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crowsnests · 4 years ago

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taste of certainty - part five

Fandom: The Arcana Pairing: Julian Devorak x OC Apprentice (Syran Elkas) Tags: friends to lovers; modern times au; friend group dynamic; slow burn; pining; really just Julian being Julian and Syran being Oblivious Words: 6217 Warnings: mention of anxiety, migraines, insomnia, alcohol

part 1 2 3 4 5

playlist

How sweet the taste of certainty, releasing hope to carry me, never let it go, no.

- trust; half-alive

V. sunkissed

The launch goes well. It’s Thursday evening and the office is crowded, everyone a little more dressed up, glasses of champagne in their hands as Miss Eirsdottir prepares to talk to the team.

“Well, I’m not much for speeches. But, this launch is one of the best ones we’ve had so far. So– well done everyone. Let’s not forget the hard work you all put in this, I expect you all to keep this rhythm up.” She raises her glass and everyone copies her. “To Chariot Beauty!”

“To Chariot Beauty!” Everyone’s voices echo across the office, some people cheer their glasses, others go straight to drink.

“Well done!” Asra comes up to Syran and goes to clink his glass with hers. Muriel and Pasha stand beside him, smiling in tow.

“Well done to you guys!”

“I think we all agree you’ve been amazing. Your first launch up in the big office! How does it feel?” Pasha grins.

“Good, I’m glad the pressure’s over,” Syran laughs. “Honestly, it’s exciting. And it wouldn’t have been possible without you guys.”

“To us?” Asra proposes a toast.

“To us!” They all join, glasses clinking again.

The champagne keeps flowing and Syran feels her cheeks warm up as she chats with her friends and colleagues. There are finger foods and samples of the products, everyone mingling and enjoying the rewards of their work.

Syran feels like she can finally breathe, her friends beside her and a weight lifted off her shoulders. Miss Eirsdottir’s eyes meet her across the room and nod towards her. Syran feels like she might as well give her a hug.

She’s gonna be okay. She’s proud of the work she’s done and excited about new projects.

She’s just chatting to Varya when her phone vibrates with a call.

Ilya.

They haven’t talked much since– the Chinese food event, so she finds his call odd. But nonetheless, she looks for a quiet area in the corridor just outside the office’s glass doors and answers.

“Hello?”

“Congrats on the launch!” He exclaims– her heart jumps at the sound of him.

Syran can’t help but smile. “Thank you.”

“How do you feel?”

“Good. Relieved. Bit tipsy.” She laughs. Hearing his voice like this– she missed him.

“Yeah? Are the drinks good?” He’s acting like it’s all normal.

Maybe it is.

“Yep. Veeery.” She takes a pause, not sure how to continue the conversation. “How– how are you?”

“I’m good. Just finishing up some reports for my course.”

“I see. Good luck! You’ll smash them.”

“Thank you. I hope so.”

Maybe it isn’t. They go quiet again.

“So–” She starts.

“Hey, Syran–” He says.

“There you are! We’re gonna see how many tarts Muriel can fit in his mouth, you coming?” Pasha’s curls pop out in the corridor, smile on her face.

“Is that my sister?” Ilya asks, amused.

“Yeah– ah, just a second Pasha.” Syran is confused. What was he about to say?

Pasha steps up to her with mischief in her eyes. “Is that my brother?”

“Yes–”

“Say hi to her–” Ilya starts.

“HEY LOSER!” Pasha exclaims, close to the phone.

Syran is dumbfounded. The Devoraks are– surely something. “I– uh, she says hey.”

“I’ll leave you to talk, Muriel can wait.” Pasha waves a hand, then makes her way back into the office.

“I’ll let you go then, sounds important.” Ilya says, before Syran can formulate an answer to either of the siblings.

“No– hey–– I mean, were you gonna say something?”

“Nothing that can’t wait.”

“Ilya, no–”

“Enjoy your evening!”

He hangs up before she can add anything.

Well, that was weird.

Syran’s emotions are all over the place, phone still in hand as she goes back to the office area.

Turns out Muriel can stuff six whole tarts in his mouth, which is– impressive. “Sorry for interrupting your call.” Pasha says, as Asra argues with Muriel about how he should try just one more tart.

“No, it’s okay.” Syran smiles. She tries to, at least. She’s still confused by the call.

