the pictures of the birds.” The sentence had come after a few moments of silence- just the two of them breathing there quietly, enjoying their shared warmth and the white noise of the hotel room being in its normal state of existence save for the two of them curled around each other in bed. “What kind of pizza do you like?”​

 

[Froshimaru]

Dmitri's arms had tightened around them when they'd kissed his neck.

Rowan felt it. The way his body responded, the slight catch in his breath, the tension that ran through him before he deliberately relaxed again. They'd affected him. Made him feel something that wasn't just gentle comfort or platonic closeness.

The realization settled in their chest with an unexpected warmth. Not shame this time. Something else. Validation, maybe. Proof that they could give him something beyond just being another person to take care of, another damaged thing to be patient with.

They tucked that knowledge away carefully. Something to think about later when their brain wasn't so exhausted, when they could examine what it meant that they'd made him react that way. That they had that kind of effect on him.

For now they just settled deeper into his embrace, letting him pull the blanket over them both. The weight of it felt good. Grounding. Like they were building a nest of safety in this temporary hotel room.

"You weren't pitiful," they said quietly against his shoulder. "Last night. When you cried. You were just. Human. Being honest about what you were feeling. That's not pitiful. That's brave."

Braver than Rowan had been for years. Dmitri had let himself feel things fully, had cried without apologizing for it, had admitted he was struggling instead of running away.

Rowan was still learning how to do that.

His words filtered through the comfortable exhaustion settling over them. About how this felt different from obligation. About wanting to learn to trust again. About Rowan being safe and easy to gravitate towards.

For as long as you want me, I will be here with you.

Their arms tightened slightly around his shoulders. That statement felt huge. Not quite asking them out, not quite defining what this was, but. Close. Close enough that Rowan's heart did that skip thing again.

They wanted him. That was the terrifying part. Wanted him in ways they were still figuring out how to articulate. Wanted to keep being held like this. Wanted to wake up tomorrow and the day after and not have to calculate when they'd leave. Wanted to try staying even though everything in them screamed it was safer to run.

"I want you," they heard themselves say. "For. However long makes sense. I'm not good at planning ahead but I want. This. You. However we figure it out."

Not eloquent. Not romantic. But honest. The most honest they'd been about wanting something in years.

The silence that followed was comfortable. Just breathing together, existing in the same space, learning how bodies fit together when you weren't in a hurry to get somewhere else. The rain continued outside. The TV murmured. The air conditioner hummed its steady rhythm.

Then Dmitri asked about the birds and pizza and something in Rowan's chest went soft.

The mundane questions. The normal things. Like they were just two people existing together instead of two disasters trying not to destroy each other.

"The birds," they said, voice quiet now. "Yeah. I have them on my phone. In the cloud. Whatever. I can show you later when we're not. Like this."

When they weren't wrapped around each other under a blanket, choosing closeness over literally anything else they could be doing. When moving felt worth the effort of letting go.

Their hand moved slightly against his back, fingers tracing idle patterns through his shirt. Learning the shape of him through touch. The way his shoulder blades shifted when he breathed. The dip of his spine. The warmth that radiated through the fabric.

"Pizza. Um. I don't know. Pepperoni? Mushroom? I'm not picky. I usually just eat whatever's available."

Because they'd spent four years eating in hotel rooms and hostels and wherever they ended up, never caring enough about food to have preferences. Just fuel to keep moving.

"What do you like?"

The question felt significant somehow. Like learning Dmitri's pizza preferences was a step toward actually knowing him instead of just knowing his damage. Toward building something that existed beyond trauma bonding and desperate need for closeness.

Their eyes were getting heavy but they fought it. Didn't want to sleep yet. Didn't want to miss this - whatever this was. This quiet intimacy of just existing together, ignoring the world outside, pretending nothing else mattered except the space they'd created under this blanket.

They shifted slightly, just enough to tilt their head back and look at him. His face was so close. Close enough to see the tired lines around his eyes, the way his dark hair fell across his forehead, the amber warmth in his eyes that seemed softer now. More open.

"I forgot," they said quietly, "that being held could feel like this. Warm instead of. Trapped. Safe instead of temporary."

Their fingers found the fabric of his shirt again, gripping it lightly. That anchor they kept reaching for.

"You said you want to learn how to trust people again. How to feel confident without faking it."

They paused, trying to find the right words.

"I want that too. And I want. I want to learn how to stay. How to believe people when they say they care. How to accept closeness without assuming it's going to hurt me."

A promise. An admission. The thing they'd been too scared to say out loud until now.

