#Reclaimed Engineered Flooring

[ecotimber3]

Sustainable Style: Reclaimed Engineered Flooring by Eco Timber Group

In today's world, where sustainability and style are becoming increasingly intertwined, finding eco-friendly options for home decor is a priority for many. When it comes to flooring, the choice of materials can have a significant impact on both the environment and the aesthetics of your space. This is where reclaimed engineered flooring from Eco Timber Group shines as a beacon of sustainable style.

What is Reclaimed Engineered Flooring?

Reclaimed engineered flooring is a type of flooring that is crafted from reclaimed wood, often salvaged from old buildings, barns, or other structures. Unlike traditional solid wood flooring, which is made from single pieces of wood, engineered flooring is composed of multiple layers. These layers are designed to provide stability and durability, making engineered flooring an excellent choice for high-traffic areas and regions with fluctuating humidity levels.

The Eco-Friendly Advantage

One of the primary advantages of reclaimed engineered flooring is its eco-friendliness. By using reclaimed wood, Eco Timber Group helps to reduce the demand for virgin timber and minimize the environmental impact associated with deforestation. Additionally, the manufacturing process for engineered flooring requires less energy and resources compared to solid wood flooring, further reducing its carbon footprint.

Sustainable Style

Beyond its environmental benefits, reclaimed engineered flooring offers a unique aesthetic appeal. Each plank tells a story, with its distinct grain patterns, knots, and imperfections adding character and charm to any space. Whether you prefer the rustic charm of weathered barn wood or the timeless elegance of aged oak, Eco Timber Group offers a wide range of reclaimed wood species to suit your style preferences.

Durability and Performance

In addition to its eco-friendly and stylish qualities, reclaimed engineered flooring is also known for its durability and performance. The multiple layers of wood provide added stability, making it less prone to warping, shrinking, or expanding due to changes in temperature and humidity. This durability ensures that your flooring will stand the test of time, even in the busiest of households.

Versatility and Versatility

Reclaimed engineered flooring is incredibly versatile and can be installed in a variety of settings, from traditional to contemporary. Whether you're renovating a historic home or designing a modern loft, Eco Timber Group's reclaimed flooring options can complement any design aesthetic. Additionally, engineered flooring can be installed over a variety of subfloor materials, including concrete and radiant heating systems, making it suitable for almost any space.

Conclusion

In conclusion, reclaimed engineered flooring from Eco Timber Group offers a winning combination of sustainability, style, durability, and versatility. By choosing reclaimed wood for your flooring needs, you're not only making an eco-friendly choice but also adding a touch of timeless elegance to your home. With its unique character and long-lasting performance, reclaimed engineered flooring is sure to be a conversation starter and a source of pride for years to come.

Click Here For informationg: https://www.ecotimbergroup.com.au/recycled-messmate-engineered-ply/

Contact Us For More Information

Phone Number: (03) 9421 6866

Fax Number: (03) 9421 6877

Email :  info@ecotimbergroup.com.au

Address: 418 Burnley St (cnr Madden Grv) Richmond 3121 VIC

[iloverobots11]

Rustic Living Room - Living Room Living room - huge rustic open concept brown floor and laminate floor living room idea with brown walls, a stone fireplace and a two-sided fireplace

[korunia]

Open - Living Room Example of a large, open-concept living room with brown walls, a stone fireplace, a two-sided fireplace, and a laminate floor in the mountain style.

[siratonin]

fic prompt! Since I just landed on a flight home, how about Buck and Tommy fly somewhere and this is the time that Buck gets to really see Tommy being a nerd about flying, even if he's not flying the plane himself. If it sparks joy. 😊

Sarah i know i'm so late, but I've been thinking about this since you sent it.. finally, an idea came by lol (hope you like it 🥰)

Buck was mid-ramble about the aerodynamics of commercial planes—something he'd picked up during a late-night internet deep dive before their trip—when he paused, noticing Tommy sitting rigidly beside him.

Tommy’s hand gripped the armrest tightly, his fingers tapping an uneven rhythm as though he couldn’t quite keep them still. His jaw was set, lips pressed into a thin line, and his gaze flickered back and forth between the window and the seat in front of him.

“You okay?” Buck asked, tilting his head toward him.

“Yeah, fine,” Tommy replied quickly, his voice clipped. His eyes didn’t meet Buck’s, and his grip on the armrest tightened slightly as the plane jolted, turning onto the main runway.

Buck didn’t press him. Instead, he shifted in his seat, leaning just a little closer.

As the plane accelerated for takeoff, Tommy exhaled sharply, his foot bouncing lightly against the floor. His fingers tapped the armrest before curling tightly, knuckles pale. His breathing was shallow—measured, as if keeping himself in check. Buck noticed without a word, his gaze flicking briefly to Tommy’s hand before sliding his own over it. His thumb brushed lightly against Tommy’s wrist, a quiet reassurance.

Tommy didn’t react at first, but then Buck shifted his hand, gently coaxing Tommy’s fingers to relax. Tommy hesitated, glancing at Buck out of the corner of his eye, but the tension in his grip eased. Slowly, almost shyly, his fingers relaxing enough for Buck to intertwine them with his own.

Buck didn’t say anything, didn’t even glance at him, just kept talking about the mechanics of lift-off as though nothing was out of the ordinary. His voice was steady and warm, grounding in a way that pulled Tommy’s focus from the roaring engines and the tilt of the plane as it left the ground.

Tommy’s grip tightened briefly around Buck’s hand, but this time it wasn’t out of nervousness—it was something quieter, steadier. Buck’s faint smile grew as he felt the shift, his thumb brushing lightly along the side of Tommy’s hand.

By the time the plane leveled out, Tommy had regained his composure. His usual confidence returned, and Buck could see it in the way he subtly shifted in his seat, reclaiming his space.

And their fingers stayed intertwined, neither of them letting go.

“Sorry about that,” Tommy muttered, finally looking at Buck. “Guess I do not like flying unless I’m the one in control.”

Buck shrugged, giving him an easy grin. “Makes sense. You’re used to being the guy behind the stick. Kind of weird to trust someone else to do the job.”

Tommy let out a soft laugh, nodding. “Exactly.”

Buck leaned closer, his eyes lighting up. “But you’ve got to admit, it’s kind of amazing to just sit back and think about how all this works. I mean, did you know that commercial planes—”

“—can fly even if one engine goes out?” Tommy interrupted; his tone slightly smug. He gave Buck a sidelong glance, his lips twitching into a grin. “Come on, Evan. I’ve been flying helicopters long enough to know a thing or two about rotors and wings—definitely more than you.”

Buck feigned offense, his hand still resting lightly in Tommy’s. “First of all, rude. Second of all, helicopters are completely different from planes. And third, this is my thing. You don’t get to outdo me in rambling about cool stuff.”

Tommy chuckled, leaning his head back against the seat. “Fine. You get this one. But only because I already know all the facts.”

“Oh, do you?” Buck shot back, leaning forward in challenge.

Tommy’s face lit up in a way Buck rarely saw. “Okay, look, I’ll give you this,” Tommy began, his tone shifting into the cadence of someone who truly loved what they were talking about. “Planes are efficient and all, but helicopters? They’re the real magic. Think about it—rotor blades generate lift, but they’re also responsible for propulsion. You’re balancing pitch, yaw, and roll all at the same time. It’s like juggling while standing on a tightrope during a windstorm.”

Tommy kept going, now diving into the mechanics of different flight systems and the nuances between military and civilian helicopters. “And then there’s autorotation recovery—people think it’s impossible, but if you’ve got the skill and focus—”

He suddenly trailed off, catching Buck’s gaze. Buck was staring at him, eyes twinkling and a soft smile curling his lips.

Tommy froze, blinking. “What?”

“What what?” Buck asked, his smile widening innocently.

Tommy’s cheeks turned pink. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Buck chuckled. “Nothing, I’m just listening.”

“Oh…” Tommy hesitated, his blush deepening. “Uh, yeah. Sorry.”

“Sorry? No, I like it. Come on, tell me more!” Buck urged, grinning. “But also, don’t be so biased about helicopters. I also need to know more about planes in general!”

Tommy’s lips twitched into a bashful smile before he nodded, launching back into his explanation with renewed enthusiasm. He gestured with his hands as he spoke, describing the differences in flight dynamics between fixed-wing and rotary-wing aircraft, his voice growing more animated with each passing second.

Buck watched him, mesmerized by the way Tommy’s eyes lit up, the way his hands moved as though he could hardly contain his excitement. Finally, Buck raised a hand, halting Tommy mid-sentence.

“Wait a minute,” Buck said, leaning in. Before Tommy could ask why, Buck kissed him—a brief, warm press of lips that left Tommy blinking in surprise.

Buck pulled back just enough to grin at him. “I might be starting to understand why you never stop me when I ramble.”

Tommy’s smile grew, wide and unrestrained, and before Buck could say another word, Tommy leaned in and kissed him again—a quick, joyful press of lips that made Buck’s heart flip.

When Tommy pulled back, his voice was soft and full of warmth. “I love you.”

Buck blinked, his grin spreading even wider. And he said in a mock-surprise “You do?”

Tommy rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth tugged upward despite himself.

“Just making sure,” Buck teased, his tone light, as if he wasn’t already beaming. “Because I love you too.”

Tommy let out a laugh and without thinking, he brought their intertwined hands up, pressing a quick kiss to the back of Buck’s hand. The small gesture made Buck’s heart skip, but before he could say anything, Tommy leaned back, his grin turning playful. “Okay, so… does this mean I get to win the argument about helicopters being better?”

“Absolutely not,” Buck said, laughing as he bumped his shoulder against Tommy’s. “But I’ll let you try and convince me.”

He glanced at Buck, hesitant for a beat, then took a breath and continued where he left off. “Okay, fine. But since you’re so determined to make this a debate, let me explain why helicopters still have the edge—”

Buck interrupted with a mock groan, throwing his head back. “Oh, here we go again.”

Tommy just laughed, a bright, happy sound that filled the small space between them, and Buck couldn’t help but think that this—this—was his favorite sound in the world.

[cabotwife]

Could you write a Johanna mason x reader fic. where reader was kidnapped by the capital and johanna saves her but reader is like peeta (but a lot less intense) like she’s just really distant to johanna and so she stays as far away as possible and it breaks johanna’s heart. could you make a happy ending?

hope your doing well xx

Remember Who The Real Enemy Is

johanna mason x fem!hijacked!reader

warnings: uuuhh i dunno.. hijacked reader, poor writing, etc

word count: 697

a/n: wrote this at work dont crucify me..

district 13 is quiet, but never silent. there’s always the hum of generators, the clang of boots on concrete, the clipped voices of officials echoing down the metal halls. and somewhere beneath all of that, buried deep like everything else down here, is you.

you sit on the edge of your cot in the medical wing. the overhead lights buzz too loud. you flinch every time they flicker. you don’t talk much. the nurses have stopped trying. they hand you food you never finish and run tests you never ask about. you keep your head down. you stay quiet. that’s what they taught you in your time in the capitol.

johanna leans in the doorway, arms crossed, weight pressed into one hip like she owns the place. she doesn’t. nobody owns anything down here. but johanna doesn’t know how to belong without acting like she doesn’t want to.

"you gonna stare at the wall all day again?" she asks.

you don't respond.

"great," she mutters, and steps inside anyway. she smells like smoke and the recycled soap the compound issues to everyone. it clings to her skin, but it can't wash off the blood under her nails, or the capitol from her eyes.

she tosses a small item onto the foot of your bed. a gear. cleaned, polished. useless now.

"thought you might want a souvenir," she says, too casual.

you stare at it like it might explode. your father gave you one like it once. you remember the way he taught you to reverse-engineer force fields in your kitchen back home, before the quarter quell, before you volunteered in wiress's place, before the capitol got its hands on you.

"don’t tell me you forgot what that is," the brunette says. still sharp, still pushing.

you want to tell her you remember everything. or that you remember nothing. you aren’t sure which is worse.

in your dreams, people in white tell you the rebels are liars. that johanna betrayed you. chose katniss and the rebellion over you. that district 13 is just another kind of prison.

"you think i'm the enemy," johanna says one day, not asking. she sits on the floor with her back against your wall, knees pulled up, picking at the calluses on her hand. "that they sent me to finish the job."

you don’t answer. but you don’t look away either. your eyes are bloodshot, and they burn to keep open.

"i hate this place," she says, not looking at you. "i hate the drills. i hate the people. i hate waking up not knowing if i’m gonna get shot or given a pep talk. but i'm staying for you."

you flinch.

johanna catches it. her voice drops. "not because i’m noble or soft or any of that crap. don’t make that mistake. i stay because you’re the only thing that makes this war feel like it matters."

she's lying. your brain screams at you.

you feel like you should say something. anything. but the words are stuck behind your teeth, choked by static and ghosts. you pull the thin blanket tighter around your shoulders. she doesn’t push further.

days pass. maybe weeks. she keeps showing up. sometimes she talks. sometimes she doesn’t. she brings you things: a broken communicator she says reminded her of you, a tangle of copper wire. one day she brings a journal. completly blank.