“Mh– did Ilya say something bad? You seem upset.” Nothing escapes Pasha’s eyes.

“What? No, no, I’m fine. Just tired. He, uh, congratulated us for the launch.” Syran tries her best to hide her feelings this time, but she doesn’t have it in her to put in the effort.

“Okay– you sure you’re fine?”

“Positive.”

Strangely, Pasha doesn’t push the issue and Syran feels convincing enough as she nods.

Still, something just feels wrong.

🂱

“Ready?” Ran asks in front of the door of Pasha and Nadia’s apartment.

“Yeah,” Syran smiles, “It’s gonna be fun.”

Finally, Pasha’s birthday is here. Ran is wearing a beautiful peach orange dress, flowing all the way down, with golden detailing. Her mask matches it perfectly, which is not bad for a last minute purchase. Syran adjusts her own mask on her face, a deep purple colour that also matches her outfit.

They ring the doorbell, and the soft music coming from the inside gets louder as the door swings open after a few seconds.

A man stands tall in front of them, dressed with a beautiful teal and golden vest, a dark green coat to match. His mask resembles a wolf, and it takes Syran a second, but Muriel is not that hard to recognise.

“Welcome,” He says, smiling.

“Muriel!” Ran exclaims, hugging him.

“Hey, there.” He ruffles Ran’s hair, who promptly whines about it.

“You look so good!” Syran adds as they enter.

“You can leave your coats in the bedroom,” he diverts her words, making way for them.

Once their coats are off and they get to look around the room, Syran is amazed.

Pasha’s party isn’t so much a party as it is a well balanced mix of enjoyable music, classy decorations, soft lights, and laughter echoing all over. People are having fun, and it’s all beautiful and organised. Syran can so easily notice how Nadia’s elegant touch is everywhere, but Pasha’s cheerful energy blends with it perfectly.

Their apartment only vaguely resembles the place Syran knew, it’s more like a modern ballroom, furniture pushed to the sides to make the living space bigger. A long table in a corner shows an array of finger foods, looking refined but delicious. Another table displays several masks, beautiful and colorful. The crowd isn’t big, but everyone that’s there is wearing beautiful outfits, elegant dresses and tuxedos, and everything in between. Their masks accompany their outfits well, although some of them look a bit mismatched. Probably the ones who borrowed one from the party.

Before she can look for Pasha, she feels a tap on her shoulder.

Unmistakable white curls fluffing from behind an elegant golden and white mask, catlike bright eyes sparkling, sly grin that could charm anyone.

Asra’s outfit is perfect to say the least. It’s fitted on the top, sleeves ending at his hands adorned with elegant rings, then it flows from the waist down, like a cascade of fresh snow mixed with golden and crimson trails; it mirrors the intricate pattern on the dress’s shoulders, up to the high neck. Asra is quite literally glowing. She’s seen him dressed up for many occasions, but she’s never seen him like this.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says.

“Oh my god, where did you get that? Holy shit!” She exclaims in awe.

His grin gets even wider. “Remember those costumes that went missing from the university’s theatre course in our last year?”

“You– you fucker, that was you? You never told me!”

“Wow” Ran adds, eyeing Asra up and down.

Asra shrugs, “Muriel made me return most of them after we graduated, but I kept this one for myself. Tweaked it a little and– voilà.”

“Wow. I want to say that I can’t believe you but– I totally can.” Syran shakes her head. “You look amazing.”

“You look amazing!” Asra grabs her hand and makes her twirl around, looking over her lavender dress. The light fabric grazes her bare legs as she turns over for him.

“Thank you,” Syran shyly pushes away a strand of hair that escaped her bun.

“And Ran. Beautiful as always.” Asra smiles at her, and Syran is sure Ran is blushing under her mask. She’s always had a soft spot for Asra.

“Thank you.” She coyly smiles.

“So, would you ladies care for a tarot reading?”

“Sure!”

“I wanna find Pasha first, but you guys go ahead.” Syran winks at Asra, but she’s not sure he sees it under her mask.

“Okay, but you’re due for one!” Asra grabs Ran’s hand, pulling her towards the little table that he’s set up in a corner of the room. “Come on, Ran.”

“Ah, yes, okay!” Ran exclaims, clearly surprised by the gesture.

