Still he brings their milk and lingers Tries not to tremble when Sticky offers him a plate of breakfast with them because "Aba made extra blini!"

Of course, he takes the offer. He's hungry. And inside is a bounty of food, a happy family, fighting over toppings. And his stomach grumbles quite painfully.

Sticky loads a plate for him, smiling all the while. “Have some sausage too!”

"I'm allowed?" He can't help but ask.

That only makes Sticky put another two links on the boy’s plate. “Of course. I wouldn’t have said so if you weren’t.”

"I thought perhaps it was just for the family."

“What’s the point in that? You’re here, of course it’s for you too.”

He takes a cautious bite, and the flavour explodes in his mouth. "It's good!"

“Aba helped make the sausage! He said it came from out at Shekhen, that they asked him to—" he cuts off, blushing. “Sorry, you know that already, seeing as ya live there.”

"It's a fine place. Nicer than before."

“I love it there; I get to come help sometimes. It’s so pretty, and I can smell the earth so much better.”

"You like the smell of the earth?"

“It’s so gorgeous. All real, relaxing. “

"I like it too. I missed it, in..."

Sticky gently touches his shoulder. “I know. You don’t have to speak of it, if you don’t wish too.”

"I never smelled earth. Just blood."

“It sounds like it was terrifying. I’m glad everyone is free now.”

"It was. Like a nightmare. But you're wise, it's over."

“Being over now doesn’t make it any less or an ordeal to have survived,” he intones.

His eyes widen. "You're so clever."

“It’s just what bear says.” 

"Your father? Of course he's clever. It befits a menkhu."

Sticky shoves a crumpled-up blini in his mouth whole, chews for a few seconds, and throws half a sausage link at the man in question. “Oh, he’s a mighty dummy too, don’t worry about that.”

"You oughtn't to--" He seems shocked.

“Bear!” Sticky calls across the room, utterly unconcerned for any disrespect. “Have you told him you love him yet?”

The boy's eyes are as wide as coins. Artemy shrugs. "Not yet."

“If you don’t soon, you’ll turn into a fat tomato when you see him all fancied up for the holidays.”

Artemy puts his face in his hands. "Oh, Boddho."

“You’re the one who invited him! And it’s the middle of summer, he’ll be caught between wanting to dress up nice for the special event and sweltering until he starts removing things,” he crows, far too amused at his papa’s face, especially for a boy who had that same crush on both of them only months ago.

"I've talked myself into a terrible situation."

“He’ll need to be told he’s allowed to shed layers~” Sticky teases.

"There's no trouble in being dressed scanty at summer festivals," Tsybik puts in, thinking he’s helping.

“Of course not! But to the big city Bachelor it’ll be even more scandalous.” Another bit of breakfast gets thrown at Artemy. “You’ll have to tell him it’s ok to start stripping!”

"Stop it! Yes, indeed I will."

Sticky turns back the nervous boy. “See? It’s okay. You can tease.”

"He's alright with that?"

“Of course. He’d probably prefer I not throw food at him, but that’s not important.”

Tsybik suppresses a snicker.

“Besides, he says we should act as if everyone is family.”

"We are all family. Sort of."

“Exactly! So it’s ok to not treat him like your old great grandpapi who demands respect.”

"But he's a great man."

“And a bit of a mess.”

"A menkhu, and a saviour."

“And he’s got flour on his nose.”

Another giggle. "That he has."

“I won’t tell if you wont.”

"Wouldn't breathe a word." Still laughing. "Say, when you come around Shekhen, I'll give you a meal in return. Won't be much."

“Really? You don’t need to, I know there isn’t as much food to go around yet.”

"But I want to. For you."

“Alright…” Sticky bods, blushing harder. “If you want to.”

"I'd love to have you over. Come see me."

“I will! I swear it! We’ll be down for the festival, and I’ll insist I get to come along on the next medical trip.”

"I'll be waiting for you."

He grins, teeth a little crooked. “Then I’ll be there!”

And when he comes, Tsybik fusses around cooking with what little they have. He makes potato soup, thin, with some sausage.

Sticky brings bread, thick crusted and hearty. Smiling when he sees Tsybik again.

Tsybik's smile echoes his. "I found some sausage for the soup."

“Oh perfect!” He holds up the bread. “I thought this might be nice with anything you made.”

"It looks lovely. Finer than the sort we've got."

“What we don’t eat is yours to keep,” Sticky insists, handing it to him. 

"I'll slice it up for us." And Sticky, terribly brace, or foolish, gives him a kiss in the cheek as he moves into the tent.

Tsybik turns red. "Oh!"

“I- Im sorry. I dont know what came over me!” 

"No, I— I liked it."

The blush grows, and he fiddles with his fingers for a long moment, just staring at Tsybik. Finally, he leans forward to press another on the opposite cheek.

Even redder, he turns his head so the kiss lands on his mouth.

They gasp, and spring away after, as if it’s scandalous, an impropriety. And perhaps it is, but who would truly judge them, least of all here? A menkhu's son, playing with a boy of the Kin, a boy from the Termitary. Not in town, neither. Playing out in what ought be their home, free of half the constraints upon them. Neither of them old enough to be expected to marry. Able entirely to just explore. And receive no shame.

“Was- is that okay?”

"Yes! Certainly. And no-one will mind here."

“And… you liked it?” So nervous, as if he’s at fault for his desire.

"I liked it quite a bit."

Sticky breathes a sigh of relief, face cracking into a brilliant grin. “Oh good! I did too. A lot.”

"Always wondered what it was like."

“Same… it was softer than I thought. Less wet.”

"Heard that sometimes people try and stick their tongue in."

“Would… do you want to try that?” 

"With you? Yeah."

He leans in, awkward, and reaches for Tsybik’s face, the way he’s seen other people do, holding him gently. And Tsybik leans in, letting their lips brush at first, then deeper. Lips parting, hesitant, but willing, soft and warm. He slips his tongue in like he saw his mother and father do while his father lived.

Sticky almost pulls back, almost flinches, but forces himself to lean into it, getting a feel for the drag on tongue on tongue on dry lips.

I think that's how it's supposed to go, Tsybik reassures himself.

He lets his own tongue move forward, exploring a bit more himself. Eyes fluttering shut as a tiny sound slips out of Sticky. This is better than I thought it would be.

Tsybik's hand tugs at Sticky's sweater. And he leans into it happily, letting Tsybik do whatever he wishes. He doesn't seem to know what else to do. Just kisses. Clutching each other close, the soup entirely forgotten about. Learning each other's mouth, tongues and teeth. It’s not until they hear small voices giggling that they break apart, Sticky standing there all dazed, flushed and enchanted.

Tsybik looks around. "Go away!"

“Tsyv’s with a boooyyyyy” they crow, until one notices who it is, and squeaks. “Cub! What’re you doing with the cub!”

"He wants to be here with me!"

Sticky, finally realizing they have an audience, jolts, turning a brilliant red. “I’ll set a big beastie on you if you don’t behave and mind your business!”

Tsybik hisses, tries to wave them away.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to bother cub?” One of them asks, staring at the way Sticky holds onto Tsybik’s shirt. 

"You're not. He's just come for lunch."

One of the older of the little pack, one who may end up running with the souls in a year or two, gives a snarky grin. “Are you the lunch?”

"Wash your mouth out!"

“You were practically gnawing on him, after all!” He hoots, already running off.

"Oh, Boddho. It'll be all over."

Sticky pales, the blush fading to ashen nerves. “They’re going to tell Aba.”

"Will he listen?"

“He’ll know it’s true.

"Will he mind?"

“I…. No I don’t think so, I just-“ well he’s certainly not going to say he used to have a crush on his father. He who may as well be Sticky’s dad, anyhow.

"It's a strange topic."

“And I’d be proving him right about something.” 

"That you like men?"

Sticky sighs. There’s no point trying to hide it. “That I’d find someone my own age to moon after.”

"You like older men?"

