𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝐒𝐈𝐗

You have fallen in love with me. Andrei had. Andrei had really given and surrendered his heart to him—Y/n could have done anything with it. He could have toyed with the strings, rendered the ruler of Russia into nothing but a mess, and he had the power to. Yet it was that blind devotion and adulation that would make sure that if Y/n ever ran away, Andrei would hold his wrist in a bruising touch, and would not let go.

"Y/n."

Y/n looked at Andrei for a while, before he turned his head around. His hand fumbled with the lock.

"Y/n. You really think I would have forgotten you?"

"Perhaps not, but I would have expected you to remember so vividly," Y/n said softly. "The things you are saying now—they are specific. Extremely so. A normal person would move on, think of it as a first love, something to pass the time. But you have held on desperately."

"You have no idea how much you saved me," Andrei's voice had grown softer, almost a whisper. "You did, Y/n. You..."

Y/n stilled when he felt gloved hands intertwine with his.

"You may have been out of my sight, Y/n. But you—you were never out of my mind."

Click. The door unlocked, and Y/n stared at Andrei, searching—searching for just a semblance of a lie.

And Andrei must have hid it well, or he must have really meant it. Y/n swallowed, brushing his hand off.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, "just give some time to just...process it all."

He stopped.

"I'm not angry. I promise." Y/n said quietly, "I'm not, Andrei. Just...let me get used to all this."

Three murders so far. Y/n had witnessed three murders so far—

"I'll give you all the time in the world," Andrei pressed a soft kiss to Y/n's hand, bowing his head. "Take your time, Moy Sladkiy. You...have you not felt basic care before?"

"My father is dead, and my mother is gone."

"...Ah. Who took care of you, though?"

"My grandmother. How many questions will you continue to ask?"

Y/n waited for Andrei to let go of his hand—and when the Tsar did so, it felt bare. Untouched. Craving for the kiss of someone...him.

How foolish, Y/n thought to himself, how foolish I am.

Because for reasons unknown, that touch felt unimaginably familiar.

—

There was a soft knock on the door, and Y/n found himself dragging out of his sleep to answer it. It had been an uneventful nap. Snippets of lost time coupled with the misty fog that constantly clouded his brain. And now he stared groggily at the—butler?—who was holding a tray of flowers.

"What...?"

"Some tea, sir," Sergei said in answer, bowing his head, "we have had a brand imported from England. It's quite expensive and helps with sleep."

It smelt fragrant, no doubt. Y/n stared suspiciously at it. It was orange-pink in color, and had quite the pleasant consistency.

"Andrei—"

"—The Tsar is busy."

Y/n blinked, before he took the cup numbly. It was scalding, and burnt him around the edges, but he ignored the pain and instead placed the cup down into a table.

"I see," he sighed, "you may go now, then. If you see the Tsar, help me tell him..."

Sergei looked at him expectantly.