🂱

It takes her a few walks around the room, but Syran can finally spot Pasha animatedly talking to a girl in a corner. Syran knows how many people Pasha might have invited, though, so she expects the place to fill up even more. When she goes to walk up to her, Pasha’s eyes light up.

“Look at you!” She says, an unmistakable smile showing from under her golden mask. Syran reaches out, holding the small package she got with Ilya. “Happy Birthday!”

Pasha smiles even more, taking the present and slowly opening the box. When she gets to the brooch, she gasps.

“Oh, Syran, this is beautiful!” Pasha exclaims, eyes wide in glee. “Thank you so much!”

“You’re welcome. I’m really happy you like it.”

“I love it!” Pasha raises the brooch up, as if to look at it better under the light. Nadia smiles beside her.

“It really is lovely,” Nadia adds. Syran smiles back, really glad to have made the good choice.

Pasha pins the brooch on her dress and it makes Syran melt a little. She’s so cute. “I mean, Ilya told me you had a knack for this, but–”

“Ilya– he’s here? I mean, of course he’s here, ha– I just. I didn’t see him” Syran’s mouth moves before her brain. She knows exactly how her words sound right now, and– fuck.

Pasha looks at her, brow raised, but doesn’t comment on it. Syran is eternally grateful. “Yeah, he actually arrived early for once, can you believe? He just went to get some ice because he thought we might actually not have enough. Couldn’t stop him.”

Nadia shrugs, “Better safe than sorry, I guess.”

“Right, cool, nice. I’m gonna help myself to some food then– by the way it all looks delicious, who made it?” Syran tries to divert the attention because clearly both Pasha and Nadia are holding themselves back from commenting, but she doesn’t know how long that can last. She wonders if Ilya said anything to his sister about– the other night.

Whatever, she can’t think about that now.

“My sister’s restaurant,” Nadia grins. “I can assure you it’s amazing.”

“Ah, is Navra here? I haven’t seen her in ages!”

Nadia nods, “They’re all here, except Nazali. I think they had a work emergency, but hopefully they’ll make it before the end.”

Syran clicks her tongue, “Oh no, I was looking forward to playing poker with them! Nazali, Nahara, Asra, and I have an ongoing streak.”

Pasha laughs, “Yeah, I remember the great sweater loss of last year. Asra was devastated.”

“I just took what was rightfully mine,” Syran smirks. She had challenged Asra to bet on his sweater, one that they had argued over before. When Asra bought it, Syran was with him and also wanted to, but it was the last one in the store. Queue bickering over who had seen the sweater first.

Syran ends up standing by the food table, glass of mulled cider in her hand. Then she bumps into someone.

Of course, that someone is Ilya.

“Oh, hey.” She smiles.

“Hey. Uh- hi.” He seems concerned, but Syran is stricken by his appearance first. His suit fits him perfectly, with red accents here and there, the subtle mask bringing out the blue of his eyes. He looks very handsome.

“Hi,” Syran says again.

“I went to get ice,” He points out.

“Yeah, so I’ve been told.” She nods, takes a sip from her drink.

“You– ah. Uh, you look nice. Pretty color. The dress, I mean. It’s, uh, pretty. You’re pretty. ”

“Ah, thanks.” Syran chuckles awkwardly, heart sinking in her chest. “Glad to see you found something good to wear! Not that, uh you don’t usually. Look good, that is. In clothes.” This is a trainwreck. “Your outfit is nice too, is what I mean.”

“Thank you,” Ilya cocks his head to the side. “Do you– did you come here alone?”

“Ah, I’m with Ran. She drove us here. She’s off gossiping with Asra somewhere.”

“Right, aha, gossiping. Our friends do a lot of that.”

“Sure do! Wish they’d stop,” Syran can’t help but let out.

“Yeah, ah. Me too, you know. But- uh, it’s funny sometimes I guess.”

“Yeah- no. Yeah. They’re funny. Our friends. Uh.” He’s nervous and even Syran can tell something is wrong with him. She starts to worry.

“Right, yeah. I mean–”

“I mean–” He interrupts her with the same words.

She can’t take it anymore. “What’s going on, Ilya?”

“Uh, I don’t know. I’m just. Nervous, I guess. Lots of people. Pasha’s friends. Just. Ah. Nothing. We’re good, right? Me and you?”