“I did.” It burns, to admit it. “And I thought I’d never move beyond that man.”

"Have you?"

When Sticky speaks, finally looking directly at him. “Yes, I think I rather have.”

"I'm glad. Selfishly."

“I…. I am too.” And he leans forward slightly, as if drawn by an invisible line.

Tsybik leans into him. "I like you a lot."

“I like you more than I know how to feel. It hurts, when you leave after the milk delivery.”

"It does. Me too. I could come back sometimes?"

“Please! I miss you when we’re apart.”

"I could come back in the afternoon when work's done."

“Or…” he picks at his sweater. “Aba and I will be here all day. I could stay behind, and we could walk back together without him?”

"I'd like that!"

He smiles, giddy, and takes Tsybik’s hand. “Then it’s a plan. We uh, we should eat, though, yes?”

"We should. Sit down and I'll get you a bowl."

“Thank you..” it feels like he’s home.

Tsybik ladles up soup. More for Sticky.

When he sets down the bowl, Sticky frowns, and swaps them while Tsybik gets the bread.    Tsybik looks confused, on return, but he says nothing. He clasps their hands together for a moment before they eat, and dig into the steaming soup with a happy noise. “Oh this is delicious!”

"My mother taught me to make it."

“Well she’s a great cook then.” It’s quickly becoming his favorite, which Sticky is sure has nothing to do with who made it for him. Nothing at all to do with how sweetly Tsybik is watching him. Some small petulant part of him is railing at the fact Artemy was so right. This feels even better than his infatuation with either doctor did. Safer, sounder, fun. A game to play. Not some competition, or a secret to keep. He wouldn't be treated, here, like a dirty secret.

No, instead Tsybik seems to hold him up. Sticky doesn’t quite understand that. “Why were the kids so surprised it was me?”

"You're to be a menkhu. I'm just a milk-boy."

“But Aba says we’re all to treat each other equally. That we’re all Boddho’s children, and as doctors and men, we shouldn’t be preferential to anyone.” 

"He's a good man."

“And anyway I don’t think I can be a menkhu.” He frowns at his bowl.

"Why not?"

“I can’t see the lines. He keeps trying to teach me, but they won’t show themselves.” He soaks a bit of bread. “It’s not his fault either, Murky can see them just fine!”

"It's not your fault. Many can't."

Stick huffs, taking solace in the soup. “Yeah, well. Means I can’t be what everyone wants me to be.”

"He still keeps you."

“We’re family now. Wouldn’t be right to toss me out.” Even thought that had been Spitchka’s fear for weeks, months even, until Artemy told him otherwise.

"He must mean to make something of you."

“If I want, I’ll be able to go to medical school, off in the city. The Bachelor said he’d help me prepare, write me a letter of recommendation and everything.”

"You'll go off to the city?"

“For school, to become a doctor.”

"Will you write me?"

He blinks, and his face falls. “I hadn’t— yes. Yes of course I will.” Clearly it hadn’t occurred to him that he’d be leaving Tsybik behind as well.

"I'll wait for you."

“I wish you could come with. It doesn’t seem fair to ask you to wait for me.”

"But I'd do it."

“Then I’ll write you constantly, and send you things back, and— hell, I’m going to miss seeing you.”

"I'll miss you daily. But we have time."

“Time indeed. It’ll be a while yet. They say I’m not quite ready to pass the entrance exam.”

"I could help you study."

Sticky smiles, warm and open. “Oh, would you?” Not that much actually studying will get done between them.

"I'd try my best."

“I’d like that very much.” And his foot brushes up against Tsybik’s.

"I'll not be much use, but I can read out questions."

“Well, there’s another way you could help too,” he says, already turning red.

"What's that?" He asks, so eager.

“I uh- I need to know where everything is. Um, practically, in a person.”

"You could have a look at me."

Sticky, somehow even brighter red, looks across the table at him. “That’s what uh, what I was hoping you’d say. And I could teach you, too! Where all your organs and muscles and bits are.”

"I'd like to know. I only know on a cow."

“We’re quite a bit different than them, I can say that much.”

"Really? I thought we'd have the same bits, just moved around."

“How many stomachs would you say a cow has?” (

"Four. But they sort of stick together."

“Do you think we have four?”

"I doubt it. We can't eat grass."

“Tell that to some of the kids,” he mutters into his soup, before nodding. “We only have the one. And our structure is all different.”

"Our bones are different. Their bones are big."

“They’re so big, it’s absurd!”

"So hard to drag around..."

“They don’t have you doing that, do they?” He asks, worried. “I though you only did the milk.”

"I did used to clean up the butchery."

He swallows hard around a lump. “I’m so sorry. No kids should have to see that.”

"It smelled. A lot."

“You must have been so small,” he says, horrified.

"That's why I was good at it. Slinking in and out."

Sticky thinks of how small Murky is, compared to the bulls. He feels sick. “You shouldn’t have been there.”

"We couldn't afford not to have me there."

“I’m so sorry.” He reaches for him, looking to comfort. And Tsybik leans to him to be held. “The more I hear of how the Olgimsky’s ran things, the more I hate them.”

"I hate them too." Tsybik whispers.

“They never should have been allowed to treat you all like that.”

"They had children too. Young Vlad was little once."

“Yeah, well, he sucks too.” 

"And he grew up awful."

“I heard he thinks he knows more than you do. Of your own stories, your own history.”

"I think there's a sick want to have learned it right in him."

Sticky tucks him closer. “I daresay I learned it better than him. Least I was told by my Aba, who heard it all from his.”

"He'd know best of all."

“He doesn’t think so,” Sticky admits.

"He doesn't? How?"

“Well… his ma wasn’t Kin, and then he left for so long. Even though his dad told him too, he feels disconnected. Like things changed.”

"But he'll remember. You always do."

Sticky nods. “It started getting better, after the plague, but.. oh you don’t know how hard it was for him.”

"I'm sure nobody really does."

“He didn’t sleep. He barely ate. It was horrible.” Sticky hated having to watch it.

"What a burden on a man."

“The whole world on his shoulders.”

"And he saved us. It’s truly a miracle. He saved us all.”

"He works miracles. And still decided to take me in." There are days Sticky still can’t believe it. Can’t believe how lucky he’s been. Thinks he'll wake up from the good dream. “He truly cares, about all of us. The way a menkhu ought to. The way a leader ought to.”

"He does! I can breathe air again."

“And that never should have been something you couldn’t do.”

"No, it never should, but it was."

“I’m glad you’re a milkboy instead now.”

"It's a lovely job."

He leans closer, nose pressed to Tsybik’s neck. “I can smell it on you. The milk, the cows. It’s nice.”

"Not a bad smell? I don't think so."

“No, it’s not bad at all. I love it, really.”

"Lots of Town boys wouldn't. But you're as good as Kin."

Sticky beams. “I’m Aba’s, and that means I belong. That’s what he always says.”

"I agree with him."

“Not everyone does. Me and Murky… they think we have no place here.”

"They're cruel to even think it."

“Are they?” It’s almost a whisper. “I mean, I can see why they’d be hesitant. Us being here, learning things that weren’t ours. I know it can feel like we’re stealing.”

"You're not stealing. Your Aba invited you."

“He could have picked Khantange kids. Or had some of his own.”

"But he didn't. That must mean something."

“To us, it means the world… to other’s its unforgivable.”

"It means he thinks you belong."

“I only hope we can live up to that belief.”

"I'm sure you can."

Sticky smiles, kissing his cheek again. “Thank you.”

"I'll keep telling you, when you need."

“And I’ll tell you that you don’t need to prove you’re worthy. I can see it, you know. With the bowls, and everything else.”

"Ah. You noticed."

"I didn't get it at first, but it's the same as when I was trying to prove I deserved to be part of Aba's family."

"It's kind, to give more to a guest."

"That may be, but...." he swallows down the nerves. "I'd like to not be a guest. It doesn't seem accurate."