"you don’t have to talk to me," she says. "but maybe try talking to yourself."

you don’t touch it for three days. then you write a single word: why.

and the next day, another: remember.

the third day, you write her name.

it goes on like that. slow. uneven. your brain rebels against every truth you try to reclaim. but one morning you wake up and feel the ache in your chest before the fear. it hurts. but it's yours.

you start watching johanna when she walks in. you start nodding instead of looking away. one night, when the lights dim for curfew, she says, "you’re still in there."

you nod.

"good," she says. "because i’m not doing this whole damn war without you."

and for the first time in weeks, you believe her.

[d0vesgr4veyard]

Random Jinx Oneshot

Uhm yeah, Im shit at writing so.... Beware. This is a re-uplood now that I've prooferead it cuz i hated the other one 💜

If i re-read this later and find a mistake girl THIS IS NEVER. GETTING POSTED AGAIN 😭😭😭

MODERN AU (Both are college roommates, Fem!Reader)

Reader is a bit sassy...

The apartment was still. The soft hum of the fridge, the slight flicker of the hallway light. Despite the comfort of your bed you still felt cold... and lonely. So without second thought you pick up your teddy and unplug your phone. Making your way to the room next to you.

Jinx’s room was surprisingly quiet as she settled down, her colored fairy lights lighting the room dimly. Purple, blue, and pink consuming the room. Her room was slightly messy, rubbish strewn across the floor with scraps of her engineering coursework tossed around the room. Suddenly, the slight creak of the door opening caught her attention. Her eyes meeting yours, peering around the door. She pauses, staring at you with confusion spreading across her face. You then swing the door open, sauntering in like you own the place.

“What’re-.. What are you doi-...”

You plop down onto the bed. You’re well-worn teddy slightly smacking against her arm.

“Wha-.. Why are you in here?” Jinx queries

You deadpan at Jinx, as if she asked a stupid question. You turn away from her and open your phone, your teddy snuggled tight against your chest.

“I’m sleeping here.” You eventually answer. She relaxes a bit, laying back down.

“Do you not have your own room?” She pointed out, her protest not really having any heat behind it. You shrug, continuing to scroll through a few more tiktoks. Jinx scoffs at your attitude, her mouth opening and closing a few times. An attempt to come up with some quip to hit back with. “I- uhh- why do you have a teddy?”

“Because I like him.” You answered, holding up the teddy like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Jinx’s face dropping into a scowl at the sight of it. “He also, doesn't ask dumb questions”

“Oi! Cool it with the sass, doll” Jinx rolls her eyes, leaning back against her bed. Getting comfortable again. She turns to you, admiring you a bit. Somehow, you always managed to be there for her.. even when you didnt need to be. Her expression softens, a small smile forming on her face. Growing to enjoy your sudden presence, while everythings calm.

“Need my charger.” You spoke suddenly, tearing through the quiet, hopping off the bed and padding off back to your room. 

“Gods… what’re you doing now?..” She squeaked, her voice trembling slightly.

Jinx watched you in disbelief as you returned, not only with a charger, but with; a throw blanket, a water bottle, and some snacks. Dropping your water bottle and snack onto Jinx’s bedside table. Reclaiming your spot on the bed, you plugged your phone in, slightly pushing back against Jinx’s side as you snuggled under the blanket.

“This isn’t a hotel,” Jinx grumbled

“Obviously, hotels aren’t this messy,” You quipped. Tucking your teddy under your chin, sighing in comfort.

Jinx settled back into her spot, trying her best to ignore you but every movement or squeak you made her attention was immediately pulled. She opened her mouth to say something until you turned over looking at her. Her jaw snapped shut. You looked so content,  She sighed.looking up at her with your eyes half-lidded.

“You’re so distracting’” Jinx stated

“Not my fault.”  You shot back

“You’re in my room!” You stuck your tongue out at her playfully, scrunching up your face. Then swinging your leg over her stomach, straddling her. You lean down, trailing your hands up her sides, your face finding comfort in the crook of her neck. Taking in her scent, you smile against her skin. Jinx’s face rapidly heated up as she nervously laughed.

“Getting comfy”

Jinx rolled her eyes playfully. “You're lucky i like you, doll”

She wrapped her arms freely around you, holding onto your body. She stilled, feeling you breathe against her. The rise and fall of your chest calming her. She leaned down, nuzzling her nose into your hair, as her hold on you tightened. You were gentle with her. You stuck by her, your loyalty making her weak for you, even when comes to you storming into her room acting like a primadonna. A smile tugging at her mouth.

“Love you too, J”

[garden-of-writing]

Hello, since I saw that your requests were open, I would like to ask you about a Forced Agere Sniper x Merc Baby Regressor Reader, thank you very much. ( ´∀`)

RED Sniper x MERC! GN! Reader - Platonic Forced Babyre

A/N: HIHIHI THIS IS MY FIRST REQUEST EVER EEEEEEE, also supes sorry if this is too long + spelling or grammar mistakes, i got an eeensie weensie bit carried away if you couldn't tell LOL

Can't exactly call em headcanons so bullet story thingy under cut!!!! HOPE YOU ENJOY HEHEHEH >:3c 🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

Character: Sniper (RED) Fandom: Team Fortress 2 TW: Use of sedatives, kidnapping, minor violence, non graphic character death, forced agere, Yandere character (but it's like mostly just implied) Summary: A kid like you shouldn't be on a battle field like this, so your enemy Sniper takes matters into his own hands.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

Sniper knew that BLU team was training a new spy, but he definitely wasn't expecting you.

When he saw you for the first time you were backstabbing his team's Engineer. He had a clear shot of you- but he just couldn't pull the trigger.

You were just a kid! A baby even- the gravel war's no place for someone so... little, so fragile! You were going to get seriously hurt out here.

Sure, death is basically meaningless with the Mann CO. Respawner machine, but his point still stands!

He was so lost in thought, his scope swaying that he didn't even hear the rockets coming his way.

One startled awakening in resupply later and the battle was called- RED for the win and BLU for the loss. A wins a win- but he still feels this gnawing at his gut.

Sniper bites his fingernails in thought as everyone begins celebrating early. He packs his weapons up, silently planning his next moves in his head.

Back at base, everyone was to take shifts watching the intelligence. Engineer’s security systems and turrets could only do so much after all.

He volunteered for third watch, should give him enough time to prepare everything in advance if he acts fast.

Your mentor, BLU Spy, congratulates you on doing well for your first battle, he passes a glass of expensive looking wine your way.

“Chevreau, you did exemplary today- you took out their turrets with ease and without injury, no less.”

You light up at the praise and fiddle with the glass in your hands shyly, opening up your mouth to respond when he cuts you off sternly.

“You’re job isn’t finished yet, however.” He lights a cigarette up, taking a drag before continuing, “You must reclaim our intelligence from the hands of those buffoons.”

“It will not be easy, but I have my faith that you will do well.” He flicks his ashes into a nearby tray, before turning to look out the blinded windows.

“You will leave tonight, the folder on the desk has a map of their entrances and exits- as well as the probable area where they may be keeping it.”

A heavy quiet hangs over the room as you take the manila file from it’s resting place and thumb through the contents with one hand.

Circled in red on the floor plans is a lone room center of the lowest floor in the enemy base. You swallow thickly, mouth suddenly dry.

“Sir, this a lot to handle so early- I mean- uh, what if I get captured or... killed?” Your nervous thoughts leak into your voice.

Spy is silent, only turning to look at you over his shoulder.

“You will not let that happen.” He turns back to the window.

“Besides- if you’re captured, you’re already considered dead. Remember that.”

You tuck the folder into the inside of your jacket, before downing the rest of your wine.

“I’ll see to it that it’s done, sir.” With a front of determination, you set the glass on his desk, put on your mask and leave.

Night couldn’t have come any sooner, the shadows are where you belonged and that is where you will stay.

A drunken RED Demoman sings and sways as liquor spills from his bottle, the lone guardian to your golden entry ticket.

You watch with baited breath as the Demoman finally gives way and passes out, snoring peacefully in the dirt.

You quickly flip open your disguise kit and change your appearance to that of the Scotsman. You whisper to yourself to check and see if your voice has been properly changed- only to have your normal octave reach your ears. Dread twists your insides when you realize your modulator still isn’t working.

The damned thing almost cost you your life earlier today with that Engineer! Spy mentioned getting it replaced after the battle, but appears he had either forgotten or you got another dud.

You use your sapper to take out the security camera watching the door before dragging the sleeping guard into the bushes, making sure to pick up the bottle just in case you need to improv.

The door opens with ease, the light creak sounding like nails on a chalkboard. You push deeper into what’s supposed to be the medical wing, passing by supply closets and rooms filled with nothing but crates.

Your heart drops to your stomach as you hear the squeal of linoleum doors being opened and the chatter of voices.

Their Medic’s up late it seems, and he’s not alone.

You duck behind an abandoned medicine cart with bloody surgery tools on it. The whole thing reeks to high heavens, and you have to suppress a gag.

“I knew ya’d set me right doc! Dunno what happened to my shoulda’ but ya damn well fixed it!” Their Scout, brazen- loud, not much of a fighter but not to be underestimated. With his speed the whole base could be alerted in mere moments.

Panicking as you hear footsteps approaching behind, you shakily grab your wrist and click your watch. The quiet noise of your cloak thankfully masked by the two themselves.

“Nein, it was no problem at all, dear Scout. Archimedes and I always appreciate surprise visits, who knows you may walk away a kidney more!”

You press yourself against the wall as you move up and past the two standing in front of the med-bay. You manage to stop yourself just before you run into a waiting chair.

Slinking around it and down the hall, their voices fade and you finally come across the staircase you needed to take.

You let out a sigh of relief as your cloak drops. Iron grip on the bottle in your palm and the knife in your pocket as you descend the steps silently.

Slowly you make your way to the bottom floor, taking your time to knock out any cameras you come across. It feels like you’ve been here for days, when in reality it’s only been about 30 minutes or so.

Spy really should’ve mapped out an elevator for you to take, you’re going to be sore after this.

After ages of walking, you finally hit the last step. Silently cheering yourself on you cautiously make headway down the long hall.

According to what you know, the room should be-

BEEP... kurchuk…BEEP...kurchuk

The sound of sentries reaches your ears, they must be up on the right, the exact way you need to go. You pinch the bridge of your nose in annoyance.

“Of course they would have turrets, what would you expect?” You whisper bitterly to no one but yourself.

Creeping up to your destination you try and prick up your ears, listening for signs of others around, breathing, clanking, etc…

...but it’s much too hard to do with all the noise that sentry is making. You grit your teeth and take the risk, disguising yourself as an Engineer. You turn down the hall and approach the turret.

It takes very little work before the machine crumples to the floor, a little too loud for your tastes, but what’s done is done. You leave the bottle with the scrap and slink further in, fiddling with your butterfly knife as you go.

No more cameras it seems, no sentries either… this is oddly very little security for something so important.

Spy has mentioned that they’ve been dumb and careless before, maybe this is one of those instances and you’re just lucky?

The soft noises of servos and mega computers hits you as you push open the door to the debriefing room.

The room itself is huge, two stories at least, a long table sits in the middle with many chairs around it. A giant screen takes up almost the entire opposite wall, images and data (you wish you had the time to decipher) flash across it.

The air is still, your eyes finally land on your target- the cerulean briefcase sat with it’s red match perfectly in the middle of the table. You glance around, the upper floors are dark and quiet with no visible cameras, it seems you are truly alone.

Maybe Spy was right to put his faith in you, after all it seems you’re fortunate when it comes to this type of stuff.

You step closer to the table, eyes scanning for any hidden security systems, finding none your hand reaches for the cases…

C r e a k….

Your ears pick up on a soft sound from above and you lock eyes with the barrel of a rifle before you feel a sharp pain in your neck, and everything fades to black.

When you awake your eyelids are heavy lead shutters against your blurry vision, it takes so much to keep them open. Groggily you go to move your hands, half-expecting them to be tied or chained but find them...free?

You clench and un-clench your fists, only to notice that there’s some sort of glove around your hands and it’s surprisingly soft.

Confusion helps the fog ebb from your brain as you look down to find pastel mittens strapped to your hands by small belts. You also discover you’re no longer wearing your suit, either, instead sporting a loose baggy t-shirt and soft pajama shorts with fuzzy socks on.

Panic sets in when you realize a chain is cuffed around your ankle, you immediately go to pull on it recklessly. The iron doesn’t budge from it’s place in the wall and instead rattles loudly.

Only when you go to grind your teeth do you realize there’s something in your mouth. A… pacifier?!

You spit it out and drool dribbles down your chin. The offending plastic hangs off your shirt by a handmade clip of some-kind.