“Why– why wouldn’t we be?”

Syran could list a few reasons. She doesn’t want to, though.

“I don’t know, I just–”

“Hey you two, ready for a round of masked karaoke?” Asra throws himself in between them, sly grin and all. Ilya’s words still echo in Syran’s mind.

Are we good?

“Oh god, are the neighbors gonna sue us?” Ilya asks, concerned.

Why wouldn’t we be?

Should she have said something else?

Asra grins. “Probably, but Pasha and Nadia can handle that. Come on, before I select Partition.”

“Hey, no, that’s my song!” Syran wakes up from the trance and chases after Asra, trying to get distracted. Maybe she’s overthinking, as usual.

🂱

After karaoke, Asra reminds Syran it’s time for her tarot reading.

Ran stands next to them, curious. Asra’s eyes glint with mirth.

“So, what do you want to know?” He asks as he shuffles the cards.

Syran shrugs. She usually loves Asra’s readings, but her mind is somewhere else. “Uh– I dunno. Career?”

“We all know that’s going well!” Asra raises an eyebrow.

“Then, uh– just a general reading I guess.” Syran surrenders.

Asra eyes her weirdly. “Boring. But fine.”

He shuffles a bit, then makes her choose three cards. As he turns the first one, his eyes sparkle.

“Ooooh, knight of cups! There’s some romanticism in the air!”

Syran keeps quiet. There’s no need to add to Asra’s jokes on her and Ilya–

Not that she’s thinking about him.

“A suitor ready to go on an adventure with you–” Asra continues. He turns the middle card.

“Wheel of fortune! Nice! You want to trust the universe that things will change for the better– you need to let things flow. This might mean that even if you’re resistant to this new love interest, the universe will make things clear to you on what you need to do.”

Well, now she’s thinking about him. The universe, huh? Feels like it’s been pretty against her lately.

She continues to keep quiet. Asra turns the last card.

“Nine of cups! Syran this is a great reading! Your wishes will be fulfilled, just let it happen!”

“Ah. Are you sure you mixed them well?” She feels all sorts of emotions right now, her brain not sure she believes any of this is really for her.

“Are you doubting my expertise?”

Right now? A little bit. But she lies.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

Asra continues to explain the cards, gives her only positive encouragement, but in Syran’s mind there’s other thoughts– how much of this is about Ilya? Should she even let herself hope?

Does she deserve any of it?

🂱

Nazali arrives and everyone cheers for them.

“Time for poker!” Asra immediately incites the group, grabbing Syran by the arm.

“Oh god, I’m not drunk enough for this.” Syran laughs as they make their way again to the table Asra was using for tarot readings.

“Where’s Ilya? I know for a fact he’s good at it.” Nazali suggests.

“Dunno,” Asra looks around. “Wanna go look for him?”

Syran realises he’s talking to her.

“Huh? Why me?” Once again, she’s put on the spot. Nadia’s sisters eye them curiously.

“Let’s split up and search the room. I’m sure he’s around.” Nahara suggests.

So Syran ends up roaming the house, pushing past people, asking if they’ve seen a tall lanky man with a crow’s mask.

Just when she’s about to give up hope, she notices the door to the bedroom is ajar.

She sees no reason why he should be in there, but–

Syran makes her way towards the door, and immediately sees Ilya’s figure sitting on the bed.

“Hey,” She says, before taking in Ilya’s appearance. He looks disheveled, like he’s been passing his hands through his hair. His mask is slightly askew, but still on. “Are you okay? I was– we’ve been looking for you. We’re about to play poker, you want in?”

“Ah, right. Well, you might have to do without me this time.” His voice is low, almost a whisper.

Syran can’t hide her worry. He’s been acting strange all night.

She closes the door behind her, slowly approaching Ilya on the bed. He stares at her, follows her every movement.

Even though he’s sitting down and she’s towering over him, they are barely face to face.

He’s so tall, and she feels so small in front of him, sometimes.

But right now– right now Ilya looks in need.

“What’s going on, Ilya?”

“I’ts fine– it’s nothing.”

“Hey,” she sits next to him. “It’s clearly not nothing.”

Ilya sighs. He looks at her, but the mask makes it hard to figure out his expression.

“It’s always a little hard, today. Did I ever tell you, when I left our house I– it was on Pasha’s birthday.”