"A friend, rather. More."

"I like more."

"I think I like it too."

Hesitant, he kisses Tsybik again, not entirely chaste, but not near as exploratory as their last. And Tsybik smiles into it. After they break apart, and finish eating, Sticky tugs him away from the table, sitting on the furs.

He goes willingly, eagerly even.

"I wondered if- if we might do more of that kissing. Now that there aren't any interruptions?"

"Oh, please can we?"

Sticky answers by pulling him into another kiss, warm and open.

He slips some tongue in again. And Spitchka opens his mouth more, eager, falling to lie down, and pulling Tsybik with him. Tsybik wraps his arms around him, then a leg over his ankles. The small groan it draws from Sticky is pure enjoyment, fully tangled with him. He presses forward into the kiss, deepening it further still, licking into Tsybik’s mouth.

Whose hand drifts to his hip, daring. Sticky nods, making more enthusiastic sounds into the kiss.

He likes it, is all Tsybik can think.

I like you. All or you, is what consumes Spitchka’s mind. A litany of Tsybik, Tsybik, Tsybik—

A bite to his lip, a hand on his thigh. Thighs which open oh so willingly to let Tsybik slot against him properly. A bite back, only slightly harder. Tsybik is so hard it could embarrass him. But it’s matched by Sticky, and when the boys shift, and they press against each other, they both whine.

"I see why people like this so much." Tsybik mutters.

Sticky, once again kiss-dazed, nods. “Don’t know how people ever stop to get anything done.”

"I'd never get out of bed if you lived here."

“Mmn, likewise. You’re so- so perfect.”

"I want to touch you."

“We’re already touching, aren’t we?” He feels like soup, hazy and agreeable and warm.

"Not where I want to."

“Oh.. yeah, go ahead, anything you want.” And he pulls Tsybik back into the kiss, like a fish greedy for water.

Tsybik puts a hand down Sticky's trousers. He gasps into the kiss, somehow not having expected it, despite all the signs. Growing harder at the feeling. Fingers stroke gently over him. And he tries to not be over-eager, tries to control himself, but Sticky can’t help bucking into Tsybik’s touch. Tsybik's fingers tighten, stroke. Like he does to himself.

His voice hitches mid moan, stuttering as he clutches tighter to Tsybik. Doing his best to keep kissing him. Tsybik's eyes are closed in concentration. If he weren’t so overwhelmed, Sticky would try to return the attention. As it is, he only gasps and moans into Tsybik’s lips, licking into his mouth, rolling his hips.

Tsybik murmurs his name as he strokes him. "Spichka..."

He mewls, trembling, hands fisted in Tsybik’s shirt.

"Do you like it?"

“Please, Tsybik it’s so—“

A swipe of his thumb over the head. "So good?"

That gets him the highest whine yet, and a frantic nod.

"You're so beautiful like this. Always."

He’s never thought of himself as ‘beautiful.’ Cute, maybe, in whatever way a gangly kid can be. But not beautiful. It makes his eyes fall shut in overwhelm, clutching harder still at Tsybik. Tsybik, his own face flushed red, as if this arouses him as much. It’s only a few moments more before Spitchka comes, gasping and twitching. Tsybik smiles, like making Sticky come is a great achievement.

“You- oh Tsybik!” Finally, Sticky gets his voice back. “You didn’t have to— you haven’t even—“

"I haven't yet." He agrees.

Before Tsybik even gets his own hand free, Sticky is shoving his into the boy’s pants, fumbling in his haste. Tsybik's cock is warm in his hand, alive, wet at the end. It makes Sticky groan, in near reverence to be holding it. Swiping at the tip before wrapping his fingers around him the way he so often has himself.  He gets a shaky groans for it. One that Sticky swallows with another kiss, beginning to stroke properly. Tsybik trembles in pleasure under it. Sticky wants to make him feel just as wonderful as he felt, nipping at his lips and speeding up just a bit.

"That's it, like that..."

He blushes deeper at that, at knowing he’s doing well. Continuing on just as directed.

"A little tighter..."

Sticky obeys, a shuddering breath escaping as he works Tsybik’s prick.

"Yes, right there..." his voice starts to crack.

“So pretty….” Sticky says, doing as he’s been told. Wishing he could see Tsybik’s cock as well as feel it.

"Am I?" He sounds almost disbelieving.

“Gorgeous, even.”

"I like your big words."

Sticky blushes harder. Apparently, time with the Bachelor has caused some habits to brush off on him.

"They're pretty. Make me — ah! — feel warm."

“You deserve pretty words.”

He makes a whining, whimpering sound in response.

“You do,” he insists, thumbing at Tsybik’s tip again.

Tsybik hides his face against Sticky's shoulder. His hand moves, tangling into Tsybik’s hair, rather than his shirt, a soft coo coming out as he keeps going.

"I'm gonna —"

“Good, I want you to.”

Tsybik does come, with a groan and jumping hips. Sticky strokes him through it, before pulling his hand out. Giving the mess there a hesitant lick and making a face.

"What does it taste like?"

“Salty. A touch bitter.” He tries again. And makes the same face. “I’m not sure why people say they like it.”

"Maybe they just like what it means."

“Oh, I do like that much.” And he licks a big stripe of it off his hand, trying to swallow before any adverse expression can grow.

"You're brave. I didn't dare taste it."

“It’s you. I had to try.”

"And you didn't hate it overly?"

“No. I think I might grow to like it. Again, it’s you, I don’t know that I could hate it.” 

"Oh." He blushes ever redder.

“Well, I don’t think I could!” He licks the rest off his hand, and already it’s easier to not make a face at the taste.

"You're too sweet."

“Mmm, sweet… I bet a bit of honey would make it better.” He’s half teasing, but the thought is real.

"Couldn't ever hurt."

Sticky wipes his now spit covered hand on the ground and turns them on their sides, holding him closer. “But I just want to enjoy time with you, right now.”

"I'm going nowhere."

“Then we don’t have any problems, apart from some rather uncomfortable trousers.”

"Little bit damp."

“It’ll dry, and crust to us.” He shrugs and nestles closer. “Worth it though.”

"Perhaps we should wash."

“That means getting up and letting go of you.”

"Can't, in that case."

“Mmhm…” Sticky shoves his nose against Tsybik’s neck, happy.

"We'll just lie here."

“Could always kiss some more.”

"Better than anything else."

He grins, and shifts to kiss up Tsybik’s neck, until he reaches his mouth. The kisses now are slower, lazier. Spending time just tasting him, learning the shape of Tsybik’s skin. The slight curves of even his masculine body. Every line and divot. Sticky can’t wait to see him everywhere. But for now, he must content himself with glimpses. It’s torture, and he says as much.

"We could go to the banya." Tsybik proffers.

“Oh! Could we? I haven’t really been before.” The tub and amblemic hadn’t made it necessary.

"You ought to go. We both should."

“It always sounded nice.”

"It's lovely. If you're not too scared of heat."

“Oh no, I can handle that. The brewing machines get mighty hot and I help with those.”

"Then you'll like it."

Sticky kisses him again, properly this time. “I’ll like it even more because I’m there with you.”

"I'll show you how to do it right."

“Mn, show me everything.”

"You can hold my arm while we walk. Like the Bachelor does."

“The Bachelor holds your arm?” Sticky’s eyes shoot open, startled, offended.

"Not me. Men he walks with."

“Oh! Yes, exactly like that.”

"And people will know we're close."

“Good. I want people to know that much, even if we can’t shout the rest.”

"So do I."

They lie there, lazy and warm, doing nothing but sharing sweet words and sweeter kisses until shouts for Sticky can be heard. He groans. “Ughh, I’ll be right back, I just need to tell bear I’m walking back later with you.”

"Tell him I'll keep you safe. No, don't."

Sticky just smiles, and kisses him again before rolling to his feet and walking out the door.

Tsybik curls up for a moment of a rest.

He meets Artemy with a teenage ”whaaattt?”