"So we can. Learn together. Figure it out. However long it takes."

However long you'll have me, they didn't add. However long before you realize I'm too much work. However long I can manage not to fuck this up.

But they were trying not to think like that. Trying to take Dmitri's words at face value instead of waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Their thumb traced a small circle against his back through his shirt. Just that small movement, repetitive and soothing. Learning that they could touch him casually, that they didn't have to ask permission for every small gesture of affection.

"Tell me something," they said after a moment. "Something that has nothing to do with. Everything heavy. Something normal. Something small."

Because they wanted to know him beyond the trauma. Wanted to learn the mundane things. The everyday preferences and habits and thoughts that made up a person when they weren't falling apart.

"Like. I don't know. What's your favorite time of day? Or your least favorite chore? Or. Anything. I just want to know things about you that aren't. Sad."

Their eyes stayed on his face, watching the way he processed the question. The way his expression shifted. They were memorizing him like this - tired and soft and honest, without the performance he usually wore.

The rain had settled into a steady drumming against the window. White noise that made the rest of the world feel distant. Like they were the only two people who existed right now, wrapped together in this hotel room, choosing to stay in this moment instead of rushing toward the next thing.

Rowan's body was heavy with exhaustion but they didn't want to give in to it. Didn't want to lose this. This quiet exploration of what it meant to be close to someone without expectation. This learning that intimacy could exist in asking about pizza preferences and favorite times of day.

Their hand moved from his back to his shoulder, then up to his neck. Not quite cupping his face but close. Just resting there, thumb against his pulse point. Feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Proof he was real. Proof this was happening. Proof they weren't alone.

"Thank you for wanting me," they said softly. "Even though I'm a lot. Even though I don't know what I'm doing. Thank you for wanting me anyway."

Their eyes were trying to close. The warmth of him, the blanket, the safety of being held - it was all conspiring to pull them under. But they blinked hard, forcing themselves to stay present.

"I'm not ready to sleep yet," they admitted. "I know we're both exhausted but I don't want to miss this. Whatever this is. Just. Existing here with you."

Because sleep felt like an ending. Like the day would be over and they'd wake up and have to figure out what came next. But this moment - right now, wrapped around each other, talking about nothing and everything - this felt suspended. Timeless. Like they could stay here forever if they just didn't let sleep take them.

Their fingers traced along his neck, up to his jaw, learning the shape of him through touch. Gentle exploration. The kind of intimacy that didn't demand anything, that just existed for its own sake.

"Is that weird?" they asked. "Wanting to stay awake just to. Be here with you?"

Probably. Probably it was weird. But everything about them was weird lately. Might as well commit to it.​

 

[Solaris-]

Crying hadn't felt brave. Dmitri hadn't let himself cry in front of Marina before- not until she'd stabbed him. He'd always been someone who felt too much, felt too strongly, and when he voiced his thoughts and feelings early on, she'd called him names for it. So he tried to stifle that down- force it into that princely charisma and charm he'd so easily exuded in spades for so long. Until that couldn't be who he was anymore. Part of that persona would still live when he was fully healed and not trying his best to just get up and move around, he was sure; he felt naked without it- exposed in ways that felt wrong. But Rowan was calling him brave for being himself, for feeling things strongly, for crying and being scared. Maybe it didn't have to be one or the other, and maybe, just maybe, he could be the Dmitri that smiled confidently and still cry when he felt sad.

"Anything but olives. I don't like them on anything or by themselves. I also don't like pizza with too much sauce." He'd never been that picky of an eater, but he did have preferences when it came to certain things, he supposed. This was the small talk that came from getting to know someone. Simple things people usually did before they jumped to 'my girlfriend is a psychopath' or 'I used to photograph war zones'. Not that he would change how they met even if he had a second opportunity as it had blossomed into this- something that made him feel warm and wanted. "Neither of us seem picky about it at least, so it'll make ordering later easier." Whenever they woke up, still wrapped around one other like this and weren't so exhausted.

"There's no rush. We can take our time." With each other, with themselves. No deadlines or guidelines on how to work this out. Just patience and the kind of time that came from exposure to one another. Already, they'd done more than most couples had done in two days and that had to count for something.

"My favorite time of day is the very early hours of the morning. The time before the sun starts to rise when most people are still asleep, but some people are waking up to go about their day. It's quiet during that time when the night falls away slowly and the birds start chirping." Dmitri had always enjoyed the night time. It was introspective and allowed him to decompress easily without dealing with too much extra being dumped on his plate. "Crepuscular like a cat, I suppose." Just like a cat, he was good at being affectionate, good at being charming, but horrible at being honest with the person he wanted affection from. That felt a little too comfortable to think about.