“I gotta get outta here, but where is here?!” You whisper to yourself as you wipe your mouth on your shoulder.

Looking around you get a sense that this isn’t apart of RED’s base, it’s way too “lived in.” A camper van perhaps?

The only person on RED you knew to own a van would be-

Squeak…thumpthumpthump…

The squeal of couch springs and heavy footsteps meet your ears as the door on the other side of the small room opens.

RED Sniper stands there, grinning like a devil as he looks at you.

“Figured you’d wake up soon, Roo.”

You glare up at him, hoping to burn a hole through his skull with your eyes alone.

“If you’re going to torture me- just get it over with. Humiliating me is a waste of your time.”

His smile drops at that, “Torture? Nah kiddo, no one’s gettin’ tortured, you’re too little to even be knowin’ about that.”

You stare incredulous, “How old do you think I am?!”

Sniper puts a hand on his chin for just a moment, “1 maybe 2 at the most?”

Enraged you try to stand to lunge for this guy, but your legs wobble and fold underneath you. You collapse forward and he swoops in to catch you.

“Easy there, Roo. Your legs ain’t meant to be walkin’ just yet.”

You pale as nausea sweeps over you, potentially a side effect from the sedative he used.

“There, there- Papa’s got ya.” He holds you in his arms for a minute or two before gently laying you back down onto the pillows on the floor.

“You must be peckish, s’why you’re chuckin’ a wobbly eh?” He grabs a soft blanket out of the dresser in the room and places it over you.

“You stay cozy, lil Roo and I’ll be back with some brekky.” He places the pacifier back into your mouth before he turns and leaves, shutting the door behind him.

You hear the rattling, then clinking of glass and what sounds like a jar being opened. You slowly shift your head, trying to properly take in your surroundings.

You appear to be in a bedroom, and judging by the state of it and who’s with you, it’s safe to say it’s his. With the shackle on your leg you can’t exactly go very far. Besides if you move too much right now you’ll probably faint or worse.

Maybe if you try hard enough he’ll see reason and just let you go?

What exactly do you have to lose? Your team probably already thinks you’re-

The door creaks open once more, Sniper strolls in, a bowl of something white in one hand and a baby bottle in the other.

“I’m ‘fraid yogurt and orange juice s’all I got at the moment.” He goes to sit down in front of you, momentarily setting the food down to help you sit up.

“Once we get ya’ settled, we’ll find out what foods ya’ like. Chokkie maybe?”

He plucks the pacifier from your lips before taking a spoonful of white yogurt and holding it out in front of your face.

“C’mon, Roo, say ‘ah’!”

You eye the food wearily, pushing the nausea and hunger down, keeping your mouth firmly shut.

“Hm.” His previous grin turns into a thin line, as he stares at you silently.

His left hand moves to your face before you can even flinch, his grip his white knuckled on your jaw.

“Say ‘ah’.”

The pain from his fingers forcing your jaw apart makes you yelp in pain, taking advantage of the moment he shoves the spoon of yogurt into your mouth. Using the same hand he keeps your lips shut, your mittens beat at his chest weakly, but he only lets go when you finally swallow.

The yogurt tastes sharp, tangy even- wrong.

“There, was that so hard?” He chuckles, but you sense a darkness to it. He lifts another spoonful up and waits a few seconds.

He’s gauging you.

You shakily open your mouth and allow him to feed you, he gives you a smile in return showing off his pearly whites.

“That’s a good rug rat.”

Sniper praises and coos at you after every bite until all of the food is gone. After the bowl is empty he puts the bottle of orange juice up to your lips.

You go to hold it, not wanting his hands near your face anymore, but he tuts you and pushes your mits back down.

“Ah ah- don’t worry I’ve got ya’ Roo.”

A veiled warning.

You swallow your pride and the juice as quickly as you can without getting sick. Once gone, he pats you on the back a couple times so you don’t “get a tummy ache.”

With your stomach full, the nausea slowly leaves your system but your head feels… light? Like your brain’s full of clouds and sheep.

“Feelin’ better now, ankle biter?”

Your eyes feel heavy again, yet you watch as he pulls a small kangaroo plushie out of his vest and places it in your arms.

“This is for bein’ a good kiddo and eatin’ everthin’.” The kangaroo is soft, and smells like lavender, you think. You feel the pacifier attached to your shirt being pushed gently back into your mouth without a struggle.

Instinctively you snuggle the toy as he cradles you against his chest, slowly rocking you. Sleep claws at the edges of your consciousness as he begins to gravelly hum a lullaby.

He’s good to you if you listen. Maybe if you play along, earn his trust, he’ll let you go...

...or maybe this isn’t so bad? Do you really wanna go back to the stress with the guns and grenades, the bloodshed?

“No more playin’ spook for ya anymore, lil Roo. You just have a nice nap, we’ll leave the fightin’ to the adults, hm?”

And with that you fall asleep.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

[zeke-fanfucs]

@creatortools @bookwor-mmm

🛏️ “Til Snore Do Us Part”

A Blanche x Wyvern Late-Night Chaos Fic

Wyvern lay peacefully in bed, finally winding down after a long day of bounty nonsense, family drama, and Rosella trying to “borrow” his boots again. The bedroom was dim, warm, and filled with the gentle buzz of quiet.

Blanche was already curled up beside him, head tucked under Wyvern’s chin, limbs tangled like he was trying to merge with his husband via osmosis.

“You comfy?” Wyvern mumbled, rubbing slow circles into Blanche’s back.

A sleepy hum answered him. “Mmhmm. You smell like burnt gunpowder and cinnamon. My favorite.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

And then… silence.

Peaceful. Domestic. Perfect.

Until—

SKKKKKNNNRRRRRRRKK—HHHHHRKKKK—

SKRNNNK-CHHHHHHH

Wyvern blinked slowly, staring at the ceiling.

The first snore had been forgivable. The second was concerning. The third sounded like someone revving a broken hover-bike engine in his ear canal.

“…Bunny?”

“SKHHHRK—hhchhhh—”

He turned his head slightly.

Blanche was OUT. Fully in Sleep Mode™, mouth half-open, one ear twitching with each exhale like it was trying to send Morse code. His nose wrinkled with every snort. Adorably devastating.

Wyvern sighed. He loved this man. With his entire heart. But good stars, this was the kind of snore that peeled paint.

He gently rolled to his side, attempting to reclaim some auditory peace.

Blanche’s leg jerked.

Like. FULL swing.

And kicked Wyvern directly in the thigh.

Wyvern made a sound between a growl and a yelp as he slipped sideways, momentum dragging him right over the edge of the bed.

THUMP.

He landed on the floor with a grunt.

A long pause.

From the bed, Blanche blinked awake. “…Wyvy?”

“I’ve been assassinated in my sleep.”

Blanche blinked again, slowly turning his head toward the empty mattress beside him. “…Did I kick you out again?”

Wyvern just groaned from the floor. “With the force of a freight ship, Blanche.”

Blanche shuffled to the edge, looking guiltily over. “I don’t mean to… my legs just get spicy at night.”

“Spicy.”

“Like… energetic? It’s a medical condition.”

Wyvern stared at him. “Your snoring caused an earthquake. Your legs yeeted me into another dimension. And you call that a medical condition?”

Blanche leaned down and kissed the top of his head.

“…Still love me?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Then come back to bed, you dramatic lizard.”

Wyvern sighed, hauling himself back up. “If you kick me again, I’m sleeping in the oven.”

“Fair.”

They settled back in—Blanche wrapped tighter than a burrito again, Wyvern cautiously keeping one leg out of range. The snores resumed a few minutes later, but Wyvern just smiled.

Annoying as he was, Blanche was still his favorite place to be.

Even if that place sometimes kicked him into the void.

[whiteraven87]

Driven by Love: Rebirth from the Ashes - 19. City of Sin [18+]

-----------------------

The Unstoppable Series - Masterlist

Part 3: Driven by Love. Rebirth from the Ashes

Prologue

Nightmares

For Her, I'd Do Anything

Shared Nights

I Thought It Was the End

Scars

Say it again

Pleasant Views

Oh My God

Together

A Shared Trip

The Boss's Girl

I'm Back

She's mine [18+]

The Fight Continues

I Bloomed

Something's Going On

No Brakes

City of Sin [18+]

Title Defense [18+]

FIA Gala

Home and Christmas

Just Us [18+]

A Dream I Don't Want to Wake Up From

Return to Scotland

The Woman Who Blossoms

Return to the Paddock

Media Circus

Total Domination

Marathon

The Limits of Restraint [18+]

The Unexpected Guest

Fear of Loss

The Truth I Didn't Want to Say

I Won't Let You Go

A Promise I Couldn't Keep

The Truth I Couldn't Tell Her

The Last Evening

The Darkest Day of my life

Epilogue

---------------------------

Warnings: slow burn, age gap (23 years), woman racing in F1, boss/driver relationship, sex scenes,

---------------------------

19. City of Sin

LAS VEGAS GP

POV Toto

Las Vegas. The city of lights, sin, and grand spectacles.

For Miriell, this place had become something more. A battleground for revenge.

After the nightmare in Singapore, she had no choice—she had to win. I knew how much it burned inside her. She didn't say it out loud, but I knew her too well. She wanted to take those points, reclaim the lead, and make Max Verstappen watch as she stole the hope for  championship from him.

And she did it exactly as I expected.

Qualifying? Pure dominance.

Miriell squeezed every ounce of performance from the car. Every lap was surgically precise. On the final run, she simply crushed the competition—leaving Max almost four-tenths behind, an eternity at this level.

Pole position was hers, but it wasn't enough. There was still a race to win.

Race Day, Las Vegas

I watched her on the grid, gripping the steering wheel, her body tensed in anticipation of the lights going out.

Green. Go.

Max had a good start. But she had a better one. She immediately blocked him into Turn 1, forcing him to back off. After that, he never saw her again.

The gap grew. I knew she was driving the way only she could—aggressively, yet with surgical precision. Every second mattered, every tire strategy, every decision.

And then fate smiled on her.

Max was battling Lando Norris, pushing harder and harder until... contact. Impact. A spin. Game over.

Verstappen didn't finish the race.

Miriell was untouchable. She won—and she did it in style.

She was the championship leader.

The crowd erupted, the mechanics in the garage exploded with joy, and I... I just watched her.

Watched as she stepped onto the podium. As she lifted the trophy. As she grabbed the champagne and drenched everyone around her.

God, I was proud of her.

Las Vegas – Night After the Race

Las Vegas was alive. Celebrating in Vegas wasn't just a party—it was a spectacle.

We rented the best club in town. Music, lights, drinks—everyone was celebrating like we had already won the championship. Champagne flowed like water, the music pulsed in time with the beating of our hearts. Lights reflected in crystal glasses, and the dance floor vibrated under the weight of hundreds of moving bodies.

And in the center of it all—her.

Miriell... she was in her element. Dressed in her usual style—a white T-shirt with some rock band's logo, black jeans, and sneakers. Casual, like always. She danced. First with the mechanics, then with other team members, and then—with Lewis.

Miriell was dancing with Lewis, laughing, moving her hips to the rhythm of the music as if no one else existed. Of course, I knew it was just fun. Lewis was her friend, like an older brother to her. And yet...

I couldn't look away.

I sat at a table with a few engineers, a glass of whiskey in my hand. Outwardly, I was calm, smiling at the right moments, answering questions. But inside... it twisted me.

Jealousy was irrational. I knew I had no reason to be jealous. Miriell was mine—she loved me, she wanted me, she belonged to me. And yet, I wanted to stand up, walk over to her, wrap my arms around her, and make it clear to everyone here that she was off-limits... but I couldn't.

We had to be discreet.

I watched as Lewis said something to her, making her laugh. Then he took her hand, spun her around, and pulled her close. I knew that move. I was the one who had taught him that.

I clenched my jaw.

Lewis finally caught my stare and immediately understood.

He smirked and walked over to me, leaving Miriell to be swept away by the mechanics.

"Don't make that face, Toto" he said, dropping onto the seat next to me.

"What face?"

"Like you want to rip my head off."

I didn't answer, just raised my glass and took a sip of whiskey.

"Seriously, man, do you really think I'd dare?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

I rolled my eyes.

"That's not the point."

"Then what is?"

I was silent for a moment.

"I just..." I sighed, trying to put into words something that didn't make sense. "I wish I could be there with her."

"Then go."

"I can't. It's not a good idea for me to dance with her in front of everyone and give the media a reason to speculate."

Lewis let out a heavy sigh, leaning back on the couch.

"You do know she's waiting for you, right?"

I shot him a look.

"Maybe not literally, but subconsciously," he continued. "The thing is, you're just sitting here, pretending you're having a good time."

I didn't reply.

"You know my opinion, Toto. I've never hidden the fact that..." He trailed off for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. "That you're a lucky man. But maybe it's time to stop complicating things that are actually simple?"