"Where did you go?"

“I was hanging out with Tsybik, the boy who brings our milk. You said you wanted me to make more friends in Shekhen.”

"I do. And I'm glad. Did you enjoy your time?"

“Very much so. I was going to stay, and walk back to town with him when he has to for work.”

"I can give you the afternoon off." Artemy decides.

“Yes!” He whoops, nearly jumping for joy, the way over excited boys often do. Unfortunately for him, this puts a kiss darkened spot on his neck on full display.

Artemy's eyes widen at the sight, but it only confirms suspicion. "Enjoy yourself. And be safe."

“When am I not!” He calls, already sprinting back to Tsybik’s tent.

Tsybik jumps awake at the sound of him.

“I have the afternoon off, and am all yours.”

"He gave us the afternoon?"

“Yep! I don’t have to be back till supper.”

"Time for the banya and plenty else."

“Anything we want, really.”

"We could even swim."

“Ohhh yes that would be lovely!!”

"Have you ever swum in the Gorkhon?"

“No, I was always told it too dirty.”

"It wasn't, and then it was, and now it isn't."

Sticky nods. “Olmingskys.”

"Them. Exactly. Now the water runs clearer."

“The blood purified it….”

"It did!"

A small part of Sticky wonders if this makes the sacrifice his Aba made even more worth it. Wonders if Artemy even knows.  If Artemy has had a chance to splash in the river. If not, perhaps he ought to suggest it. A family swim, or the like. Could be bracing, could be fun. Could let Artemy and Uncle Daniil have a moment in public they don’t have to hide as much. Like he'll have with Tsybik. And o how excited he is for that with Tsybik.  An excuse to be naked together. To play naked together. They can splash and wrestle and none will blink. Just boys playing, they'll think, nothing more.

“We’ll definitely have a swim then. Before the banya?”

"After. As our cold plunge."

“Oh yes! That’ll be a treat.”

"Wakes the blood up."

“And it sounds fun.”

"Oh, it is, very fun."

“Did you want to head there now?”

"Yes. Please. Let's go."

Sticky pulls him to his feet, and offers an arm, grinning.

The walk to the banya is short, but it feels like hours of bliss.

Talking about nothing, smiling the whole way.

When they get into the banya, Tsybik starts stripping down. "You have to take your clothes off. And wash first."

“Wash… before a bath house?” He tilts his head, but obeys, staring more than he perhaps should.

"Just to get the dirt of the street off."

“That makes sense, I guess.”

"Otherwise the inside wouldn't be clean."

Sticky nods, and follows Tsybik’s lead. “I can do that.”

Tsybik scrubs down in a small basin of vaguely warm water. This part isn't so pleasant. It seems a hassle, especially for Spitchka, who’s used to living half on the streets, and doesn’t take his shoes off inside. Tsybik decides, at one point, to take pity and help scrub him. He squeaks in a rather undignified manner, turning pink.

"You'll feel better once the dirt's off."

“I just wasn’t expecting you to-“ but it does feel better. They have a tub at home, yes, but it’s been a few days, and he’s been in the dirt.

"I thought it an excuse to put my hands on you."

“It’s nice. It feels nice, and you’re right.” He rolls his shoulders, stretching.

"Your muscles will fill lovely soon."

“I’m plenty excited to experience it with you.”

A man comes out of the steam room, staggers towards the Gorkhon without a glance back. His shoulders hunched and somewhat uneven.

Sticky looks a bit concerned, watching after him. “I think Aba treated him, or tried. He seems to be doing bad.”

Tsybik's eyes soften. "He's a kind man, whatever people say."

“If you say so, I believe it.”

"He did wrong. To himself as much as any other."

“He seems to be in such pain….”

"He had a bad case of the plague."

“It burrows in, down to the bones.” Sticky rubs the back of his neck. “I’ll tell Artemy to check on him.”

"Thank you. I worry. He has a family to support."

“Then it’s even more important he gets relief.”

"His brother... oh, it's tragic."

“Very few made it through the pest without tragedy, I’m afraid.”

"His brother used to dance for Mother Boddho."

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

"No, I'm sorry. I've brought sorrow."

“You didn’t,” he assures Tsybik, resting a hand on his shoulder. “The plague did, and we’re all still grieving.”

"It was like the end of the world."

“There are nights I wake up in the dark convinced it really did end,” he whispers, shuffling closer.

"You too?" Tsybik says.

“More often than I’d like to admit.”

"I thought it was just me."

“I’m sharing it in confidence, but I think it happens to Artemy too. I see him at my door sometimes, watching to make sure I’m okay.”

"Oh... of course he suffers too."

“Mishka… she got sick. Really really sick, and we didn’t think she’d make it. It weighs on him. All those who fell ill weight on him.”

"So many dead, and some worse. Like Shono."

“Maybe he can get better. Or at least be in not so much pain.”

"He took one of the children's powders."

Sticky’s eyes widen. “Those near kill you!”

"Burned his insides."

“And now he’s like that. Pained and miserable….”

"But alive. With his brother."

“And that’s what matters most, right?”

"It is. If we survive, we can make anything alright." 

Sticky looks round, scared, but determined, and presses a quick kiss to Taybik’s cheek. “We definitely can.”

"We're alone now. Nobody to see."

Sticky grins. “Then I can do this.” He leans in, kissing Tsybik properly, and squeezing his butt.

Tsybik yelps. "You can! Alright, dry off, especially your hair. We'll go steam out all the dirt."

He giggles, and does as he’s told, leaving his hair sticking up every which way when he’s done.

"That's fine." Tsybik points at it. "We'll dunk our heads later."

“What, you don’t like it in this style?” Sticky teases, sticking out his tongue, trying to coax a lighter mood.

"I do like it. You look like a flower."

Sticky kisses him again, grinning.

"A pretty little dandelion."

“Well, you’re just- you’re—“ he flounders, never a smooth talker. “You’re a bundle of pampas.”

"That's sweet. You're sweet."

“You deserve sweet.” He fluffs Tsybik’s hair up more, still half laughing. The curls fluff up easily, perhaps even more deserving of the epithet of dandelion fluff. “We make the whole flower together,” he whispers.

"We do!" Tsybik is delighted.

He can’t help but pull him into another kiss, first his cheeks, then his lips, relishing in the joy on Tsybik’s face. Joy that seems almost to taste sweet, if it could have a taste. A taste Sticky never wants to lose. Tsybik leads him into the steam room with hands linked.

“Oh it’s so much warmer than I thought it’d be!”

"It gets warmer."

“Really?” He’s already even more excited.

"If I pour some water on the stones... hold the door and I'll show you."

He does, staring intently at Tsybik all the while. Tsybik pours a scoop of water on the hot stones, and there's a rush of steam that raises the temperature and could have knocked open the door. “Oh that’s just magic!”

"Isn't it fun?"

“It’s amazing!” He beckons Tsybik back, wanting to hold him in the now even warmer room.

Tsybik joins him on the seat, lets their limbs entwine. He kisses him eagerly, open and encouraged by the flush already growing on both of them.

"There's another fun bit." Tsybik says into a pause in the kiss.

“Really? More fun than this?” But he is curious. 

"Not more fun, but you can hit me with a branch."

Sticky’s smile turns to the mischievous. “You mean we’re encouraged to do that?”

"It encourages the flow of blood!"

“You know what else encourages the flow of blood?”

"What?...Oh."

He pulls himself away though, and stretches. “Show me these branches though! I want to see what we’re supposed to whack each other with.”

He goes to a wooden basket by the door, and pulls out two leafy lengths of birch. 

“Oh those do look fun.” Sticky makes grabby hands for one. He hands it over Sticky immediately leaps into what he imagines a sword fighting pose to be. “At arms!”

