𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

Y/n's mother...

I shouldn't even think about the one who has abandoned me to fend for myself.

"I think he would like it more if you told him personally," the butler—Sergei— gave yet another smile, but Y/n didn't like how slimy it looked. False, and dripping with venom.

"You may leave."

Sergei bowed again, before he exited. Y/n was left alone, and the first thing he did was to head to the bathroom, turning on the handles of the bathtub. Clear water flowed out readily, and Y/n poked his finger in it.

Still a little cold, but he would manage. In fact, Y/n welcomed it with open arms: the coldness and bitterness seeping inside his bones was penance; suffering that he felt he rightfully deserved. Y/n had witnessed a murder, yet he would not talk about it—he...

Affiliating myself with the Ivanov Organisation, Y/n bit his lip. How terrible. Where else could he go, however? He had nothing to his name but a pile of debts that was promised to disappear if he endured being with the Tsar. Being with none other than Andrei.

How ashamed would his mother be now? Why did she abandon him? Was it because she knew the way he would turn out, that her escape had become a needed distraction?

"..." Y/n closed his eyes. Thinking was painful, and it was easier to maintain an empty state of mind. Smile listlessly with no substance in it. Yes, it would be better to be a mindless airhead, unthinking and stupid. It would be far better to have that...wouldn't it?

...Or maybe not. Y/n had a feeling he was somewhat expected to act like himself, or Andrei would be terribly disappointed. And that would result in his death, though now even that seemed relatively inviting.

I'll just...

Y/n felt his head start to droop, and a yawn escape him.

I'll just stay like this for a while...

—

Time seemed relative as it crawled by, and before Y/n had known it, there was a knock on his door. There had been confusion and lethargy at first, when Y/n slowly forced his eyes open, peeling his wet limbs from the cold bathtub. He nearly slipped when he stood, grabbing a towel.

This...where was this again?

How many seconds, minutes—no, hours had gone by? He needed to know. This was his time. Y/n wanted to have control over what little things he could control now. There were so few of them.

No clock, Y/n sighed. There is nothing to tell me of the time I have spent in this golden cage. It was a fitting place to grow crazy.

"Y/n."

Y/n remembered how to walk. One foot forward, then the other.

"Y/n? Are you inside?"

Then his hands clasped on the door. Somehow the feeling of something on his skin felt strangely foreign to him: he had merely dozed off, hadn't he? All Y/n had done was to sleep for a few minutes, so why did it have such an odd sensation on him? Something was tickling his nostrils.

"...Who is this?" Y/n asked tiredly, "you sound rather familiar."

The door opened, and Y/n found himself looking straight into the eyes of Andrei Ivanov, who towered over him. Pink flushed on his cheeks when Y/n realized belatedly that he was only clad in a towel at his lower waist, and that his hair was still dripping wet.

"...My apologies," Y/n cleared his throat, "I'm sorry. I'd did not realize—"

"Huh," Andrei tilted his head, looking amused. "You are as forgetful as always. Your head has always been in the sky."