Dmitri let out a soft hum- trying to think of what else he could tell them. "My tattoos, they're plum blossoms. I got them because they mean resilience and perseverance since they bloom during the winter. But they also mean hope, and beauty." These were all these that meant a lot to him in different ways. He was stubborn, resilient, and valued hope and beauty in himself and others. "And now that they're colored like this, looking at them gives me a little more hope for the future- whatever that entails."

He had resumed those gentle stroking motions against Rowan's back again. Soft pets just as an excuse to touch them and keep himself from dozing because he too was wrapped up in this moment.

His heartbeat against Rowan's hand was normal, a quiet slow thrumbing of his pulse against their hand. Not the fast, scared one from the coffee shop, not the excited one from a few moments ago, just peaceful and regular.

"You are a handful," Dmitri teased them gently with a quiet laugh. "But I have two hands to hold you with. Even if one of them is injured, I want to hold you close with both of them." Even if they thought they weren't worth it, he would be there to remind them they were precious, that they were worth it.

Rowan's fingers traveled the same path as their lips had earlier and there was another warm shiver that ran through him from the soft gesture. "Please don't let me get started on tattoos, Ptichka. I will keep you awake for way longer than you want to be." It was a conversation that when started, he didn't know how to shut up. Didn't know when to stop and would keep talking until they walked away from it or told him to shut up and that they were bored. "If that makes you weird, then it makes me weird too. But the good kind of weird. It makes me happy that we can just be like this without flinching and pulling away from being close." This gentle intimacy that neither of them had really been afforded much of it seemed.

"Sleeping alone has been really hard for me." Dmitri admitted quietly. "It's probably why last night was the first real rest I had in three days. I didn't even wake up in the middle of the night when you slept next to me last night." He hadn't panicked in the middle of the night; hadn't really dreamt either to have nightmares that lead back to that moment. ​

 

[Froshimaru]

"No olives, not too much sauce. Got it."

Rowan filed the information away like it mattered. Like they were building a catalog of things to know about Dmitri beyond the heavy stuff. Beyond the trauma and the crying and the almost-dying.

This was how normal people did it, right? Learned pizza preferences before learning about psychotic ex-girlfriends. Asked about favorite times of day before admitting to photographing war zones.

They'd done everything backwards. But somehow it was working anyway.

"Crepuscular," they repeated, the word feeling nice in their mouth. "Like a cat. That fits you."

Their fingers continued their exploration along his neck, tracing idle patterns. Learning him through touch while he talked about early mornings and quiet hours.

"Mhm," they murmured. "Blue hour. I like that too."

But they were only half-listening now. Their focus had shifted entirely to touch. To the warmth of his skin under their fingertips. To the way his pulse beat steadily against their palm when they pressed their hand to his neck.

Dmitri was talking about his tattoos - plum blossoms, resilience, hope - and the words filtered through but didn't quite land. Something about colors. Something about winter blooming. Their brain registered it distantly but their body had other priorities.

"Yeah," they said softly, but they were already moving closer.

Their hand slid from his neck to his shoulder, then back up. Exploring. Learning the shape of him through touch because their exhausted brain couldn't process words anymore but their body understood this. Understood closeness and warmth and the simple act of existing in someone's space.

They shifted, pressing closer until there was no space left between them. Their face found that spot between his shoulder and neck again, that place that had become home over the past day. Safe. Warm. Real.

His skin was right there. Just inches from their lips. And they were too tired to overthink it, too wrapped up in the moment to calculate whether this was okay or too much or crossing some line.

So they just did it.

Soft kiss against his neck. Then another. Gentle exploration, learning the taste of his skin, the way his pulse jumped slightly under their lips. Not driven by want this time - or not just want. Driven by affection. By the simple need to be close. By the overwhelming feeling of being held and safe and allowed to touch him like this.

"Mhm," they hummed against his skin when he said something else. They weren't tracking the conversation anymore. Just the sensation. The warmth. The way his body responded to their touches.

Their hand found his arm, fingers tracing patterns through his sleeve. They could feel the texture of ink underneath, the tattoos he was talking about, but they weren't trying to see them. Just feeling. Just being present in their body instead of their head for once.

Another kiss. Higher this time, along his jaw. Soft. Unhurried. Learning him through taste and touch instead of words.

This was what their body had wanted earlier. Not sex, not anything complicated. Just this. The permission to be affectionate. To show care through gentle touches. To exist close enough that breathing felt shared.