Laughing, Tsybik moves to block. There’s no skill to it, no strategy or even knowledge behind the motions. Just boys battering at each other with sticks, as boys have done for centuries, laughing. Bringing up flushed red marks on brown skin and white. It certainly gets their blood flowing, even if any other benefits are likely lost in the play. Gets them laughing ever louder. Until they drop the branches, and fall into a tangle together on the bench. Sweaty limps tangled together, hearts beating fast with heat and exertion and arousal.

“Somehow I doubt that’s how we were supposed to do that.”

"No. Not quite."

“Was fun though, you were right.”

"You warm enough yet?"

“Probably, are you?” It’s so much nicer than he had thought, being in a sweaty room with Tysbik.

"Yes. Let's go swim."

“Oh yes, lets!”

Tysbik leads him back out and down a short path to the Gorkhon. Even walking outside is a world of difference in temperature, but when they hold hands and jump into the river it’s entirely different. A shock of cold that steals breath and stiffens limbs. He keeps tight hold to Tsybik, half fearing he’ll freeze and sink if he doesn’t. Comes up gasping, then laughing, exhilarated. 

Tsybik is the same, laughing and breathless. Only then asking "can you swim?"

“Not well!”

"Hold onto me. I won't let you sink."

And Sticky does, though he tries his best to awkwardly kick, hoping it helps more than hinders. “If we get to shallower bits I’ll be ok.”

"We'll swim over to the edge, right?"

“I can get there, yeah.”

"Then you can hold on."

He smiles, and gets half a mouth of water for it. Spluttering and bobbing as he holds on Tsybik, they make it without much issue at all.

"I didn't realise." Tsybik says apologetically

“It’s alright. I didn’t say anything before. And, you know, I jumped in too.”

"Did you not expect it to be quite so deep?"

“Caught me off guard.” He looks sheepish then, saying, “and the cold shock made me forget how to float for a bit.”

"Oh, dear. It does happen."

“I can do it now though!” He says, and does so to prove it, still holding Tsybik’s hand.

"You can! Look at you!"

“It would have been easier to pull me like this, if I’d remembered.”

"Sure, but you didn't."

Sticky splashes water at him, sticking out his tongue. He splashes back, giggling. It doesn’t take long before it devolves into play wrestling in the shallows, water flying everywhere. Laughing and splashing around like any two boys Sticky tries, and horribly fails, to upend Tsybik entirely. But Tsybik ducks his head underwater in concession. He pouts. “You let me win.”

"I thought going underwater sounded nice."

“Awww come on, have a real wrestle!”

"Come on then!"

Sticky charges, much as anyone can in the water, grinning. Tsybik braces himself. And Sticky does decently, the way any teen boy might be expected too. But he has never worked in the Abattoir, never dealt with livestock, and, in the end, it’s a match he has no way of winning, Tsybik has a lot of secret, wiry muscle. So of course Spitchka ends up held locked, breathing heavy and dripping river water. Tsybik holds him down for a proper count before he lets him up. And Sticky is bright red, staring wide eyed at Tsybik’s arms. “You’re so strong…”

"I'll go in the Ring of Suok one day."

“I- I think I’d like to watch that.”

"Have you ever been?"

“Once, kind of. I watched between buildings. They didn’t want any of us there.” Whether he means kids or townsfolk is unclear. 

"You'll come as my guest instead."

He grins, sitting in the shallow water and looking up at Tsybik in wonder. “It always looked such fun.”

"The men always come out of it tired, and cheerful, and closer."

“Would you be wrestling with others our age?”

"At first, probably."

Sticky nods, and reaches a hand up, as if to ask for help standing. He's given it. And instead of using it to stand, he yanks an unsuspecting Tsybik down on top of him, grinning.

"Oh, you sneak!" He laughs.

“I had to get you somehow!”

"I suppose you did!"

“And, I can do this with you down here.” He kisses Tsybik again, river water on both their lips. The taste of the Gorkhon, of their home itself, as it melds with each other. Tsybik moans a little at the feel, at the taste. They stay there, lying atop each other, kissing in the river for a long while. Basking in each other’s presence and the quiet joy they share. In the warm sun and cool water. He shifts their legs, so they can gently rutt together as they laze. It's more lazy pleasure than chasing any outcome.

“I’d spend days like this with you,” Sticky murmurs, between kisses.

"They'd be beautiful days, too."

“Perhaps more ought be spent like it then.”

"We should bring a lunch by the river next time."

“Oh yes! That would be perfect.”

"We'll make it a date."

Sticky beams. “We’re going to have an awful lot of them.”

"And so we should."

“I intend to spend time with you every day, if we can manage it.”

"We're going to have a party for me soon. You should come."

“Oh, could I?”

"I'll be sixteen. I'll be a man."

“Something to celebrate to be sure! I’ll have to find something suitable to give you.”

"Oh, you don't have to."

“I want too. Am I not allowed?”

"You are! Of course!"

“I wouldn’t want to, if it were something not appropriate.”

"It is! I just wanted to be polite."

Sticky smiles, kissing him again. “Then you’ll get something from me. Something nice.”

"Thank you. I want people to give me presents, if I tell the truth."

“Everyone does. It’s a day to celebrate you, that comes with gifts.”

"I hope so. I know we don't have much."

“The first birthday I spent with bear… we still didn’t have much from the plague. I wasn’t expecting anything, maybe a food I preferred, if I was lucky.” He smiles at the memory. “Instead, he handed me a book of all he knew on medicine, on the Lines, on all of it. He’d stayed up late writing it all down for me.”

"What a treasure!"

“I wept. It’s one of the things I treasure most. Mishka always gives me a little drawing of us.”

"That's lovely, too. Do you put them on the wall?"

“Oh of course! They’re all above my desk.”

"That's the best place for them."

“Where I can see them every day.”

"Like Mama keeps my old ones."

“Yes, exactly.”

"A proper family. I thought, but I wasn't sure."

“A proper family indeed, I’d say.”

"I thought, but I worried."

“Worried of what?” He asks, a bit confused.”

"That perhaps he wasn't kind behind closed doors."

“Oh! Oh… no, he’s entirely sweet. A bit awkward, but kind. Perhaps kinder with us than the rest of the town.”

"And he's plenty kind to the rest, if not always sweet."

“Exactly. But no, he treats us well. So does the Bachelor, for that matter.”

"Are they... no, I mustn't ask."

“Like us. Well, sort of. Dankovsky is attached to the architects as well.”

"What a game he plays. Meaning no disrespect."

“Truly. I don’t understand how it doesn’t collapse, if I’m being honest.”

"It seems like it very much would."

“Especially because Aba doesn’t like the twins much at all.”

"No, and I see why."

“Because they’re horrid!”

"And they killed Mother Boddho!"

“They did, and I hate them and—“

"So do I!"

“And… well…” he shrinks a bit. “He’s not my dad, not really, but the man who feels like he could be… he loves them, and it hurts.”

"It must. If my dad loved someone I hated..."

“It feels like betrayal, and one I can’t even rightly lay claim to.”

"It's your Aba's betrayal."

“I don’t know how he stands it.”

"I couldn't. Maybe sharing you with someone else, if you really wanted, but not someone hateful."

“I wouldn’t want you to!”

"Well, thank you."

“No, really.” He cups Tsybik’s cheeks, looking deep into his eyes. “I never want you to put up with anything like that.”

"Thank you. It means something. Though I'm sure there's nobody here cuter than me. Unless... do you like girls?"

“Maybe, I hadn’t really thought about it…”

"I know some pretty girls."

“What, are you trying to set me up with someone else?” Sticky blinks, confused.

"No! But you can look."

“Oh…. I think I’d rather just look at you, honestly.”

"Oh." He says, with the satisfaction of an anxiety soothed.

“You’re so pretty, and I’m so lucky to call you mine.” At least he hopes he can.

"Yours. I like that."

“And I’m yours, of course.”

"Mine. I like that even better."

Sticky kisses him again, soft and truly tender.

"Yours." Tsybik whispers. "Mine."

“Always…”

"Even if you go away."