I shook my head and took another sip of whiskey.

"It's not that easy."

"It never is," he admitted. "But that doesn't change the fact that you're ridiculously jealous over her."

I rolled my eyes.

"Not of you."

"I know," he snorted with laughter. "Of the whole world."

I didn't deny it.

Miriell was like light. She drew people in, fascinated them, made them want to be near her. And that killed me, because I wanted to be the one closest to her.

***

After some time, I walked over to Miriell. She was still on the dance floor, wrapped in the energy of the music, surrounded by laughter and smiling faces.

"I'm heading back to the hotel," I told her over the music.

She looked at me, surprised.

"Already?"

"Yeah. Good night."

For a moment, she looked like she wanted to come with me, but then she just nodded.

"Good night, Toto."

I watched her for a few more seconds. Then I turned and left. But inside, I was burning.

I didn't want to leave. I wanted to stay. I wanted to hold her, dance with her, have her close. But we had to be careful.

In the hotel room

I stood by the window, resting my head against the cold glass. The city was still alive. Las Vegas never slept. And neither did I.

I loved her. I wanted her. And yet, what I felt was irrational.

I was a grown man. I had lived through enough to know that emotions like this should be under control. And yet... I was jealous. Not of Lewis. Not of the mechanics. Of the whole damn world.

Of the fact that I had to hide. That I couldn't just walk up to her, pull her into my arms, and show everyone that she was mine.

I sighed and closed my eyes.

Maybe Lewis was right.

Maybe I was complicating something that was actually simple.

But for now, we had no choice.

All I could do was wait.

I Belong to Him

Las Vegas, the Night After the Race

POV Miriell

I knew something was wrong.

Toto had been tense all evening, though he tried to hide it. I knew him too well to be fooled. He smiled at the right moments, raised his glass in a toast with the team, but when his gaze briefly landed on me and Lewis, there was something in his eyes—something he tried to suppress. Jealousy.

A while later, he simply said goodnight and left.

That wasn't like him.

I didn't think twice. I said my goodbyes to the crew, claiming I was tired and heading to my room. In reality, my steps led me straight to his suite.

I knocked lightly on the door. After a moment, he opened it. He was wearing only a shirt, unbuttoned at the top, his hair slightly tousled, as if he had been running his fingers through it nervously.

"Miriell?"

"You're not asleep yet."

It wasn't a question, just a statement.

Toto stepped aside, letting me in.

"What's wrong?" he asked, closing the door behind me.

I sighed and looked him straight in the eyes.

"That's what I should be asking you."

We sat on the couch. It was quiet. The city lights flickered through the large windows, casting soft reflections on us.

"Toto..." I began gently. "Are you jealous?"

He was silent for a moment, playing with the cuff of his shirt.

"I know I have no reason to be" he finally admitted. "But that doesn't change the fact that I am."

Warmth spread through my chest.

"Toto Wolff, the team principal, the strategist, the analyst... and yet, a jealous man."

He shook his head, but I caught a spark of amusement in his eyes.

I looked at him for a moment, then moved closer.

"You have no reason to be, because I love only you."

Toto gazed at me, and I raised my hand, brushing his cheek.

"I know" he whispered.

I felt the tension in his jaw, the warmth of his skin—and then he leaned in and kissed me.

His kiss was gentle at first, but with each moment, it deepened. There was desire in it, hunger, a need we had suppressed for too long.

I shifted, straddling him, and his hands immediately settled on my hips, pulling me closer.

I felt his breath on my skin as I trailed kisses down his neck, along his collarbones, and lower still, onto his bare chest as I unbuttoned his shirt. He was warm, taut, every muscle coiled under my touch.

He let out a quiet sigh as my lips brushed his skin.

I felt him beneath me, felt how his body responded, how the need in him grew.

Toto slid his hands under my shirt and pulled it off in one swift motion, then wrapped his arms around me, pressing me to him. His lips found my breasts, his tongue brushed my skin, and I dug my fingers into his shoulders as warmth flooded my body.

I was completely lost in the moment. My body craved more.

Yet, somewhere in the deepest corners of my mind, a shadow lurked.

Images flashed—cold, brutal, unwanted... but they couldn't break through.

Not with his touch, not with his kisses—gentle, steady, warm.

Suddenly, Toto pulled away, breathing heavily.

"We need to stop" he said, resting his forehead against mine.

I looked at him, dazed, still burning, my heart pounding.

"Toto..."

"If we don't stop now, I'll lose control."

His voice was strained, as if he were fighting himself.

I blinked, trying to steady my breath. My body screamed not to stop, but my mind was still teetering on the edge.

I felt like I was balancing—between desire and fear, between the present and the past, between him and something that should have long disappeared.

Toto brushed a strand of hair from my face and met my eyes.

"I don't want you to be afraid."

"I'm not afraid of you."

"But you're afraid of something."

I swallowed hard.

"I want you. I really do."

"I know" he whispered. — "But I'll wait."

I closed my eyes and rested against his shoulder, feeling his breath steady my thoughts.

"I wish..." — I murmured softly.

He stroked my back.

"You know I would."

"I need to go back to my room."

He nodded.

I didn't want to leave. His arms were the safest place I knew. I wanted to fall asleep in them, to breathe in his scent, to listen to his steady breath. But I knew I had to go.

Slowly, I stood up, reaching for my shirt. Toto stood with me, took my hand, and pulled me into a soft kiss, as if trying to make the moment last a little longer.

"Goodnight, Liebling."

"Goodnight, Kochanie."

I stepped out, and as I closed the door behind me, I felt the emptiness of his absence hit me harder than I had expected.

The room I returned to felt strangely foreign.

Without him, it was simply empty.

----------------------------------------

NEXT -> 20. Title Defense [18+]

----------------------------------------

"I put my armor on, show you how strong I am."

Read the story here:

AO3 Unstoppable Series

Wattpad: Part1 I Part 2 I Part 3

🇵🇱 Dla Polskich czytelników [for Polish readers] [PL]:

Seria Niepowstrzymana AO3

Wattpad PL: Part1 I Part 2 I Part 3

[ecotimber3]

Craftsmanship Unleashed: Exploring Timber Joinery Supplies for Exquisite Woodwork

Embark on a journey of artisanal excellence with Timber Joinery Supplies, unlocking the door to unparalleled craftsmanship and timeless woodwork. These supplies play a pivotal role in creating bespoke wooden elements, from intricately designed doors and windows to custom cabinetry and furniture.

Timber Joinery Supplies encompass a diverse range of materials, including high-quality timber species, hardware, adhesives, and finishes. Craftsmen and woodworkers can select from a variety of wood types, each possessing unique grains, colors, and textures to suit the desired aesthetic. From the warm tones of oak to the rich hues of mahogany, the options are as diverse as the creative visions they bring to life.

The significance of timber joinery extends beyond visual appeal. Precisely crafted joinery ensures structural integrity, longevity, and resilience in every piece. Whether engaged in architectural projects, interior design, or bespoke furniture creation, timber joinery supplies provide the essential building blocks for transforming raw materials into functional and artistic masterpieces.

In an era where mass-produced goods dominate, timber joinery supplies empower artisans and craftsmen to create items of enduring value, personalized to meet the unique preferences of their clients. By choosing the finest timber joinery supplies, woodworkers embrace a tradition of excellence, where each piece tells a story of skill, dedication, and the timeless beauty of timber in every joint.

[twizzyburger]

Redemption

caught..

part 1!

tags!❀

Captor!König x Engineer!F/NB!Reader

In a digital cataclysm, documents erupted like an insidious storm across the vast expanse of the web, their clandestine contents laying bare the identities of thousands—soldiers, scientists, and amongst them, you were exposed to the unforgiving scrutiny of the virtual tempest.

“We got them…”

Amidst the orchestrated messiness, the room unfolded akin to an engineer's inner sanctum. Commanding the space was a substantial desk, its gleaming surface marred solely by the scattered remnants of papers strewn across both the desk and floor in a harmonious symphony of unbridled inspiration. A glass whiteboard, embellished with a maze of equations and intricate models, stood guard against one wall, bearing witness to the perpetual cerebral ballet that unfolded within. Blueprints graced the encompassing walls like revered manuscripts, revealing the chronicles of meticulously devised weaponry. Delicately crafted miniature weapon models, elegant yet potent, adorned the shelves, murmuring stories of functionality and design.

You sighed, the weight of frustration heavy in the air, as you furiously scribbled on your pad, attempting to rectify a flaw in one of the prototypes you had been diligently working on. The room echoed with the rhythmic dance of your pen against the paper, a silent symphony of dedication. Suddenly, a disruptive banging shattered the cocoon of concentration around you. Annoyed, you tossed the pad onto the desk, irritated that anyone would dare to interrupt your solitary focus. The door swung open, revealing a soldier who entered in haste, speaking at an accelerated pace, leaving you bracing for the unexpected intrusion.

“Everything!Everythingwasleaked!Wecan’tgetaholdofDr.Leon!Everythingwasleaked!Soldiers,scientists,everyone!”

You stared at the soldier in confusion, the rapid stream of words leaving you struggling to grasp the urgency in their message. Frowning, you held up a hand, a silent plea for them to slow down and articulate their message more clearly. "Take a breath and start from the beginning," you urged, a mix of irritation and genuine curiosity flickering in your eyes as you waited for the soldier to unravel the reason behind their sudden intrusion.

“They leaked everything! Dr. Leon is in another country, he can’t take deal with it and our signals have been cut off!”

Your inquiry about the leak causes your mind to race with the sudden revelation. The soldier swiftly details that all classified information, including yours, has been compromised. A surge of concern tightens your chest, prompting both of you to hurriedly head to your computer. With a flash drive from Dr. Leon, you deftly maneuver through the digital maze, inputting a protective code to shield the exposed information from prying eyes.

A sense of triumph illuminates your face as the safeguard activates, preventing unauthorized access to your sensitive data. "Dr. Leon provided this for emergencies," you share, your voice tinged with a blend of relief and gratitude. The once chaotic room now stands as a fortified defense against the digital intrusion that loomed, threatening to unveil your identity to the world.

With a nod of gratitude, the soldier acknowledges your efforts and swiftly exits the room, leaving you to reclaim the sanctuary of your workshop. As the door closes behind them, you return to your desk, picking up your notepad with a renewed focus. The urgency of the situation lingers in the air, but you find solace in the familiar dance of pen against paper as you continue to modify and refine your designs.

…A sudden bang startles you, and your eyes dart towards the door. A fleeting thought suggests it might just be routine shooting practice, but before you can dismiss it, another loud bang echoes through the air. Alarmed, you yell, uncertainty gripping your senses. The unmistakable thud of boots pounding in the hallway draws your attention, the cacophony growing louder and more chaotic. A tense realization settles in, shattering the illusion of routine, as you brace yourself for the unexpected tumult that now encircles your once-quiet workspace.

"Where are they?!" a voice with a distinct German accent echoes, a hint of urgency cutting through the air. The voice, slightly high-pitched yet carrying a rough edge, raises your concern. A series of more bangs and a thud against your door intensify the chaos. Reacting swiftly, you stand and make your way to a nearby closet in your room, seeking refuge and concealment amidst the unfolding uncertainty. The echoes of commotion linger in the air as you brace yourself for the unknown presence outside your door.

Another resounding bang reverberates through the room, and with a sickening crack, the hinges of your door surrender to the relentless force. The door bursts open, hanging precariously from the damaged frame. Panic courses through your veins, and you instinctively hold your breath, pressed against the back of the closet in fear.

As the intruder strides into the room, you catch a glimpse through the crack in the closet door. The man is tall, towering over the space with an intimidating presence. A hood shrouds his features, casting a veil over his intentions. Your limited military training pulses through your veins, a meager defense against this imposing adversary, knowing that you could not beat this mammoth of a man. The closet becomes a fragile sanctuary as you silently pray that the looming threat passes without unveiling your hiding place.

[forest-wyvern]

----- hunted

---------- content warnings: blood, guns, cursing, violence found image on pinterest ---------- words: 631

written by © forest-wyvern .

The dense jungle was alive with the hum of helicopters above and the faint thrum of military vehicles cutting through the underbrush below. A covert U.S. military operation was underway in the heart of a remote, restricted zone, code-named Vanguard. The operation was supposed to be a search-and-destroy mission—precision, stealth, absolute control. But the jungle had its own plans.

Commander Riles, leading the mission, stared down at the map in his hands, eyes scanning over the thick vegetation ahead. His unit, an elite task force with specialized gear, was prepared for anything—anything, that is, except for what they were about to face.

The first sign came with a distant, guttural screech that made the hairs on Riles' neck stand on end. "What the hell was that?" he muttered, but before anyone could answer, the ground trembled.

"Contact!" yelled Sergeant Davenport, as the first Utahraptor burst from the undergrowth, its powerful legs propelling it forward with terrifying speed. Its eyes locked onto the soldiers with unnerving intelligence. A second raptor followed, then a third—and soon the jungle erupted in a frenzy of motion. Their claws clicked like sickles against the forest floor, a warning too late to heed.