“Oh. You didn’t.”

“Yeah, she– wasn’t too happy with that.”

“I can imagine,” Syran twists the fabric of her dress with her fingers. Things are starting to make sense.

“Yeah. I regret it– every birthday, I regret it. And now I can be here for her and I realise– I’ve missed so much of her life.”

“Ilya–” Syran wishes he didn’t blame himself this much, but the regret he speaks of is oozing out of him.

“And she grew up to be such a strong and wonderful woman. She’s got so many people loving her, and she made an amazing path for herself. And I wasn’t there for most of it because of my stupid pride.” His voice hitches and he reaches up to his hair again. Elbows on his knees, Ilya looks–

Afraid.

Syran’s chest feels heavy, her throat closes up a bit. “She knows you love her, Ilya. I can see it, you guys have worked really hard to patch up past hurts.”

“Yeah, but– Sometimes it’s like I don’t know her, at all, you know? There will be these moments where everyone remembers what happened years ago, that one time she broke her ankle while swimming, or when her university project went awry– stuff like that. And I don’t. I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there with her. For her.”

“Oh, Ilya–” Syran sighs, “But you’re here now. She knows that. Everyone can see you’d take a bullet for her.”

He sniffles, then laughs. “Eh– maybe.”

Syran rolls her eyes. “You would. Maybe even two.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” He nods, then takes off his mask. “Ah, I’m being stupid, aren’t I,” He dries his eyes with one hand. Syran wants to reach out and dab the tears away.

“No, stars, no you’re not! Your feelings are completely valid and it’s– It’s admirable that you worry so much about your sister.”

Ilya looks at her, “I just want to be there for her.”

“And you are. And she knows it.” Syran is sitting closer to him now. Her mask is starting to itch. “You– being here. Makes her happy. It makes us all happy. You’re a vital part of this group, whether you want it or not.” She chuckles, half a threat. He looks at her, intently listening to every word. “You couldn’t do better than what you’re doing now. And right now, you’re doing amazing.”

Ilya slowly nods. “You really think that?”

“Of course! We all do, you dumbass!” She exclaims, exasperated. “You’re– you’re amazing, Ilya.”

“Oh. Ah. Thanks.” He looks away, towards the door. The music is still loud, Syran thinks she hears Asra plead to put on Madonna.

“You’re pretty amazing too, you know that?” Ilya says, interrupting the– well, not really silence.

“I– uh. I’m just me.” Syran shrugs. Ilya turns to her, resoluted.

“Yeah. And you’re amazing.”

“Is this gonna turn into a competition?” Syran is deflecting with humor, but Ilya isn’t too far off.

“I do like challenges.”

She laughs. He laughs too.

There’s still something heavy in the air, though.

It’s now or never, Syran thinks.

“And to answer your previous question– yes, we’re okay. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Ah. Good.” Ilya nods. He turns towards her and once again, he’s close.

“And– I’m here for you, too, you know? I want to be.” She says, grabbing his hand.

This time, she can’t ignore the electricity between them.

His voice cracks a little, “Yeah?”

She nods, smiles lovingly at him. “Yeah.”

“I’m glad you are.” He swallows, “I’m– I’m glad it’s you, that found me.”

“Me too,” she whispers. “You’ll be fine.”

Then he huffs a laugh, but there’s no mirth. “Will I, though? What if I mess it up? Again? What if I let some stupid thing come between us?”

She’s not sure he’s talking about Pasha anymore. And if that’s the case she has the exact same worry. She tells him what she knows she’d like to hear herself.

“Everyone messes up,” she shrugs, then squeezes his hand. “You’ll get back on your feet again. You know how. We’ll hold you to it.”

He looks at her, doubt flashing in his eyes, but only for a second. Then, as if he’s decided to trust her, he nods, slowly.

“Okay,” he smiles, “Okay, I believe you.”

“You better,” She laughs, then pokes his shoulder with her free hand. “Plus, I doubt any of us will let you do anything stupid without kicking your ass for it.”

He laughs too, then meets her eyes again. “Thank you, Syran,” He intertwines their fingers. “Really.”

Syran’s heartbeat is up to the ceiling, way beyond the roof, somewhere near the moon, maybe.

“Anytime,” she swallows, “Anytime, for you.”

He takes a deep breath. Looks her straight in the eyes. “You sure?”