“Even then. I’ll write you so much you’ll be sick of me.”

"You never could."

“Then I’ll just have to test it, won’t I?”

"Bet you can't do it."

“You’ll get so many letters you won’t know what to do with them!”

"I'll stack them all up. Tie them with ribbon."

He laughs. “You’ll need an awful lot of ribbon.”

"I'll trade some girl for her hair-ribbons."

“You’re so sweet…. I’ll send trinkets, little things I find.”

"I'd love to see a bit of the Capital."

“Maybe you could even come visit, once I’m settled.”

"I'll save up."

“I’ll help. Send money.”

"Will you? Then of course I'll come."

“I’d not invite you and expect you to get there all yourself.”

"Kind of you. I think lots of Town boys would. But you're not really that."

“Lots of Town boys would bother writing to anyone.”

"Wouldn't care enough."

“They don’t even write their mums…”

"Careless, truly."

“Or cruel.”

"Are they cruel to you?"

“Sometimes,” Sticky shrugs, used to it by now.

"I should fight them."

“No! You’re the only one who’ll get in trouble, and I don’t want you getting hurt.”

"Mm. Clever boy. Wish it wasn't true."

“It’s not worth it, even if I adore you trying to protect me.”

"You're right I'd get in more trouble."

“Far better to stay here with me.” 

"And just forget about the world."

“Exactly! With no fighting but the fun kind.”

"But you will see me in the Ring."

“I will, and I look forward to it greatly!”

"I'll give you a good show."

Sticky kisses him again, smiling. “Even if you don’t, it’ll be a wonder to watch.”

"I'll do my best."

“I’m sure you’ll do wonderful.”

"I've been practicing."

“I wish I could help you, but obviously I’m no use.”

"You're a bit too slim."

“Aba says I might fill out more now that we have proper meals.”

"If you do, I'll let you practice with me."

“Ohhh that would be lovely!”

"But right now, I feel like I'd knock you flat."

He laughs. “You would! Which can be fun too, but not helpful to your training.”

"And it might hurt."

“You wouldn’t hurt me. Not on purpose.”

"Not on purpose, no I wouldn't."

“And I’ve roughhoused before. The other kids and I.”

"Course you have. What boy doesn't?"

“So you won’t hurt me…”

"We could roughhouse. We have."

“We could more, if you wanted.”

"I do, if it means touching you."

“No one would question it either.”

"No. It's normal for boys."

“Just a couple good friends.”

"There's nothing wrong with that."

“No, nothing wrong with it at all.” And he kisses Tsybik again, just because he can.

"Nothing wrong with this, either."

“It feels like we ought to be joined at the hip,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to same goodbye, even for the night.”

"But you have to go home."

“I hate it though.”

"Your Aba would worry."

“Then I wish you could come with me…. But your mama would worry.”

"She would. She always does."

“I suppose I should walk you home then.”

"Please." Tsybik takes his arm again.

They’re still dripping, even after getting redressed, and Sticky steals kisses all the back, until they can see the fires in Shekhen.

Tsybik pulls away only to an acceptable extent. "You can meet my mama."

“Oh please. I’d love to.”

"She'll like you."

“I hope so,” he bites his lips, uncharacteristically nervous.

"She will. I talk about you."

"Really? What sort of things do you say?"

"I'm certain she knows I carry a torch."

"Aba knows I do for you."

"Good. She'll know, this is the boy I care for."

Sticky wants so dearly to kiss him again. To keep kissing him. "I hope she'll be able to tell I care for you too."

"She will. I'm sure."

"I should have something to give her, not come all bedraggled and wet."

"It's not trouble."

"But still! Daniil says we ought to present ourselves as best we can when we meet important new people."

"You think her important?"

"Of course. She's your mama. Why wouldn't she be important?"

"I think she's very important. But... I'm glad."

"I'd never imagine she wasn't important. It's simply impossible."

Tsybik kisses him on the cheek, not caring who sees.

He turns a bright red, and smiles, impossibly wide.

There's a woman at the stove when they get back to Tsybik's house, with dangling jewellery and grey in her black hair.

She's gorgeous, what one can hope to age into. Sticky immediately sees the resemblance.

And she looks at him and smiles. "Spitchka?"

"Yes! Hello ma'am. It's very nice to meet Tsybik's mama. He speaks highly of you."

"And a pleasure to meet the boy he dotes on."

Sticky can't help but flush again, smiling wider. "He's wonderful. You've done an amazing job."

"Thank you. What a polite boy you've found, Tsybik."

"I try my best ma'am."

"Are you hungry?"

He is, but... "I don't want to impose, or put you out."

"If you shouldn't be getting home..."

"If my Aba get too worried he'll just come back down here and make sure I'm alright."

"Oh, I don't want trouble with the menkhu."

"No, it's no trouble, I didn't mean it like that. I meant he knows I'm here at Shekhen, and if he gets too worried he'll come check on me. He won't be mad."

"Are you certain?"

"I'm certain. The worst he'll do is give me a stern look and say no sweets for a week."

"Then stay. We don't have much, but have you tried salamata?" 

He shakes his head, eyes wide. "I haven't. It smells amazing, but really, if it would be a burden, I'm alright without."

"No, stay. Eat."

"Thank you." He smiles at Tsybik, hoping he's not messed anything up.

Tsybik grins back. "If the salamata is good, it means good luck. And hers is always good."

"Some of that luck must have been hovering around you, because I finally talked to you like I wanted."

"And now you'll have some good luck of your own."

“Luck I’m glad to share with you,” he says, leaning a bit closer to Tsybik.

"We'll see if you like it."

“I like most things.” He’d had to learn too, living in the alleys. “And it smells amazing.”

"You're a good houseguest, then. Now sit!" Aryuna insists.

“If you insist. I’ll help with anything if you need.”

"No, no, you won't. Tsybik will."

“Are you sure? Really, I don’t mind.”

"I'm sure. Sit."

He does, nodding, even though it feels strange to not be assisting. But she won't hear a word of it. It’s a joy, watching the family together. A small family, most certainly fragmented and broken, but full of love. Warm and determined to find peace. Much the same as Spitchka’s family. Yet another point in common between them. And one that warms him, deep in his chest. 

Tsybik pours him a glass of kefir. He smiles, taking a sip and leaving a mill mustache behind. Tsybik reaches out to wipe it away. Despite being in front of his mom, Sticky finds himself a little sad it wasn’t cleaned with a kiss. But circumstances must, sadly. Still, he manages to press the smallest of smooches to Tsybik’s finger. And Tsybik grins, and flushes.

“Thank you,” Sticky murmurs, looking deep into his eyes.

"Couldn't let you be messed up."

“I don’t mind, when it’s you.”

"Kefir dries nasty."

“Then my thanks are even more warranted.” 

"How is the salamata? How's our luck?"

“It’s delicious. Truly.”

"Good for all of us!"

“Good indeed!”

It takes time, months, near a year, but Sticky manages to pass his exam, and before they know it, he’s packing. Left most of it to the night before out of nerves. Tsybik, left behind. He comes to see him in the morning. And that almost makes Sticky not leave at all.

Tsybik is flushed as ever, but with sadness in his eyes. "You be safe there."

“That doesn’t mean I want to leave you.”

"You have to. You'll be great."

“I’ll write you every day, I swear.”

"I even bought a pen, special."

“Oh Tsybik!” He nearly starts crying again, overcome.

"And ink, the good kind."

“I would have been happy to get letters from you in pencil, in smudged soot, in anything.”

"You'll get them nice."

“Then yours will be all nice too.”

"Put a kiss in them."

He blushes, hiding his face in Tsybik’s shoulder. “You’re too sweet.”

"I'll think of you all the time."

“Actually! I uh…” he fidgets, digging in his pockets. “I made you something.” 

"You did? So did I!"

That only makes him redder, pulling the little wooden bull charm out. It feels so inadequate. “I uh, I saw some of the girls with token in their hair, and…”

"Oh, it's perfect. I made you..." He pulls out one of the little knotwork charms. "Like a girl might."