The raptors moved with brutal precision. They weren’t just predators—they were soldiers in their own right, attacking with an eerie level of coordination. A soldier at the front, Lieutenant Daniels, raised his rifle, but before he could fire, one of the raptors was already on him, its claws raking across his chest as it tore him from the ground and sent him flying into a tree.

"Fire, goddamn it, FIRE!" Commander Riles shouted, his voice hoarse with panic. Bullets ricocheted off the raptors' scaly hides, but the creatures were too fast, too agile. They darted around the soldiers, swarming them like a pack of wolves on a hunt. The military’s advanced tactics and weapons, once the epitome of precision and efficiency, were no match for the raptors' raw speed and lethal instinct.

The jungle was no longer a jungle—it was a warzone. The chopper overhead swung low, its blades cutting through the thick foliage. But the raptors weren’t fooled. One, its long tail flicking like a deadly whip, leapt into the air, its claws ripping into the helicopter’s landing gear. The chopper swayed, and then, with a deafening crack, it dropped from the sky, its flaming wreckage disappearing into the trees below.

Sergeant Davenport’s breath quickened. He fired off a few rounds but only managed to hit one of the raptors in the side—no effect. He backed up, eyes wild. A second raptor closed in, its tail lashing out to knock his weapon from his hands. It was game over. The soldier was dragged off, his screams swallowed by the thick, dark forest.

The pack of Utahraptors didn’t stop. They systematically broke down the soldiers, isolating them, cutting them off from each other, picking them off one by one. Their intelligence was unmistakable—they knew how to outmaneuver their prey, how to divide and conquer. Even when Riles and what was left of his squad tried to regroup, the raptors were already waiting, their piercing eyes gleaming through the shadows.

The military’s precision faltered, their carefully calculated plans unraveling before their eyes. It wasn’t just a fight against the creatures—it was a fight for survival in a land that had long since ceased to be tamed. The raptors weren’t just animals anymore. They were a force of nature, and the military operation had unwittingly stepped right into their domain.

By the time the last soldier fell silent, the jungle had reclaimed its reign. The sounds of choppers, engines, and gunfire faded, replaced by the quiet, predatory shrieks of the pack, echoing triumphantly through the trees. And the jungle, as it always had, swallowed them whole.

written by © forest-wyvern .

tags @revluvzen

[thesiltverses]

Once again, you have managed to wrench my heart free of my chest with this new episode. It's really amazing stuff. My question is, how did you guys come up with the idea for the "lights are back on" moment? It is honestly one of the best uses of dramatic irony I have ever witnessed in media, and it really has had a visceral effect in the fandom from what I have seen.

Really glad you enjoyed it! As to your question...

...no grand story behind its conception, really, it just seemed like an organic way of demonstrating what had happened offscreen.

I don't know if it consciously inspired the moment, but when I try and think of comparables, I think of Carla Jean Moss' death in No Country For Old Men being shown only with Anton Chigurh wiping off his feet as he exits her house - an implicit moment which is only possible because the film had previously established the image of blood trailing across the floor towards his shoes in an earlier scene.

Foreshadowing doesn't feel like quite the right term because it's more mechanical than that, but I like doing prepwork in early scenes that opens up space and possibilities for implicit action later on.

I think action in audiodrama is often about how little you can get away with showing (as there's no visuals, it's hard to get across scale or character positioning, and many of the key indicators of action can be monotonous or unclear in audio, like gunshots, punches and grunts, etc).

So I find it's helpful to formally consider the possibilities of any action sequence in terms of how much prepwork we can do in the scenes leading up to it: if we have Carpenter and Faulkner walking on the ramparts and in the lower caves of the Paraclete's Gulch having a calm conversation, does that then give the listener a clear sense of the choreography when the battle kicks out? If we establish that the lights coming back on means the grid has been reclaimed, what extra space does that give us to be less blunt and upfront about the fates of the engineers?

[lukascout]

Guess I'm The New Scout!

Story 2: Dumpsterfire

Why did I take this job? Why didn't I just run? I'm gonna die all because I'm a fucking moron.

Luka never dreamed he'd be staring down the barrel of a revolver. A revolver that shouldn't be in the Medic’s hands. He kept his hands over his head as the cylinder slowly clicked, a sound that whispered death. What would even be the point of running away? As the disguise dissipated in smoke, Luka's gaze wandered to meet the Spy's as he saw the poor lad out.

“My apologies, but ze doctor is not available.” Was the last thing he heard before… blackout.

…? Numb…? Why am I suddenly numb?

He could have sworn he was dead. When's the last time you heard of a man surviving a point blank gunshot? Unless the Engineer was not kidding or this was limbo, this was Hell for all he cared. Bracing for the worst, Luka tried to force his eyes open.

…W-White light… hurts…

A muffled voice pierced the lad's senses. He tried to respond to the voice but to no avail as he couldn't seem to find his own voice. He almost wanted to scream but wasn't sure if he still had a mouth. 

A pair of blazing red hands meeting Luka’s eyes were enough to send them into panic as they finally found feeling in their legs, crashing back-first into the lockers. He grabbed his Scattergun but nearly lost his grip on it before aiming it at the figure in front of him.

“Whoa there, son! You're OK!” He heard the familiar, albeit still a little muffled, voice of the Engineer.

Luka blinked, not fully trusting his surroundings still. Slowly he turned his head in the direction he heard Engineer.

“D-Dell…? Is that you? Where am I?”

“You're back here in resupply! Safe and sound!”

Wait. Resupply. If I'm here, then who's-

As they scanned the room, it sank into Luka that they were aiming their Scattergun at the Medic, the real Medic, who leaned back as he held his hands up at face level. A hot wash of red burned across their face and down their shoulders as tears started to form in the corners of their glossy coldsteel eyes. As if dying to that sapphire snake wearing the doctor's face wasn't enough.

“You alright there, son?” Engineer asked.

Before Luka could even say a word, the roaring disturbance known as Soldier echoed through the room. Luka winced at the volume. The men watched him punching the air around him.

“Graaah! I had that son of a bitch right where I wanted him! If I ever see that Sniper out of his little nest, I'll snap his neck in half!” The Soldier ranted at basically nobody before rushing back into battle as if this was just another day for them. This struck a nerve in the already overstimulated lad.

“How can you guys die then walk around like nothing happened!? You're all insane!” Luka shouted as he slumped down into the floor sobbing and covering his ears. “Why didn't I just say no, why?”

The other men found themselves unsure of what to say to the crying mess before them. A shout directed at the Medic brought him quickly to his feet. With the doctor gone, the Engineer was left to deal with the still sobbing Luka. He grabbed a bottle of water and sat next to him.

“Didn't know what to expect, eh?”

Luka only responded with a glare.

“Heheh… I understand.” Engineer chuckled as he handed the water to Luka. He hesitantly took the water and took a few gulps to reclaim some lost moisture. God, Luka hated crying so much.

“...I'm sorry.” Luka said after a period of going non-verbal.

“For what?”

“For… Well, ya know. Being myself.”

“Hey now. You're alright, son…” Engineer reassured him, “Whenever you're ready…”

-----

It had been a little over a few hours since Luka's brush with death and resurrection. He died quite a few times since then but it was still a bitch every time. The worst part of it was the nausea that he could swear his whole body felt. You know, like when you skip breakfast. It took him all the willpower and copious amounts of water to not puke. This time around, he took probably the worst hit to the face since a childhood jungle gym incident. At least he got his teeth back. Did he like the fact he died once again? No. Hell no, even.

“Uuugh! I will never get over that!” Luka yelled as the numbness, nausea, and panic came and went.

The jovial laughter of the mad doctor brought Luka back to the present. He couldn't tell if Medic was laughing at him or not but he still wasn't happy about it.

“Oh bore off! I'm new to this!”

“Zat's ze exhilaration of ze cycle of life and painful deaths!” Medic said with a laugh. Luka looked at him like he had two heads.

“Excuse me?”

“Rush into ze battlefield knowing full vell zat you're going to die a painful death. But you'll get better in about five seconds, ja?”

Luka knew everyone on the team was their own brand of crazy based on what little he observed. But what he just heard made him question how and why this man became a field medic. Or why he even still had his medical license. (Spoiler alert; he does not.)

“...Doc?”

Medic tilted his head in questioning.

“Why do you give pep talks in the creepiest ways?”

“He's not wrong, Doktor…” Heavy commented.

“I beg your pardon!?” Medic reeled back and made a pearl clutching gesture. It was hard to tell if it was real or exaggerated, but they started arguing. It was a weird sight to behold but Luka was not gonna stick around to see how it was going to end. He awkwardly backed out while they continued to bicker.

I'm not bothering with all that mess.

Not even half an hour after his last death, Luka respawned back into resupply. But instead of looking panicked his face was dusted with a lovely shade of pink. And it wasn't because Heavy and Medic were still on about their weird, pointless argument. Although, that itself seemed to come to a weird head as he turned to see that Heavy was now sitting atop of Medic's back, pinning him to the floor.

“Get off of me, Schweinhund!” Medic shouted as he tried to crawl out from underneath the giant man.

Heavy simply ignored the shrieking doctor as he realized that Luka had come back. An enraged Soldier followed shortly after.

“Hartman!? This is the twentieth time you've died today! What do you have to say for yourself!?”

“Seventeen! He actually died seventeen times!” Medic corrected him.

It only occurred to Luka now that this was a pretty normal thing that happens around these parts with this group of mercs. How and why the hell any of them took any of this, he had no clue. But it was definitely going to be a new normal for him. Hey, who knows? Maybe Luka could finally get over some anxiety issues and shyness along this crazy road. The only thing that made it not perfect was the Fullmetal Jackass. Eh, I'm getting a little ahead of myself.

“...Well, I'm not afraid of death anymore, but now I'm terrified of dying embarrassing deaths.” Luka said after processing the whole ordeal.

Medic raised an eyebrow “Oh? What happened?”

“I uhhh… stumbled backwards off a cliff and head first into a dumpster.”

Heavy winced at the image in his head. Not only would it hurt like a knife to the face but it'd probably smell like slow death too. The sound of Soldier chuckling brought him out of his thoughts.

Luka groaned “What's so funny?”

“This isn't garbage day, Hartman!”

“Did you just call me trash!?”

[shiorihyugawrites]

Steadfast Hearts

In the aftermath of global war, alliances are forged, and new bonds are tested. Dr. Tiana Belrose, a brilliant Androsian engineer, arrives in Paradis with cutting-edge technology, her country's hopes on her shoulders, and a guarded heart. Her brilliant inventions are the reason why Marley invaded and ravaged her country, but Tiana refuses to sit back and do nothing.

Assigned to be her personal guard, the stoic and battle-hardened Captain Levi Ackerman is known for his discipline, but as they spend countless hours together, he finds himself drawn to the woman he’s sworn to protect.

In the midst of battles against Marley, political intrigue, and the weight of their responsibilities, an unexpected romance begins to blossom between two unlikely hearts. As tensions rise on the battlefield and within their own ranks, Levi and Tiana must navigate their feelings in a world that doesn’t allow for weakness.

Love was the last thing either of them expected to find in the midst of war, but it may be the only thing that saves them. (Levi x Black OC)

Epilogue II

Six years had passed since the war’s end, and the island of Androsia had blossomed into a vibrant testament to resilience and hope. The scars of conflict had faded, replaced by bustling markets, rebuilt homes, and the laughter of a people who had reclaimed their future. The turquoise waves lapped gently against coral shores, and the air carried the scent of hibiscus and salt. At the heart of this thriving nation was a small seaside home, nestled among palm trees, where the Belrose-Ackerman family had built a life of love, purpose, and unyielding joy.

The morning sun poured through the open windows of the house, casting golden beams across a cozy living room cluttered with books, tools, and toys. A small figure darted across the hardwood floor, his bare feet pattering with purpose. Zion Belrose-Ackerman, five years old and brimming with curiosity, was a whirlwind of energy. His caramel skin glowed under the sunlight, the perfect blend of his father’s pale complexion and his mother’s rich, dark hue. His dark brown eyes, inherited from Tiana, sparkled with a thirst for knowledge, and his curly afro bounced as he moved, a crown of soft, springy coils that seemed to capture the light itself.

“Demetri!” Zion called, his voice high and insistent as he clutched a half-assembled toy airship. “Why does this not fly yet? I put all the pieces together!”

The android, Demetri, stood patiently in the corner, his sleek metallic frame gleaming softly. His LED eyes blinked with a warm amber glow, programmed to convey affection. “Master Zion, you have connected the propulsion unit to the wrong circuit,” he explained in his calm, melodic tone. “Would you like me to assist you, or would you prefer to troubleshoot independently?”