“Positive.” Syran doesn’t need to think about the answer.

They’re inching closer, it’s obvious now. This time she can't deny it and there’s nothing to stop them. This time it’s even riskier, arguably, because there’s a party on the other side of the door. Yet, this time Ilya’s gaze visibly drops to her lips. It’s obvious, but he seems hesitant, not certain if he’s allowed. He reaches a hand up, lifts her mask from her face, setting her nose and eyes free.

This is happening, then.

Syran can’t take it, her body reacting before she can think.

She reaches her free hand to cup his jaw and closes the distance between them, lips meeting gently. Ilya immediately gives into the kiss. It’s a little sloppy at first, unsure, but they find their rhythm soon. The sounds of the party have seeped away, it’s only the two of them now, nothing else matters.

Like a Prayer might be playing in the back, but their heartbeats are singing louder than Madonna, right now.

Then, as if realising what’s happening all at once, Syran pulls away. Ilya’s eyes flutter open, worried.

“Sorry, I–” Syran starts. “I shouldn’t have–”

“Oh,” Ilya looks down, sounding disappointed.

“No– I just meant–” Syran cups his face again, hurriedly bringing his chin back up. “I– Is it okay? This? Between us? I wasn’t sure–”

Then, his expression changes, features softening with clear fondness.

“Syran,” he whispers, “I don’t think you realise how long I’ve been wishing for this.”

“Really?” She blinks. Sure, she had started to think that maybe her feelings weren’t one-sided, but. Hearing him say that is a whole different thing.

“Really,” Ilya smiles, smug. “I think it has been pretty obvious”

Syran feels herself blush even more, but smirks through it, “How long?”

He rolls his eyes, but the smile doesn’t leave his face, “Long enough for me to want to kiss you again. And again. And then maybe I’ll tell you.”

Syran leans in and Ilya meets her halfway, relieved laughter echoing on their lips. She reaches a hand up to grab his hair and Ilya’s breath hitches, then lets out a guttural whine that sends electricity all over Syran’s body.

“Fuck–” Ilya slurs in between kisses. “I don’t know– how I waited until now.”

I think you should stop holding yourself back.

Ran’s words echo through her mind, and– Syran knows it. This is the right time.

She laughs, low, “Then don’t wait anymore.”

When their lips meet again it’s urgent, hungrier, both of them craving closeness like never before. Ilya brings a hand behind Syran’s neck, angles his head better, meets her mouth times again, sound of wet lips and hitched breaths filling the room.

Ilya’s other hand reaches behind Syran’s back, caressing circles, smoothing the fabric of her dress. It makes her chest even fuller, if possible, warmth radiating everywhere.

It’s intoxicating. Kissing Ilya like this is intoxicating.

Her brain races all over. There’s nothing but Ilya. Ilya and his flushed cheeks, Ilya and his hands, Ilya and his lips, expert, swift, like him. Ilya’s scent, subtle but there, reassuring. Ilya’s body, so close to her, so, so close, almost dangerously so. Syran realises how much she’s really wanted this, how much she’s really wanted him all this time.

Ilya. Ilya. Ilya.

His name sounds like the ocean.

Syran wonders how it would feel to get even closer to him, how it would feel to reach a leg over and straddle him, how it would feel to have her heart on top of his—

The door swings open, sounds of the party suddenly flowing into the room. This is a curse. She’s cursed.

Ilya and Syran both shoot away from each other, breaths heavy and flushed all over.

“Oh– I– Uh– Oh god– Sorry.” Muriel is standing in the doorway, hand still on the knob, almost obscuring everything behind his tall figure.

Syran is at a loss for words.

“Uh– hi, Muriel. What’s– what’s up?” Ilya is doing a really bad job at diffusing the situation, instead.

“Well– Nadia owes me and Pasha twenty bucks, that’s what’s up.” He smirks at them, although faint, “I’ll leave you to it,” he then closes the door behind him.

Ilya and Syran look at each other, eyes wide.

“That was–” Ilya starts.

“Yeah– uhm–”

“Uh. Maybe we should–”

“Escape through the window?” Syran chortles out.

Ilya laughs, “Yeah, that’ll save me–”

“BINGO!” A shrill voice comes from outside the door, although the music does a good job at muffling it, otherwise Syran imagines it would be even louder.