Sticky cups it reverently, holding the charm the way one might hold salvation. Looking wide eyed between it and Tsybik. “Really? For me?”

"To keep you safe."

He shudders a breath, trying to hold back yet another wave of tears. “Not just girls make them. Aba did, for the Bachelor.”

"You make them to keep someone safe. A lover, a brother, a baby."

“I ought to have made you one of them, instead of this silly thing.”

"It's perfect. Beautiful. Unique."

“Here, I’ll…” he reaches up, attaching it to one of the small braids poking out of the fluff.

"Oh, it's perfect."

“A little bull, like the ones— well not the reason we met, bulls don’s make milk, but—“

"Like Bos Turokh."

“Yes! Yes exactly. He’ll walk with you like, physically, now too.”

"It's a beautiful gift."

“I’m happy you like it.” Sticky rushes to put on the charm, staring at it where it hangs against his chest.

"Keep it near your heart."

“Always. I’ll never take it off.”

"Then you'll be safe."

“So long as I can come home to you being safe as well.”

"I will. You've blessed me."

“And if anything happens, go to my Aba, both you and your mama. He’ll help. He knows you.”

"Thank you, Sticky. I'll do it."

Despite the little crowd, Sticky buries his face into Tsybik’s neck, hugging him, pressing a hidden kiss to him as the train whistles.

Tsybik hugs him tight enough to creak bones. "Go!"

“I love you,” he whispers, and pulls away, running, clutching the same valise, now beat up with wear, that Daniil had come into town a few year ago with. 

Tsybik waits on the platform well after the train pulls away.

Catchfly, the other teen always skulking around the doctors, sidles up to him. “You’re his then, yeah?”

"His. Huh. Yeah, I am."

She smiles, wide and only a tad mischievous, in a way that suggests it’s her natural state. “Oh good, it took forever to get him to admit he had anyone! It’d be a shame for me to go asking the wrong person.”

"We had to keep it quiet."

“Well duhhh.” A finger gently pokes the bull, making it sway in Tsybik’s hair. “He spent weeks working on this. Said it had to be perfect.”

"It is perfect. Even more so because it's from him."

She ruffles his hair, laughing. “Oh you two are disgustingly sweet.”

"I hope it stays that way."

“Why wouldn’t it? He said he’d write you constantly. He’s probably already scribbling away in that traincar.”

"D'you think he meant it?"

“Of course he did. That boy is smitten with you.”

"I'd marry him, if they let us."

“Do you all not have that as an option?” She tilts her head, curious.

"Two men? No, not quite."

Catchfly frowns. “Well that’s rather silly.”

"Do yours allow it?"

“No, but we’re always behind on this stuff, ain’t we?”

"I don't think we're behind. Don't say it's a crime."

“Well yeah. If we’re behind, then you’re ahead.” She pokes him in the shoulder. “Kinda how that works, fluffy.”

"Could both be behind the Capital."

She considers that a moment. “If that’s the case, he’ll write and say.”

"I'll wait to hear about it."

“It’ll be soon. That much I don’t doubt.”

"If he doesn't get too caught up."

“He won’t. He’s disgustingly in love with you.”

He blushes even more at that. Like he wasn't already red.

She laughs, pinching at his cheeks. “He’s gonna write to me too, so no matter what someone will get something.”

"I'll have to come asking if it's not me."

“We’ll both get them, I’m sure.” 

"He's a good boy like that."

“He’s a smitten puppy of a boy, but yes.”

"Nothing wrong with that."

“Not so long as you treat him well,” she says, face growing serious.

"Of course I do. Will."

“I’m serious. I make drugs. I could make you disappear.”

"And I believe you."

She smiles again, suddenly back to cheerful. “Good! So you’ll be a good boyfriend.”

"I'll do my very best."

“As will he.”

"It'll all be alright." He sniffles.

And she doesn’t normally, but this is Sticky’s partner. Catchfly tugs him into a hug. “C’mere. It’s gonna hurt, but it will be alright. Watch, on a few years he’ll come back a full doctor.”

"You think he'll come back?" He accepts the hug.

“Of course he will. All of us are here.”

"He's tied here."

“He is. And we’ll probably see him over break.”

"At least there's that."

“Spitchka won’t just disappear, I promise.”

"Thank you. I've just been thinking...'

“A dangerous thing for most men,” she says, forcing a laugh.

"Oh, you're right. Terrible."

“You know you can hang out at the Stillwater if you want. I’ll even show you how to do some stuff.”

"I might take you up on that."

“Give us both a sense of him, even while he’s away.”

"Exactly. It's kind of you."

“I miss him too. It’s selfish, in a way.”

"I don't think so."

Catchfly smiles. “Well then, you’ll just be my stand in step-brother while he’s gone.”

"I can do that."

“We’ll survive his absence yet.”

"Be hale and hearty for him to come home to." 

“Good thing his parents are doctors then, eh?”

"Good thing. I've heard the Capital isn't healthful."

“Guess it’s lucky he’s going to school to be a doctor then.”

"I'll write to remind him to take care of himself, too."

“Wise,” she says, nodding like a sage.

"Who knows if he'll get too wrapped up in his studies."

“Hopefully he’ll make friends. Between your letters and them, he ought to stay healthy.”

"Yes. Not too good."

She nods, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “He’ll be alright.”

"I just worry. I have to."

“I know. I really do.”

"Nothing better to do now."

“Live. Love him from here. Worry just paralyses you.”

"I'll become someone for him to come back to."

Catchfly frowns. “Aren’t you already?”

"Course he's coming back to me, but I'm not someone. I'll make my name in the Ring."

“Oh yes, you boys do the fighting.”

"That's a way to put it."

“It’s true, isn’t it? You do it till you bleed, yes?”

"I... yes. That's true."

“Then it’s the fighting.” She nods, sure of herself.

"Yes. Yes, it is."

“I’m sure you’ll make the name you want too,” Catchfly says, seeing she’s made some misstep.

He smiles again. "Thank you."

“He’ll be proud.”

"I'll let him see when he comes home."

That makes her laugh. “Oh, you’ll have a blushing and flustered Spitchka on your hands.”

"That isn't so terrible."

“No, I guess you wouldn’t think so. It gets so hard to talk to him though. He just stands there slack-jawed.”

"I happen to find it sweet."

“Well, you would,” she teases.

"And you wouldn't, and understandably."

She makes a face. “No, that’s my brother. An annoying one, who thinks he knows more about drugs than me, but my brother.” One that almost makes up for the older one she used to have.

"That makes you near as my sister-in-law."

“Oh that’s fun. I like that.”

"I don't mind it myself."

She pokes him, leaning in. “How d’you feel about the menkhu being your father-in-law?”

"Pure terrified, if I'm to be honest. And honoured."

“He’s a big awkward teddybear, really.”

"So Sticky tells me."

“All the adults think he’s scary but he’s not. He tells the little ones stories.”

"They think he's fearsome. But Spitchka doesn't."

“Almost none of the children do. Just the few who think ‘cause he’s an adult they’ll get in trouble.”

"But they're scared of every adult."

“Exactly! He doesn’t hurt any of us, and he trusts Spitchka. He likes you, even if he don’t show it.”

"That means more to me than you might know."

She ruffles his hair. “I have an inkling.”

"You're clever. You would know."

She smiles, and shoves some of his hair in front of his eyes, teasing and lighthearted. He laughs. Gives her a shove, but not even enough of one to lose her balance. New siblings, closer now than before. A bulwark against the darkness of Sticky's leaving.

The first letter arrives a week later. Clearly posted from the train station he arrived at. Describing the whole train journey, the first Sticky’s ever been on. Tsybik, never having been on one himself, drinks it in. He’s disgustingly sweet, too. Half the letter is about how much he misses Tsybik already. It makes Tsybik blush. He pens his own letter, with writing much less clear and proper, full of as much gushing.