Zion’s little brow furrowed, his lips pursing in a way that was unmistakably Tiana’s. “I wanna figure it out,” he declared, plopping onto the floor with a pile of tiny screws and wires. He was a miniature engineer, his small hands already deft with tools, a trait nurtured by countless hours spent tinkering in Tiana’s workshop. Demetri, ever the loyal nanny, hovered nearby, ready to intervene if a screw went astray but content to let Zion explore.

From the kitchen, Tiana watched her son with a smile that radiated pride and warmth. At thirty-one, she was more radiant than ever, her dark curls pulled into a loose bun, her professor’s blazer slung over a chair. She stirred a pot of curry chicken, the aroma mingling with the sea breeze drifting through the open door. Her pregnancy had softened her curves, but her energy was as fierce as ever. As a professor at the University of Androsia, she was beloved—a war hero turned educator whose lectures inspired a generation of dreamers and inventors. Her students adored her, not just for her brilliance but for her kindness, her ability to make even the most complex concepts feel attainable.

“Zion, don’t pester Demetri too much,” Tiana called, her voice teasing but gentle. “He’s got enough to do keeping up with you.”

Zion looked up, his big eyes gleaming with mischief. “But Mummy, Demetri likes fixing things with me! Right, Demetri?”

“Affirmative,” Demetri replied, his tone laced with programmed humor. “Master Zion’s enthusiasm for engineering is… statistically significant.”

Tiana laughed, shaking her head. “That’s one way to put it.”

The front door creaked open, and Levi stepped inside, his presence instantly commanding the room despite his casual attire. At forty-two, he was still lean and sharp, his steel-gray eyes softened only by the sight of his family. His black hair was slightly longer now, swept back from his face, and a few faint lines marked the years of war and survival. As a naturalized citizen of Androsia and one of its generals, Levi was a respected figure, his reputation as “Humanity’s Strongest Soldier” now a legend woven into the island’s history. Yet, in this home, he was simply a husband and father, his heart irrevocably tethered to Tiana and Zion.

“Oi, brat,” Levi said, his voice low but warm as he eyed Zion’s scattered project. “You turning my house into a workshop again?”

Zion’s face lit up. “Papa!” He scrambled to his feet, abandoning his airship to launch himself at Levi’s legs. Levi caught him effortlessly, hoisting the boy onto his hip with a practiced ease that belied his once-stoic demeanor. Zion wrapped his arms around Levi’s neck, chattering excitedly. “I’m making a ship that flies! But it’s not flying yet, and Demetri says I did the circuit wrong, but I think I can fix it if I—”

“Slow down,” Levi interrupted, a rare smile tugging at his lips. “You’re gonna talk my ear off before I even get my boots off.”

Tiana turned from the stove, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “He’s been like this all morning.”

Levi snorted, setting Zion down gently. “Yeah, well, he’s got your brains and your stubbornness. Poor Demetri doesn’t stand a chance.”

“Poor Demetri is fully equipped to handle Master Zion’s inquiries,” Demetri interjected, his LED eyes flickering playfully. “Though I must admit, his questions are increasing in complexity at an exponential rate.”

“See?” Zion piped up, puffing out his chest. “I’m smart!”

“Too smart for your own good,” Levi muttered, ruffling Zion’s curls. He crossed the room to Tiana, his expression softening as he slipped an arm around her waist. “How’s my other genius doing?”

Tiana leaned into him, her hand resting on her belly. “Tired, but happy. The baby’s been kicking like crazy today. I think they’re taking after you already.”

Levi’s brow arched. “Kicking like me? That’s a problem.”

She laughed, swatting his arm. “A good problem.”

Their moment was interrupted by a loud clank from the living room. Zion had knocked over a pile of screws, and Demetri was already moving to contain the chaos. “Master Zion, perhaps we should organize the components before proceeding,” the android suggested diplomatically.

“Sorry, Demetri!” Zion chirped, diving back into his project with undeterred enthusiasm.

Levi shook his head, muttering, “Kid’s gonna drive us all insane.”

“But you love it,” Tiana teased, brushing a kiss against his cheek.

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he pulled her closer, his hand settling protectively over her belly. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I do.”

…

The day unfolded with the easy rhythm of a family at peace. After lunch—a spread of curry, coconut rice, and fresh mango that Zion declared “the best ever”—Tiana prepared to head to the university for her afternoon lecture. Levi insisted on walking her there, despite her protests that she was perfectly capable.

“You’re six months pregnant,” he pointed out, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’m not letting you waddle across town alone.”

“Waddle?” Tiana shot him a mock glare, hands on her hips. “Levi, I do not waddle.”

He smirked, undeterred. “You’re waddling right now.”

She huffed, but the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her amusement. “Fine. But only because I know you’ll follow me anyway.”

They stepped out into the Androsian afternoon, the air warm and fragrant with frangipani. Zion skipped ahead, clutching Demetri’s hand, his endless questions filling the air. “Demetri, why does the sun make shadows? Why don’t clouds fall down? Why—”

“Master Zion,” Demetri replied patiently, “the sun’s light is refracted by objects, creating shadows due to the absence of light in specific areas. Clouds remain aloft due to atmospheric buoyancy and—”

Levi tuned them out, his focus on Tiana. She walked beside him, her hand in his, her satchel slung over her shoulder. Her confidence was magnetic, but he couldn’t shake the protective instinct that had defined him since the day they met.

“You nervous about the election?” he asked, glancing at her.

Tiana’s expression turned thoughtful. Her decision to run for Parliament was bold, ambitious—a natural evolution of her role as a leader. The people of Androsia adored her, and Paradis had already sent messages of support. Her dream was clear: one day, she would become Prime Minister, a vision that both thrilled and terrified her.

“A little,” she admitted. “It’s not just about winning. It’s about proving I can make a difference. For Androsia. For Paradis. For… us.” Her hand brushed her belly, and Levi’s heart tightened.

“You will,” he said with quiet conviction. “You’ve already changed the world once. This is just the next step.”

She smiled, squeezing his hand. “And you’ll be there with me?”

“Always,” he said, his voice low but unwavering.

They reached the university, a sprawling campus of white stone and lush greenery. Students waved as Tiana approached, their admiration evident. One young woman, Sofia, ran up with a notebook clutched to her chest.

“Dr. Belrose!” Sofia called, her voice bright. “I finished the resonance model you assigned. Can you check it before class?”

Tiana’s face lit up. “Of course, Sofia. Let’s see it.”

Levi watched as Tiana dove into the student’s work, her enthusiasm infectious. Zion tugged at his hand, pointing at a nearby fountain. “Papa, can we throw coins in it? For wishes?”

Levi raised an eyebrow. “Wishes, huh? What do you want to wish for?”

Zion thought hard, his little face scrunching. “I want… a robot like Demetri! But smaller. So I can carry it.”

Levi chuckled, a rare sound that still felt foreign on his lips. “You’ve already got Demetri. Don’t get greedy.”

“But I want two Demetris!” Zion insisted, his eyes wide with his childlike logic.

Demetri, overhearing, tilted his head. “Master Zion, I am flattered by your enthusiasm, but I am a unique unit. A second Demetri would require significant resources and—”

“See?” Levi cut in. “Even Demetri thinks you’re pushing it.”

Tiana glanced back, laughing. “You two are ganging up on my baby now?”

“Your baby’s a menace,” Levi said, but his tone was warm, his eyes soft as he watched Zion toss a coin into the fountain with exaggerated care.

As Tiana finished with Sofia, she rejoined them, her lecture notes in hand. “Ready to inspire the next generation?” Levi asked.

“Always,” she replied, her smile radiant. “But I’ll be back for dinner. Don’t let Zion turn the house into a scrapyard.”

“No promises,” Levi said dryly.

She kissed him softly, then leaned down to kiss Zion’s forehead. “Be good for Papa, okay?”

“Okay, Mummy!” Zion chirped, already distracted by a butterfly fluttering nearby.

Levi watched her disappear into the lecture hall, his heart full. He turned to Zion, who was now chasing the butterfly with relentless determination. “Alright, brat. Let’s get you home before you tear this place apart.”

…

Back at the house, Levi settled into the afternoon routine. He wasn’t one for idleness, but fatherhood had softened his edges. He sat on the porch with a cup of tea—black, no sugar, as always—while Zion played in the yard, building a makeshift fort out of driftwood and string. Demetri supervised, offering occasional engineering advice that Zion absorbed with alarming speed.

“Papa!” Zion called, waving a stick triumphantly. “Look! It’s a sword like yours!”

Levi’s lips twitched. “That’s a stick, not a sword. You’d get splinters before you could swing it.”

Zion pouted. “But I’m gonna be strong like you!”

“You’re already strong,” Levi said, his voice softer than he intended. “Just… don’t poke your eye out.”

As the afternoon wore on, Levi received a message from the Androsian military command. A meeting was scheduled to discuss joint training exercises with Paradis, a role Levi had taken on as General Ackerman, liaison and strategist. His reputation preceded him—soldiers spoke of him with reverence, and even the most seasoned Androsian officers deferred to his expertise. He was no longer just “Humanity’s Strongest”; he was a leader shaping a new era of peace.

He glanced at Zion, who was now explaining to Demetri why his fort needed a “rocket launcher.” Levi shook his head, muttering, “Tiana’s gonna have my head if he blows something up.”

Demetri’s LEDs blinked. “I assure you, General, I am monitoring all potential explosive risks.”

“Good,” Levi said. “Because I’m not explaining that to her.”

The meeting was brief but productive. Levi outlined a training regimen that blended Paradisian ODM tactics with Androsian martial arts, a fusion that had already strengthened their forces. The officers listened intently, and when Captain Alana praised his precision, Levi brushed it off. “Just doing my job.”

But inside, he felt a quiet pride. This was his life now—not just fighting, but building. For Androsia. For Tiana. For Zion.

…

Evening fell, and the Belrose-Ackerman home came alive with the scent of dinner. Tiana returned, flushed from her lecture but glowing with energy. She scooped Zion into her arms, laughing as he recounted his day of “engineering” and “sword fighting.”

“You’re gonna be trouble, aren’t you?” she teased, kissing his cheek.

“Like Papa!” Zion declared.

Levi snorted from the kitchen, where he was setting the table. “Don’t blame me for that.”

Dinner was a lively affair. Tiana had cooked a feast of stewed chicken, peas and rice, and fried plantains—Zion’s favorite. The boy chattered nonstop, asking questions about everything from the stars to why chickens didn’t fly like airships. Levi answered with his usual dry wit, while Tiana filled in the scientific gaps with patience and enthusiasm.

“Demetri,” Zion said suddenly, pointing a sticky finger at the android. “Why don’t you eat?”

Demetri’s LEDs flickered. “I am powered by a fusion core, Master Zion. Food is unnecessary for my functionality.”

“But food is yummy,” Zion insisted, holding up a piece of plantain.

Tiana laughed. “He’s got you there, Demetri.”

Levi smirked. “Kid’s got a point. You’re missing out.”

After dinner, they moved to the porch, where the night air was cool and the stars glittered like diamonds. Zion curled up in Levi’s lap, already drowsy, while Tiana leaned against his shoulder. Demetri stood nearby, scanning the perimeter out of habit.

“Think he’ll be like this forever?” Tiana asked, watching Zion’s eyelids flutter.

“Hope not,” Levi said. “I can’t keep up with that many questions.”

She elbowed him playfully. “You love it.”

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he looked at her, his expression softening. “You’re gonna be Prime Minister one day. You know that, right?”

Tiana’s breath caught. “You really think I can do it?”

“I know you can,” he said. “You’ve got the whole island behind you. Paradis, too. And me.”

She smiled, tears pricking her eyes. “I couldn’t do any of this without you, Levi.”

He brushed a curl from her face. “Same goes for you.”

Zion stirred, mumbling sleepily, “Mama… Papa… love you.”

They both froze, their hearts swelling. Tiana kissed his forehead, whispering, “We love you too, baby.”

Levi held them both a little tighter, his voice barely audible. “More than anything.”

…

The next few days brought a surprise—a visit from the scouts. The airship from Paradis landed with its usual fanfare, and out poured Hange, Erwin, Jean, Connie, Sasha, Armin, and Mikasa, all eager to see the Belrose-Ackerman family and, of course, to eat at The Island Titan.

Eren greeted them at the platform, his restaurant apron tied haphazardly, his wives Ashlyn, Bianca, and Camille at his side. “You’re late!” he called, grinning. “Food’s getting cold!”

Sasha sprinted forward, nearly tackling him. “You better have saved me some fish!”

The group descended on the restaurant, which was as lively as ever. The tables were laden with grilled snapper, curry goat, and mango tarts. Hange immediately demanded to see Zion, who toddled out proudly to show off his latest “invention”—a toy boat that actually floated.

“Look, Aunt Hange!” he squealed, splashing water everywhere.

Hange gasped dramatically. “You’re a genius, just like your mom!”

Levi, watching from a corner, muttered to Erwin, “She’s gonna spoil him rotten.”