"Yeah," they whispered again, barely paying attention to what they were agreeing with. Too focused on the way his skin felt against their lips. The way their hand fit against his shoulder. The way their body curved into his like they were designed to fit together.

Their fingers traced up his neck, into his hair. Gentle. Exploratory. Learning that they could touch him like this. That he wasn't pulling away. That this closeness was allowed.

They pressed another kiss to his jaw, then pulled back just enough to look at him. His face was so close. Amber eyes watching them with that soft expression that made their chest feel tight.

Their thumb brushed against his cheek. Down to his jaw. Tracing the line they'd just been kissing.

"Sorry," they murmured, not quite meeting his eyes. "Not really listening."

Too tired for words. Too wrapped up in the physical closeness to process conversation. Too focused on learning him through touch to care about anything else.

Their hand moved back down to his arm, fingers finding his sleeve.

"Can I?" they asked quietly, tugging gently at the fabric.

Not to have a conversation about meaning or symbolism or the weight of carrying someone's favorite colors. Just. To see. To touch. To explore this part of him the way they were exploring everything else.

Their face found his neck again, lips pressing soft kisses there while they waited for permission. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just affectionate. Just present in their body in ways they usually weren't.

The exhaustion was making them soft. Making them seek comfort in ways they normally locked down. Making their body honest about what it wanted - closeness, touch, the simple act of being held while they learned the shape of him.

They weren't thinking about the tattoos being colored with their favorites. Weren't processing the weight of that gesture. Their tired brain had filed it away somewhere to deal with later, when they had the emotional capacity for big feelings.

Right now they just wanted to see them. Touch them. Learn this permanent part of him the way they were learning everything else.

Another soft kiss against his neck. Their hand still on his sleeve, waiting.

"Please?" they added, barely a whisper against his skin.​

 

[Solaris-]

Dmitri could tell by how Rowan gave small responses that they weren't listening anymore. Perhaps that was for the best since he was mostly rambling now. Tired words before he inevitably fell asleep that neither of them were likely to remember much of. He spoke now to keep his mind from the feeling of hands and lips tracing their way about sensitive areas mostly, he supposed. It shouldn't have come as much of a surprise to him that Rowan had noticed the first time just how these simple affections had affected him in ways he'd not spoken aloud. The lips on his neck alone, soft and trailing kisses along his neck and jaw made his pulse race all over again and his skin felt like it was burning hot with each trail of kisses. It'd been four years too long since someone had tried to learn him like this- to learn the little ways his body reacted to the feeling of lips pressed against his skin. Sex had always felt rushed and hurried like the person he was with wanted and expected it to be over quickly, but this wasn't quite that. They were taking their time to learn him- to learn how their kisses made his skin prickle with goosebumps and little shivers of anticipation.

This wasn't them kissing his neck that was normally born out of lustful actions. They weren't biting and leaving love bites on his skin- just kissing and somehow that excited him more. He could feel a warm flush settle over his face- guilty that he was feeling this way when they'd asked him for slow earlier. They didn't want to jump right into bed with one another and ruin a good thing with something they might regret or make their feelings transactional, but with each kiss, he felt the ability to keep himself calm slipping away further and further.

He'd opened his mouth to speak, but there was a hand in his hair and his breath caught quietly. Not something he could pass off as an ambient noise in the room or forgetting how to breathe. Dmitri could feel the warm guilt of wanting more, of wanting Rowan to touch him this gently, but not wanting to push them into something that they'd be uncomfortable. But they were the ones asking, pleading for something that he wanted to give them. "Rowan," Their name came out quietly though the hand that had been rubbing against Rowan's back had found the bare skin under the hem of their shirt- just pressing fingers against their warmth.

Dmitri's hand had continued stroking along their back- skin soft under his fingertips. His other hand moved up to rest right under their chin and bring Rowan's face up to look at him. "Rowan, as much as I like this, we are playing with fire right now." It was a gentle reminder even though he didn't want them to stop. But if they didn't, curious, exploratory touches and kisses would undoubtedly become more than that. "I want you to touch me." His body, face, and eager thrumming of his heartbeat under his skin were all begging for more, for it to continue even if his brain told him to stop whatever this was becoming before it got to be too much. "But I don't want you to feel like you have to do this." He thumbed over their cheek gently and reassuringly. He didn't need this to be happy, but they were kissing him in ways he and his body couldn't ignore.