And then, they don’t hear anything for weeks. Almost a month. Long enough for Tsybik to start to worry. The next envelope is stuffed full of letters. Clearly, when he said he’d write daily, he meant it. So Tsybik writes him a long one, as much paper as he can afford.

Sticky does cry when he opens it. Sleeps with it folded under his pillow. The next he writes has a chunk scribbled out near the bottom, page almost tearing from how much ink is soaked into it. Tsybik keeps it under the pillow in turn. Thinking of Sticky every night.

Catchfly gets a letter as well. One frantic and worried. Full of gushing over and screaming about this fellow student he’s met. He hadn't breathed a word about that to Tsybik. But here, it’s nothing but talk of Vasily. She wonders if this Vasiliy knows Tsybik's name. She’s almost afraid to ask. Doesn't want to cause trouble. But there's already trouble. So, she writes, hesitant, and asks.

Sticky is stunned by the question. He himself didn't think of it. Or, truthfully, didn't let himself. He has to tell her no.

Oh Spitchka…. she writes. More tender than he thinks he deserves.

He meets Vasiliy for breakfast that day, guilt gnawing at his stomach.

“I have something I have to tell you,” he blurts, before they even get their food.

Vasiliy looks up at him, eyes heavy with a long night last night. "Is that so?"

He nods. “It’s been recently brought to my attention that I’ve neglected to tell you of something important— someone important.”

"Oh?" He smiles like a cat, hunting for gossip.

“Back home…. I’ve got someone. A lovely someone.” Shame and guilt curl heavy in his gut.

"Ah. I suppose you want to cut off whatever this is."

“No! Please.” Sticky’s eyes grow wide, frantic. “I- not unless you do. I just…. His name is Tsybik.”

"Oh, a he. That's a relief."

Sticky smiles, fond and warm at the thought of him. “He’s wonderful. So sweet, and kind, and with the biggest eyes you’d ever seen….”

"I'd like to meet him."

“I’d very much like you too as well. He’s never been to the city, same as me when I first arrived.”

"He ought to visit."

“He really should… I need to send money back, for a ticket.”

"I could help."

Sticky’s eyes grow wider still, flushing. “I- you don’t need to. Really, it’s alright.” But he knows it’ll be months before he has enough to send.

"I know you don't have much."

Sticky blushes harder. “Yes, well… it’s hard to work when I have so many classes…” he has a job, helping a butcher shop deliver meat in the afternoons, but he can’t pick up as many hours as he’d like.

"It is hard, I hear! I mean no offence."

“No, none was given. It’s… it’s alright. I’m used to not having much. Back home we mostly just trade for things.”

"How charming." And he sounds quite genuine.

“Coming here was rather a shock,” he admits.

"It certainly must be. "

“Everything is so expensive here. Not as bad as prices got during the plague, but—“

"You haven't told me about that."

“Ah, no I hadn’t. A few years back, we suffered a plague. It nearly wiped the town out.”

"That's terrible!" But he sounds fascinated.

“One of our miracles, it punctured the earth. We still don’t know if it was punishment or negligence.”

"Your miracles?"

“Had I not told you of them either? Damn, I ought to have.” He bites his lip, trying to decide how to describe them. “There’s a cathedral where time grows and stands… a tower made of dreams and glass and its own concept. Only children could enter. Well, children and one of my tutors. And the best miracle of all, our earth was alive. Breathed and bled and beat along with us.”

"You've the mind of a novelist. Or you've truly seen these things, and I hope that to be the case."

“I grew up with them,” he replies, picking at his food. “I miss the earth. It wasn’t the same, walking the steppe without her heartbeats underfoot.”

"I can imagine that would be a terrible thing to lose."

“It all felt… hollow, for a long while.”

"Does it still?"

“If I were to walk amidst the Steppe now, and still feel that absence? Likely yes it would. But here, in the life and movement of the city? No. No it’s far more full.”

"This city can fill any heart."

“In Gorkhonsk, we were the clots moving through the veins. Here, we’re the blood itself, and the vessels.”

"Running fast and hot and alive."

“A different sort of heart, but one all the same.”

"I like that. The way you make it sound."

Sticky smiles. “Perhaps you’d like my town as well. All the quirks.”

"I'd certainly like to visit."

“Perhaps I’ll get Tsybik out here first. I want him to see the city more than anything.”

"I want to meet him. Show him around."

He laughs at that a bit. “Oh, he’d not know what to make of you at all.”

"I doubt I'd know what to make of him."

“Well, what did you make of me?”

"That you're quite fascinatingly provincial. And very lovely."

“Then you’ll likely think much the same of him.”

"Oh a delight."

“He’s a milkboy,” Sticky says, voice full of pride.

"A good and gainful employment!"

“Truly! That’s how we met, see? He delivered to us and I couldn’t stop staring.” Much like Sticky hadn’t been able to stop staring at Vasiliy. Like he still can’t stop doing, even now.

"Aww, how very sweet." Once again, he could sound condescending. He doesn't, not really.

Sticky laughs to himself, a touch self-deprecating. “I suppose that’s nothing like what you’re used to though. Not even like our first meeting.”

"No, but I rather like it for that."

He’d been utterly smitten, despite hating the way Vasiliy first presented himself. For the first time, Sticky had understood why so many thought Daniil pompous when he first arrived to town. Vasiliy was pompous and dreamy in a way that almost reminded him of the twins. But he loathes the twins, and he adores Vasiliy. Everything about him, even the bits that make him seem a dick. They're somehow even more special. It makes him smile, knowing which bits are true assholery and which are put on. And there's not much of true malice. Nothing that makes him want to run, the way the twins do. He seems a bit out of touch, that's all.

And Spitchka finds himself just wanting to kiss him every time something untethered comes out of his mouth. Kiss him quiet, and just kiss him. Run his hands along that thin frame and kiss him until he can't think of anything at all. Vasiliy is clever, though lazy, he knows. Lazy in everything but his music. That lights a fire under him to the point it's almost scary, being consumed by it into the wee hours of the morning, if he even stops then.

Sticky almost wishes he could pacify him. Wishes he could do more than bandage the bleeding fingers after he comes out of the fugue. And he always comes out pathetic, snivelly. Eyes rimmed in dark circles and red. Throat sore and voice hoarse. And one morning, he comes knocking at Spitchka's door such.

It's early. Far earlier than anyone should be awake, and Sticky's flat mates are no doubt to complain later. He opens the door, only half dressed, scrubbing over his face. "Vasya....?"

"May I come in?" He looks wrecked.

"I- Of course. Please, do." He moves aside, eyes growing wide.

"I don't feel well." Vasiliy whines.

Sticky wraps an arm around his shoulders, guiding him into his room, gently pushing him to sit on the edge of his bed. "How long have you been up?"

"All night. And most of the night before."

"Vasya.... what on earth possessed you to...?"

"I'm working on a new piece."

He blinks, owlish, and leans in to hold open Vasiliy's eyes, checking his pupils.

They're blown very wide.

"Did you take anything?" Sticky takes his pulse next, holding Vasiliy's head still with hands on his neck.

"Some coffee. That's it."

He frowns. The pulse is a bit elevated, but not artificially so. Sticky has no idea what— oh. “Vasya,” his voice is so tender, so gentle, as he tips the boy’s head so they meet each other’s eyes. “Does this happen commonly?”

"Once... twice... third time, like this."

He near winces. “And the opposite? Times of immense low?”

"More common."

“Darling, I think you’ve the same thing my mentor does.”

"What's that? Some disease?"

“Of a sort, just not the way you imagine.”

"Is it deadly?"

“No, not on its own. I think you have the same imbalance he does. The same pendulum swinging between apathy and mania.”

"That... does sound correct."

"It looks like you've been stuck on one end for a few days now."

"I feel like it."

"Are you feeling better now?"

"Another kind of bad."

"Going the other direction, or just worn out and sickly?"