Erwin chuckled. “She already has.”

The night was a whirlwind of laughter and chaos. Jean and Connie tried to outdrink Eren, only to be outdone by Ashlyn. Sasha ate enough for three people. Armin and Nae, now officially a couple, shared quiet smiles. Mikasa, ever reserved, watched Eren with a mix of exasperation and fondness.

Tiana and Levi sat at the head of the table, Zion asleep in Levi’s arms. Hange raised a glass, her voice thick with emotion. “To Tiana and Levi—the strongest damn couple I know. And to Zion, the future of us all.”

The table erupted in cheers. Levi rolled his eyes but lifted his glass. Tiana beamed, her hand resting on her belly.

Zion was now snoring softly against Levi’s chest and he and Tiana knew it was time for their little engineer to get some rest. Demetri, ever attuned to Zion’s needs, came over and lifted him from Levi’s arms, taking him to the small guest bedroom in the back of the restaurant to rest quietly.The android’s LED eyes glowed softly as he adjusted the blanket, his mechanical precision tempered by a programmed tenderness that made him the perfect nanny.

Back at the table, Hange was in rare form, her glasses glinting as she leaned over to cradle Tiana’s baby bump with exaggerated reverence. “Look at this!” she exclaimed, her voice slurring slightly from rum. “Another little genius on the way! Levi, you old man, you’ve still got enough spunk to make babies, huh?”

Levi’s eyebrow twitched, his expression a mix of exasperation and amusement. “Old?” he muttered, sipping his Androsian Rum Killer—a drink Camille had warned would “knock him on his ass.” “Watch it, four-eyes. I could still take all of you in a fight.”

Tiana laughed, her hand resting on Levi’s arm. “Oh, come on, Hange’s got a point. You are pushing forty-five, and yet here we are, baby number two.” She patted her belly, her smile radiant. “And Zion’s proof we make the cutest kids.”

“Damn right,” Eren chimed in, grinning as he slung an arm around Bianca. “That kid’s not just cute—he’s freaky smart. I swear, he used some word the other day I’d never even heard of. What was it, Ashlyn?”

“Thermodynamics,” Ashlyn said, her voice laced with pride as she leaned into Eren. “He’s five, and he’s already asking Demetri about energy transfer. It’s wild.”

“Genius, just like his mom,” Camille added, winking at Tiana. “You’re raising a little Tiana 2.0.”

Levi snorted, setting his glass down. “Boy, does he know it. Kid asks a million questions a day. If it weren’t for Demetri’s endless patience, I’d have lost my mind by now.”

Demetri, rejoining the group, tilted his head. “General, my processing capacity is designed to handle Master Zion’s inquiries. His curiosity is… statistically remarkable for a child of his age.”

“See?” Tiana teased, nudging Levi. “Even Demetri’s impressed.”

“Impressed or exhausted,” Levi muttered, but the warmth in his eyes betrayed his pride. He glanced at Zion’s empty chair, where a half-finished toy rocket still sat. “Kid’s gonna take over the world one day.”

Erwin, leaned forward, his gaze fixed on Tiana. “Speaking of taking over the world, Tiana, tell us about your campaign. Your speech tomorrow at the House of Assembly—it’s a big moment. You’ve got Paradis behind you, you know that.”

The table erupted in agreement. “Hell yeah!” Jean called, raising his glass. “You’re gonna crush it, Tiana. Minister of Technology and Innovation? That’s just the start.”

“Absolutely,” Connie added, his mouth full of mango tart. “You’re gonna be Prime Minister one day. I can feel it.”

Sasha grinned, leaning back in her chair. “Yeah, and when you do, can you make sure there’s free food for us scouts?”

Tiana laughed, her cheeks flushing with gratitude. “You guys… thank you. It means everything to have your support.” She turned to Erwin, her expression growing serious. “The campaign’s been intense, but I’m ready. Tomorrow’s speech is about laying out my vision—not just for the Minister position, but for Androsia’s future. I want to show them what’s possible.”

“Tell us about it,” Armin urged, his eyes bright with curiosity. “What’s your strategy?”

Tiana leaned forward, her passion igniting. “It’s about the youth. Androsia’s always been innovative, but we need to invest in our students, our engineers, our dreamers. I want to expand tech education, fund research, and build infrastructure that makes us a global leader.”

The table cheered, glasses clinking. Mikasa, usually reserved, spoke up. “You’ve always been a leader, Tiana. You proved that in the war. You’ll prove it again.”

Levi’s hand found hers under the table, squeezing gently. “She will,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a weight that silenced the room for a moment. “She always does.”

Hange broke the tension with a cackle. “Look at you, Levi, all soft and supportive. Who knew you’d turn into such a sap?”

“Shut it,” Levi growled, but his lips twitched upward. “You’re one to talk, drunk off your ass.”

The table roared with laughter, and the night rolled on. Eren regaled them with stories of running The Island Titan, his pride in the restaurant palpable. “I’m telling you, this is freedom,” he said, gesturing to Ashlyn, Bianca, and Camille. “No more fighting. No more titans. Just good food, good music, and the best damn wives in the world.”

Bianca swatted his arm. “Flatterer.”

“It’s true!” Eren protested, pulling her closer. “You three make this place what it is. I just… pour the drinks.”

“And flirt with the customers,” Camille teased, earning a laugh from the group.

Jean leaned over, smirking. “Eren, you really married three women and moved to an island to play beach bum. I gotta hand it to you—that’s a hell of a life.”

“It’s the life,” Eren corrected, his grin wide. “No regrets.”

Mikasa rolled her eyes, but there was a softness in her expression. She’d come to terms with Eren’s choices, even if they still stung. “Just don’t burn the place down,” she muttered.

The scouts continued catching up, their voices blending into a warm cacophony. They’d be staying in Androsia for two weeks, a rare chance to reconnect after months apart. Tiana and Levi’s life here was a marvel to them—two war heroes, an engineer and a soldier, now thriving in domestic bliss. The scouts couldn’t help but tease Levi about his “domestication,” though they were genuinely happy to see him so content.

As the night wound down, Tiana leaned against Levi, her head on his shoulder. “This is perfect,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” he agreed, his voice low. “It is.”

…

Later that night, in the quiet of their seaside home, Levi and Tiana lay in bed, the windows open to let in the ocean breeze. Zion was fast asleep in his room, his toy airship tucked beside him. The room was lit by a single lantern, casting a soft glow over Tiana’s desk, where a stack of files and a tablet compiled by Demetri awaited her. The files detailed her competition for the upcoming election, and Tiana was poring over them with a mix of curiosity and mischief.

“Okay, listen to this,” she said, scrolling through the tablet with a grin. “Councilor Matthew—he’s running for Minister too. Says he’s all about ‘modernizing Androsia.’ But Demetri dug up his voting record, and the man hasn’t supported a single tech initiative in five years.”

Levi, propped against the headboard, raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a hack. What else?”

Tiana’s eyes sparkled with gossip. “Then there’s Senator Tasha. She’s got this whole ‘family values’ platform, but apparently she’s been dodging taxes for a decade. Demetri found receipts.”

Levi snorted. “Hypocrite. You’re gonna wipe the floor with her.”

“Oh, I know,” Tiana said, her voice dripping with confidence. She leaned closer, her tone conspiratorial. “And don’t get me started on Councilor Devon. He’s got this smarmy smile, and I heard he tried to bribe a reporter to write a hit piece on me. Can you believe that?”

Levi’s expression darkened. “He did what? Want me to have a word with him?”

Tiana laughed, swatting his chest. “Down, General. I can handle him. Besides, you’re supposed to be retired from intimidating people.”

“I don’t intimidate,” Levi said dryly. “I persuade.”

“Sure you do,” she teased, rolling her eyes. “You’re all ears for this gossip, though. Don’t pretend you’re not.”

He scoffed, crossing his arms. “I don’t gossip.”

“Liar,” she shot back, poking his side. “You’re eating this up.”

Levi’s lips twitched, betraying him. “Fine. Tell me more about this Devon guy. Sounds like he needs a lesson.”

They continued like this, trading jabs and laughing over the competition’s flaws. Tiana’s tablet glowed as she pulled up her speech for tomorrow, her fingers tracing the words she’d spent weeks perfecting. “Okay, serious moment,” she said, sitting up. “I want to practice my speech. Tell me if it’s too long or too… me.”

Levi leaned back, his gaze steady. “Go for it.”

Tiana cleared her throat, her voice steady but tinged with nerves. “Good morning, people of Androsia. For those who don’t know me, I’m Dr. Tiana Belrose-Ackerman, professor, engineer, wife, mother, and war hero. But before all that, I was a girl who loved to build things. I grew up taking apart radios, fixing engines, dreaming of a world where ideas could change everything…”

She continued, her words flowing with passion and conviction. She spoke of her childhood, her anger at Marley’s invasion, and her decision to fight alongside Paradis—not with swords, but with her mind. Levi listened intently, his heart swelling with pride. When she reached the part about her vision for Androsia—investing in youth, expanding technology, building a brighter future—he nodded, a rare smile breaking through.

“You’re gonna kill it,” he said when she finished. “It’s perfect.”

“You think?” she asked, her voice soft with vulnerability.

“I know,” he said, pulling her close. “You’re not just a scientist, Tiana. You’re a leader. They’ll see it tomorrow.”

She nestled against him, her nerves easing. “Thank you, Levi. For everything.”

He kissed her forehead. “Always.”

…

The next morning, the House of Assembly was a spectacle of anticipation. The grand building, with its white stone columns and open-air atrium, buzzed with energy. A massive crowd had gathered—citizens, officials, students, and reporters—all eager to hear Dr. Tiana Belrose-Ackerman announce her candidacy for Minister of Technology and Innovation. Banners fluttered in the breeze, and the air was alive with chatter and cheers.

Tiana stood backstage, her hands trembling slightly as she adjusted her blazer. Her family was with her—Amara and Ezra, her parents, beaming with pride; her sisters Ayanna and Nia, whispering excitedly; and Tanya, her grandmother, who gave her a knowing nod. Zion clung to Levi’s hand, his big eyes wide with wonder at the crowd. Demetri stood nearby, his sensors scanning for any potential threats—a habit he’d never lost.

The scouts were there too, seated in the front row. Eren and his wives sat beside them, cheering loudly as Tiana’s name was announced. Hange was practically vibrating with excitement, while Erwin’s calm presence anchored the group.

Levi leaned down to Zion, his voice low. “You ready to see Mama make history?”

Zion nodded vigorously. “Mama’s gonna be the best!”

Levi’s lips twitched. “Damn right.”

As Tiana stepped onto the stage, the crowd erupted. The cheers were deafening, a tidal wave of love and support. Tiana stood at the podium, her heart pounding, but she took a deep breath and smiled. The noise died down after a full minute, and she began.

“Good morning, Androsia,” she said, her voice clear and strong despite her nerves. “For those who don’t know me, I’m Dr. Tiana Belrose-Ackerman—engineer, professor, wife, mother, and a war hero. But long before that, I was a little girl who loved to build things. I took apart radios, fixed engines, and dreamed of a world where ideas could change everything.”

The crowd listened, rapt, as she recounted her journey—her childhood curiosity, her anger at Marley’s invasion, her decision to fight alongside Paradis. “I could have gone to Hizuru with my family, become a refugee,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “But I was angry. Marley came to our home, destroyed our peace, all to steal our resources. I fought back the only way I knew how—with my mind. I volunteered to go to Paradis, to lend my skills to their cause. I was young, I was scared… but I was determined.”

The crowd roared, chanting her name. Tiana’s eyes found Levi’s in the audience, and his steady gaze grounded her. She continued, her voice growing stronger.

“Meeting the people of Paradis—their resilience, their courage—gave me the strength to fight. Together, we ended the war. And now, I’m here to fight for Androsia’s future. Our youth are our greatest asset. I see their brilliance every day in my students, in my own son, Zion.” She glanced at him, and he waved enthusiastically, drawing laughter from the crowd.

“My plan is simple,” she said. “Invest in education. Fund research. Build infrastructure that makes Androsia a global leader in technology and innovation. I see a future where our children lead the world—not with weapons, but with ideas. If you elect me as Minister of Technology and Innovation, I promise to make that future a reality.”

She paused, her voice softening. “The future is as bright as our Androsian sun. Let’s seize it together.”

The crowd exploded, chanting “Dr. Belrose! Dr. Belrose!” The sound was overwhelming, a tidal wave of support. Tiana stood tall, her nerves replaced by certainty. She knew, in that moment, that her dream of becoming Prime Minister was not just possible—it was inevitable.

Backstage, her family swarmed her. Amara hugged her tightly, tears streaming down her face. “You were incredible, sweetheart.” Ezra, usually stoic, pulled her into a rare embrace. “I’ve never been prouder.”

Ayanna and Nia squealed, jumping up and down. “You’re gonna win!” Nia declared. Tanya, leaning on her cane, smirked. “Told you you’d knock ‘em dead.”