“– from my sister.” Ilya finishes. “Though temporarily, I assume. Also, bingo? Who says that?”

“Eh, it’s a long story,” Syran answers.

🂱

They do actually leave from the window, not before grabbing their coats. The emergency fire stairs help their escape as they climb up while snickering, complicit. They feel like children running away from their punishment, if their punishment was their friends’ knowing smiles and snarky comments.

They reach the roof and catch their breath, laughter now louder and solid. Then Syran notices the clear night sky above, pretty and calming. She runs for the edge of the roof, leaning onto the half-wall that rounds it. There’s a crescent moon tonight, smiling down at them as Venus shines beside it. The air suddenly feels so unreal, Syran thinks. So dream-like.

“Wow,” She says, looking up at the sky. “Have you ever seen a moon like that?”

Ilya has caught up to her by then, leaning beside her, shoulders touching. It’s not shy contact anymore– sure they still have to get used to it, but it’s comforting now.

“Yeah, more or less once a month,” He smirks.

“Idiot,” Syran scoffs at him, holding back a smile. “Come on, it’s so pretty!”

Ilya laughs, “Would it be too much of a clichè if I looked at you while I say my next words?”

Syran turns to him, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” He reaches to move a strand of her hair with a soft smile, “You’re right. It’s really pretty.”

Syran gapes at him. God, does she like him and his stupid jokes. She can’t help but giggle a little.

“It is a clichè,” she agrees, grabbing his hand. “But I don’t mind that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” She nods, Ilya inching even closer to her.

“Then how cheesy would it be if I kissed you now?” He cups her cheek.

“On a scale of one to ten?”

“I guess so,” he huffs a laugh.

“Solid twelve,” She smiles, coy.

Ilya laughs even more, but leans in altogether. “Eh, bet I can do better.”

“Oh?”

He kisses her forehead, gently. “Like,” then he kisses her nose, “I can be even cheesier,” he kisses her cheek. “If I really want to.”

His mouth is an inch away from hers now, his gaze so soft and fond. Syran is going to be just as clichè and think that she could get lost in his eyes, if she’s not careful.

God, how long has she actually been feeling like this? How long has she willingly ignored all the signs, denied herself to lean into his touch? Does she really deserve this? To be looked at like this?

“What?” Ilya whispers. He can already read her so well, it would be frustrating if she didn’t feel so much for him.

“Nothing,” Syran slightly shakes her head, trying not to make him worry. “Just wishing we could be here forever.”

Ilya laughs again, “Wow, are you trying to outdo me?”

She shrugs, “Maybe.”

Ilya smiles and pecks the side of her mouth.

She turns and catches his lips with hers instead, kisses him raw, hides her doubts in her chest.

Her feelings eventually spill from her mouth and onto Ilya’s tongue. It takes almost nothing for them to lean into each other’s arms, for her to get desperate, like it will all slip away if they’re not careful. She starts kissing along his jaw, taking him by surprise as she uses a hand to push down the collar of his shirt and continue down. Ilya fucking moans into it, so Syran takes it a step further and nibbles at his skin. That leaves Ilya even more breathless, sounds escaping his mouth that make Syran shiver at her core. It’s everything, and not enough, yet just enough to fill her heart. She trails back up, Ilya kissing her like he’ll die if he stops. She doesn’t spare any kindness, biting his lip, making him want more, more–

“Wait, Syran, I–” Then Ilya pulls back, just slightly, and there’s a small frown on his face. He takes a pause. “Look. I want this. So bad. I want to be with you and hug you and care for you–”

Syran’s heart sinks to her stomach. “Why do I feel like there’s a but coming.”

Ilya sighs, steps back a little more. “It’s not what you think. I do want that, there’s no buts, just. I want to do this right. I want to go on dates, hold hands, visit places, learn what you like and what you don’t even more than now. I– I tend to rush into things and as tempting as it is, I don’t want to do that with you. I don’t– I don’t wanna fuck it up. And I want to make sure we’re on the same page on that.”

Syran’s heart crawls back up and melts in her throat. “Oh, Ilya, I– I get it. And yeah, we are, I want all that too, I just–” she laughs, feeling stupid. “I haven’t felt like this in a long time. When I realised you might have felt the same way too I got scared and told myself I was imagining things. So, now– it’s kinda like I don’t believe it still.”

