If You Don't (Fyodor X OC)

Oddly Gracious Enemy

I nearly scoffed when I entered. Just like everything else in this home, it screamed wealth. Black marble floors, a large bathtub that was separate from the shower, and a huge vanity mirror that hung above the spacious white marble counter.

I closed the door behind me, and quickly realized that i had no idea how to operate the shower. There were two different heads, each with their own handles. The last thing i wanted to do was screw something up, so i concluded that I should probably go find Fyodor and ask him.

I closed the door to my room and went back down the hall from which we came. There was another door next to mine, but i wasnt bold enough to try and explore. Dismissing it, I descended down the staircase with soft and quiet steps. I could see the living room as I went down. Fyodor wasnt in it, but i could hear a conversation being held somewhere off to the right of the stairs.

I followed the sound, and yet again, I was left speechless. Fyodor was sitting on a stool next to a long white marble island, and Ivan was wiping down a glass with a dish rag.

They didnt notice my arrival yet, and simply continued on with their conversation as If i were just a ghost. I took the opportunity to take a closer look at the kitchen. Light oak cabinets hung all the way across the walls, hitting a corner and still spreading beyond it. Matching cabinets were placed beneath them, perfectly aligned. There was a dishwasher, naturally, and a sink with multiple handles. There was a window that overlooked the back yard, placed just above one of the cabinets. A double door fridge was nestled into a seamlessly molded grove between the cabinets.

"How do I look?" Ivan said, pointing to fyodors ushanka on his head.

"terrible," Fyodor muttered with his thick Russian accent.

Ivan puckered his lip out with a small pout. "Ah, fine. Have it back then," he said, tossing it onto the island.

Fyodor frowned as he picked it up, tapping it a few times as he held it in his hands. Clearly, the hat was important to him, even if i didnt understand why.

"Mr. Dostoevsky?" I called out quietly, tapping my knuckles against the door frame. It felt like it had literally burned my throat to address him so formally, but I was in no position to be disrespectful.

Fyodor straightened his back and turned on his stool. "Anastasia," he acknowledged. "Please, Fyodor is fine. Id much rather you didnt refer to me as if I am a school teacher"

"Right. Sorry. I just.. uh," i struggled to find the words. It was embarrassing enough to ask for help, let alone with a shower. I know its a silly thing to be anxious about, but showers always seemed to be a private thing.

Fyodor raised a brow. "What could possibly have an assassin stumbling?" he teased. It wasnt in a rude way. It seemed like he was trying to lighten the mood, and i was grateful.

"I dont understand the shower," I spoke rather quickly, averting my gaze. I rubbed my arm, trying to ease my own discomfort.

"How hard can it be? Its just a shower," he looked at me curiously as he got off the stool.

I followed him back up the stairs, and all the way to my bathroom. I didnt want to seem like a lost puppy or anything, but.. honestly.. I kind of was. I also wanted to see how he operated the shower though, so that I wouldnt have to ask him again in the future.

"I see," he said with his bandaged finger in his mouth. He nibbled on it, staring at the handle as if it were his sworn enemy.

"Sir?" I questioned. Why wasnt he doing anything?

"I understand your dilemma now," he nodded.

We both just stared at the brass contraption in stupefaction, until he spoke back up. "I guess we will just have to figure it out. Here, you try that one, and i will try this one," he said, pointing to one of the handles.