"I'm not asking you to stop. Just make sure before you keep going because if you want this to not move so quickly, I want to respect that." Dmitri wasn't stopping them- didn't really want to stop them either. He just wanted them to think about what they were doing. His hand moved from their face to undo the buttons on his shirt. Rowan's gentle tugging of his sleeve helped tug the black fabric away from pale skin quickly. The bandages on his chest were still there- stark white and clinical against pale flesh. Something that he'd never be allowed to forget even when it scarred over. "Just don't press here too hard."​

 

[Froshimaru]

Dmitri's hands on their face, his shirt falling open, the bandages stark white against his skin - it all hit Rowan at once. The reality of what they were doing, what they were about to do, what they wanted so desperately it made their chest ache.

Playing with fire.

They pulled back slightly, just enough to look at Dmitri properly. His face was flushed, eyes dark with want that matched the thrumming pulse Rowan could feel under their fingertips where they'd been touching his neck. He looked wrecked already and they'd barely done anything. The realization sent heat flooding through them.

"I know," they said, voice coming out rougher than intended. "I know we're playing with fire. I just... I can't stop thinking about it. About you. About this."

Their hands were shaking again but not from anxiety this time. From want. From the desperate need to touch more of him, to learn every part of him the way his body was responding to their kisses. They'd never felt like this before - never wanted someone so much it overrode the constant fear that lived in their chest.

"I want to touch you," Rowan admitted, fingers tracing carefully around the edges of the bandages on Dmitri's chest. So careful. So gentle. "I've wanted to touch you since Berlin. Since that first night in the coffee shop when you called me ptichka and I didn't know what it meant but I liked how it sounded."

They were rambling now, words tumbling out unchecked while their hands explored the exposed skin of Dmitri's torso with reverent care. Mapping the planes of his chest, the dip of his collarbones, the warm stretch of skin over his ribs. Avoiding the bandages, hyper-aware of the wounds beneath them, of how close they'd come to losing him before they'd even had this.

"I ran away that last day in Berlin because I almost kissed you and you had a girlfriend and I didn't... I didn't know what the rules were. Didn't know if what I was feeling was okay or if I was just being selfish. Wanting something I couldn't have."

Their forehead pressed against his collarbone, breath shaky against his skin.

"But you don't have a girlfriend anymore. And I'm here. And you're alive and I'm so fucking grateful you're alive that I can't... I can't think straight around you."

Rowan lifted their head, meeting Dmitri's eyes directly. Their hands stilled on his chest, bracketing the bandages without pressing.

"I want this," they said, voice steadier now. Certain. "I want you. Not fast, like you said. Not rushing. But I want to touch you and learn what makes you feel good and... and I want you to touch me too."

The admission made their face burn. They'd never said anything like that out loud before, never let themselves be that vulnerable. But Dmitri was looking at them with those honey-gold eyes, shirt open, bandages visible, being so fucking careful to make sure Rowan was certain.

"I'm scared I'll hurt you," they added quietly. "Not physically. I mean... I'll be careful of the wounds. But I'm scared I'll fuck this up somehow. That I'll be bad at it or weird or too much or not enough or-"

Their spiral was interrupted by their own hand moving of its own accord, fingers tracing the edge of Dmitri's jaw, thumb brushing over his bottom lip.

"But I want to try anyway. If you'll let me."

Their other hand slid up into his hair again, gentle, just holding him there while they looked at him. Really looked at him. The flush on his face, the want in his eyes, the way his chest was rising and falling faster than normal. The evidence that he wanted this too, that Rowan wasn't alone in this desperate need for closeness.

"Tell me if I do something wrong," they whispered, leaning in closer. "Tell me what you like. I want... I want to make you feel good. Want to learn you."

And then they were kissing him again, properly this time. Not the desperate hungry thing from earlier but slower, deeper, trying to pour all the want and fear and hope into it. Their hand tightened slightly in his hair while their other hand traced careful patterns on his chest, always conscious of the bandages, of the wounds beneath.

When they pulled back for air, their lips moved to his jaw, his neck, that spot behind his ear that had made him shiver before. Learning his responses, cataloging what made his breath catch, what made him press closer.

"Like this?" they murmured against his skin between kisses. "Is this okay?"

They needed the confirmation, needed to know they weren't fucking this up. Needed to hear that Dmitri wanted this as much as they did, that touching him wasn't crossing some line Rowan couldn't see.

Their hand slid from his hair down to his shoulder, fingers tracing the line of muscle there before moving lower, exploring the expanse of skin now available to them. So warm. So alive. So here and real and wanting them back.

It felt like a miracle. Felt like something Rowan didn't deserve but wanted desperately to keep anyway.​