“You should,” Ilya takes her hands, looking so, so fond. “I mean I don’t believe it either, that you would like me amongst all of this. I honestly thought– for the longest time I thought you and Asra were going to end up together–”

Syran can’t help but laugh out loud at that, it bursts out of her like fireworks. Ilya looks confused.

“Sorry, I’m sorry– it’s just– I don’t know how you’re gonna take this but me and Asra– we tried that. When we first became friends we were, uh– very involved.”

“Oh,” Ilya replies, slowly, “Okay.”

“But!” Syran pulls at his hands, squeezes and looks him in the eyes with intent, to make a point. “We figured out almost immediately that it wasn’t going to work. That we are wonderful as friends, but that’s it. We’ve been through a lot and he’s one of the most important people in my life, but, believe me that ship has sailed.”

Ilya sighs, looking a little more relieved now.

“That’s. Uh. Good to know. I mean– not that I don’t like Asra, he’s a great friend and I really enjoy hanging out with him and all. I just– you know. You guys seemed so close I guess at times I was– uh. Jealous?” He looks away, blushing, like he can’t handle admitting that.

Syran smiles and reaches up a hand to his face, leading him to look at her.

“Ilya, hey–” She keeps eye contact even though she feels shy herself. But she needs to say this. Both for herself and Ilya. “Trust me, you don’t need to be. I couldn't feel for Asra the same way I feel for you. I never did, even when we were together it wasn’t– it wasn’t like this.” She laughs a little. “Boy, did I realise I was fucked when you hugged me after we got Pasha’s present. I couldn’t ignore it anymore then. It was like– I don’t know, like a dam burst open. It never really happened before. So. Yeah.”

Ilya chuckles. “You do realise that was me trying to ask you out on a date, right? Or, at least spend time with you.”

“Oh.” Syran blinks. “I– was it? What– oh.”

“Yep.” He nods. “Tried a bunch of times, actually.”

Syran’s brain tries to get in motion. That time they got lunch together because he was free on a saturday. The winter market. Pasha’s present. Chinese food.

“Oh, shit.” The realisation must really show on her face. “Ran was right. I was both dense and in denial. Why didn’t you– I don’t know, say anything?”

He shrugs, shy. “Well. Maybe I should have. I just thought– I don’t know, I was scared of ruining things. So I tried to steal away as many moments as I could, trying to figure out if you felt the same way. After– uh.The Chinese food, I thought. I don’t know, I thought I’d ruined my odds.”

“Oh, Ilya,” She starts, but she doesn’t know how to continue.

Ilya laughs, then he hugs her, chin resting on her head. “I realised I liked you a while ago.”

“When?” Syran can’t help but ask. He never really answered before.

“Well,” He leans back without taking his hands off her sides, then looks up as if he’s trying to think. “Remember when we all went on that trip to Nadia’s family lakehouse? And you got all excited about swimming in the lake, and then we all stayed up watching the sunrise?”

“Ye- yeah.” Syran couldn’t forget that, it was one of the best trips she’s ever had.

“Well, pretty much then. When you gaped at the sunrise and smiled so wide, and said that you loved how the morning was blooming.” He looks back at her, an embarrassed smile on his lips.

“Ilya, that was. That was– like, eight months ago.”

“Yep.”

“Wow.”

“Yep.”

She doesn’t know what to say. He’s been liking her for so long and she– she hasn’t seen it. Everyone else could but Syran. She just made things more complicated for herself, stuck somewhere in the past. She still can’t believe it, so she leans forward and brings him down for a kiss again, like she’s trying to get a grasp on reality, like she’s trying to seal it all away and keep it in her heart forever.

Make space for him and nothing else.

There’s only her, and Ilya, and the moon right now, and nothing else matters.

Ilya.

His name sounds like everything she needs.

____________ And here we are, at the end of it! Thank you, everyone who took the time to read! I will post a little epilogue to close things off, but this is it for the most part. Thank you again! <3

#an writes #toc part 5 #fic writing #the arcana fic #julian devorak #syran elkas #ilya devorak #portia devorak #the arcana #nadia satrinava #muriel the arcana #asra alnazar #julianxapprentice #ilyaxapprentice #this was purely self indulgent #but fun #hope you enjoyed!

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