Zion ran to her, wrapping his arms around her legs. “Mama, you were so cool!”

Tiana laughed, scooping him up. “Thanks, baby.”

Levi approached last, his expression soft but intense. “You did it,” he said simply.

She smiled, tears in her eyes. “We did it.”

The scouts and Eren’s family joined them, their voices a chaotic mix of congratulations and teasing. Hange hugged Tiana so hard she nearly fell over. “You’re a rockstar!” she shouted. Erwin offered a calm, “Well done, Tiana. Paradis is proud.”

Eren grinned, his arm around Camille. “You’re gonna run this place someday. I’m calling it now.”

As the crowd continued to cheer outside, Tiana looked at Levi, Zion in her arms, their unborn child kicking gently within her. This was her life—her family, her people, her future. And with Levi by her side, she knew she could do anything.

The sun blazed overhead, as bright and boundless as their dreams.

…

A few weeks later…

The Androsian sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the vibrant streets of the capital. The election results had just been announced, and the island was alight with celebration. Dr. Tiana Belrose-Ackerman, the newly elected Minister of Technology and Innovation, had won her seat in a landslide victory. 

Her party’s triumph echoed through the air, carried by cheers, soca music, and the clinking of glasses in every home, bar, and plaza. The people of Androsia had spoken, and they had chosen Tiana—not just for her brilliance, but for her heart, her vision, and her unshakable resolve to lead their nation into a new era.

At the Belrose-Ackerman seaside home, the celebration was in full swing. The open-air patio was strung with fairy lights, and tables overflowed with baked chicken, roasted breadfruit, and pitchers of guava punch. Tiana’s family mingled with the scouts, who had extended their stay to witness this historic moment. Eren and his wives had closed The Island Titan for the night to join the festivities, bringing trays of their famous mango tarts. The air was thick with laughter, music, and the warmth of a community united in pride.

Tiana stood at the center of it all, radiant in a flowing coral dress that complemented her pregnancy. Her dark curls framed her face, and her smile was incandescent as she accepted hugs and congratulations. Levi stood beside her, his usual stoic demeanor softened by the occasion. His steel-gray eyes followed her every move, a quiet pride radiating from him. Zion darted through the crowd, his caramel skin glowing under the lights, his curly afro bouncing as he chased after a stray balloon.

“Minister Belrose-Ackerman!” Hange called, raising a glass of rum punch with a grin that threatened to split her face. “You didn’t just win—you obliterated the competition! What’s it feel like to be the people’s princess?”

Tiana laughed, her cheeks flushing. “It feels… overwhelming. But in the best way. I’m just so grateful for everyone who believed in me.”

“Believed in you?” Jean scoffed, leaning against a table with a beer in hand. “Tiana, you had the whole island chanting your name. I’m pretty sure Councilor Devon’s still crying somewhere.”

Connie snorted, nearly choking on his tart. “Did you see his face when the results came in? Man looked like he got hit by one of your sonic emitters.”

The group erupted in laughter, and Tiana shook her head, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “You guys are terrible. But… yeah, he didn’t stand a chance.”

Levi smirked, his arm slipping around her waist. “Told you you’d wipe the floor with them.”

She leaned into him, her hand resting on his chest. “You did. And you were right.”

“Always am,” he said dryly, earning a playful elbow from her.

Erwin stepped forward, his presence commanding attention. “Tiana, your speech at the House of Assembly was extraordinary. You’ve laid out a vision that’s not just ambitious—it’s transformative. Paradis is behind you, and I have no doubt you’ll be Prime Minister one day.”

The scouts cheered, raising their glasses. Sasha, her mouth stuffed with breadfruit, mumbled, “You’re gonna make Androsia the coolest place ever!”

Armin nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Your focus on education and innovation—it’s exactly what the world needs. You’re building a future for kids like Zion.”

At the mention of his name, Zion zoomed past, clutching a toy rocket he’d been tinkering with all day. “Mama’s gonna make everything awesome!” he declared, his eyes gleaming with pride.

Eren laughed, scooping Zion up and tossing him into the air. “Hell yeah, kid! Your mom’s a badass, and you’re gonna be just like her.”

“Language, Eren,” Mikasa snapped, her tone sharp but her lips twitching with a smile. She’d softened over the years, but her protective streak remained.

“Sorry, Mikasa,” Eren said, grinning unapologetically as he set Zion down. “But seriously, Zion’s scary smart.”

Camille, sitting cross-legged on a nearby chair, chuckled. “He’s a genius, just like Tiana. I swear, he’s going to build a real airship by the time he’s ten.”

“Ten?” Ashlyn teased, nudging Eren. “Try eight. That kid’s already halfway there.”

Bianca leaned over, ruffling Zion’s curls. “You’re gonna make your mama proud, aren’t you?”

“Yup!” Zion chirped, then darted off again, nearly colliding with Demetri, who stood patiently near the edge of the patio, his LED eyes glowing amber.

“Demetri!” Zion called, waving his rocket. “Can we make it fly tonight?”

“Master Zion,” Demetri replied, his voice calm and melodic, “the rocket requires additional calibration. Perhaps tomorrow, after your first day of school?”

Zion’s face lit up. “School! I can’t wait!”

Tiana smiled, her heart swelling. “He’s been talking about it all week. I think he’s more excited than I was about the election.”

Levi snorted, sipping his drink. “Kid’s gonna take over the classroom. Poor teacher doesn’t know what’s coming.”

The celebration continued late into the night, ending with a toast led by Erwin. “To Tiana, our Minister. To Levi, our General. To Zion, the future. And to Androsia—the brightest star in our world.”

Glasses clinked, and the night dissolved into warmth and laughter, a perfect snapshot of the life they’d fought for.

…

The next day, the Belrose-Ackerman household was buzzing with a different kind of excitement. It was Zion’s first day of school, but this was no ordinary school. The Androsian Academy for Gifted Minds was a prestigious institution, designed for children like Zion, whose intelligence far surpassed his years. At five, he already had the cognitive abilities of a ten-year-old, his mind a whirlwind of questions and ideas that left even Tiana in awe. His love for engineering was evident in everything he did—from the toy airships he built to the endless debates he had with Demetri about circuitry and propulsion.

The morning was bright and warm, the Androsian sun casting long shadows across the cobblestone path leading to the academy. Tiana, dressed in a tailored blazer and skirt, her pregnancy barely slowing her, walked hand-in-hand with Levi, who carried Zion’s backpack slung over one shoulder. His uniform was crisp, but his expression was softer than usual, his gray eyes fixed on their son, who was practically bouncing with excitement.

Zion, clutching Demetri’s hand and a small notebook filled with sketches of his latest “inventions,” in the other hand, darted ahead, his curly afro bouncing with each step. “Mama! Papa! Look at the building! It’s so big! Do you think they have robots inside?”

Tiana laughed, her heart swelling at his enthusiasm. “I bet they do, baby. But slow down—you don’t even know your classroom yet!”

Levi’s lips twitched. “Kid’s gonna run straight into trouble if we don’t catch him.”

As if on cue, Zion spotted a classroom with an open door and bolted toward it, his little legs a blur. “Zion!” Levi called, his voice sharp but laced with amusement. He took off after him, his strides closing the distance in seconds. He scooped the boy up just before he could disappear into the room, earning a giggle.

“Papa, let me go! I wanna see!” Zion protested, squirming in Levi’s arms.

“You don’t even know if that’s your class, brat,” Levi said, setting him down but keeping a firm grip on his hand. “You can’t just run off like that. It’s rude.”

Zion’s big eyes widened, and he nodded solemnly. “Sorry, Papa. I’m just so excited!”

Tiana caught up, chuckling as she ruffled Zion’s curls. “You remind me so much of myself at your age. Always running toward the next big thing.”

Levi raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, and look how that turned out. I’ve got two of you to chase now.”

Inside the academy, they were greeted by the principal, Dr. Marissa Cole, a warm woman with a sharp intellect and a deep respect for Tiana’s contributions to Androsia. “Dr. Belrose-Ackerman, General Ackerman,” she said, extending her hand. “It’s an honor to have you here. And Zion—what a bright young man you are.”

Zion beamed, puffing out his chest. “I’m gonna build a robot that flies!”

Dr. Cole laughed, her eyes twinkling. “I have no doubt you will. Let’s get you settled in your classroom.”

She handed them a packet with Zion’s class assignments and a schedule tailored to his advanced abilities. Tiana skimmed it, her expression a mix of pride and nostalgia. “Advanced robotics, applied physics, and creative engineering,” she murmured. “This is perfect for him.”

Levi nodded, his gaze softening as he looked at Zion. “Kid’s gonna run circles around the teachers.”

As they left the principal’s office, they were met with an unexpected sight: Demetri, standing calmly in the hallway, was surrounded by a swarm of children, their eyes wide with awe as they climbed over him like a jungle gym. “Mr. Robot!” one girl shouted, tugging at his arm. “Can you fly?”

“My propulsion capabilities are limited to terrestrial locomotion,” Demetri replied, his voice as serene as ever. “However, I can demonstrate a kinetic energy transfer if you wish.”

The kids squealed, delighted, as Demetri gently lifted one boy and set him down with mechanical precision. Tiana laughed, shaking her head. “Demetri, you’re a celebrity.”

Zion, however, wasn’t amused. His little face fell, and he tugged at Tiana’s skirt. “Mama, why can’t Demetri come to school with me?”

Tiana knelt down, her expression gentle. “Sweetheart, Demetri’s got to stay home and help us out. But you’re going to have so much fun here, and you’ll make new friends who love building things just like you.”

Levi crouched beside her, his voice firm but kind. “Zion, this is your first day. It’s normal to be a little nervous—”

“I’m not nervous!” Zion interrupted, snatching the class assignment papers from Levi’s hand and trying to dart off again. “I wanna start now!”

Levi’s reflexes kicked in, and he grabbed Zion by the back of his shirt, pulling him back. “Oi, brat. We just talked about this. No running off.”

Zion pouted, but his apology was earnest. “Sorry, Papa. I’m just… so excited!”

Tiana kissed his cheek, her heart swelling. “I know, baby. You’re going to be just fine.”

Levi ruffled his curls, his expression softening. “Listen to your teachers, alright? And don’t blow anything up.”

Zion giggled. “I won’t!... Maybe.”

They walked him to his classroom, a bright space filled with interactive screens, 3D printers, and models of airships and robots. Zion’s eyes widened, and he practically vibrated with excitement. His teacher, Ms. Lena, greeted them warmly. “Zion, I hear you’re quite the engineer already,” she said, kneeling to his level.

“Yup!” Zion declared, holding up his notebook. “I made a rocket, but it’s not flying yet. Can we fix it here?”

Ms. Lena laughed. “I’m sure we can.”

As Zion ran to join his classmates, Tiana and Levi lingered at the door, watching him dive into a group project with the enthusiasm of a child twice his age. Tiana’s eyes misted over. “He’s so much like me,” she whispered. “Always curious, always building.”

Levi slipped an arm around her waist, his voice low. “He’s got your brains and your heart. And maybe a little of my stubbornness.”

She laughed, leaning into him. “Maybe a lot.”

Demetri, now free of his child admirers, joined them. “Master Zion will thrive here,” he said. “His cognitive development is advancing at an exponential rate. I predict significant contributions to Androsian technology within the next decade.”

Levi snorted. “Let’s get him through grade school first.”

As they left the academy, Tiana’s heart was full. She looked back at the building, where Zion was already chattering with his new classmates, his notebook open and his hands gesturing wildly. “Children are the future,” she said softly. “And our boy… his future is the brightest of them all.”

Levi nodded, his hand finding hers. “He’s gonna do amazing things. Just like his mom.”

They walked home under the Androsian sun, the promise of their son’s brilliance and their shared life stretching out before them like the endless sea. Tiana’s victory, Zion’s first steps into a world of knowledge, and the love that bound their family—it was all part of a legacy that would shape Androsia for generations.

The war was long over. The future was theirs.

And it was radiant.

The End.

~

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What Lastochka Left Unsaid/О чём молчит ласточка - Chapter Sixteen

Master post here

Chapter Sixteen - Another Love

The Minsk-Kharkiv plane landed at quarter to six, Kyiv time. One thought rattled around Volodya’s head the whole day long and he couldn’t believe it at all - Yura was going to be there, in Kharkiv, with him, in no time at all. But until he saw him with his own eyes, touched him with his own hands, their meeting would seem like a dream to him. And since the morning, time seemed to have not simply dragged on, but frozen entirely.

He couldn’t sit still - burning with impatience, he arrived at the office before it opened, if only to while away the hours before his trip to the airport. He slept very poorly that night. He tossed and turned until three, trying to get comfortable, and picturing his meeting with Yura, the way he would finally see him in the flesh, and not just on his monitor.

After lunch, a text came from Yura:

I’m in Minsk. We’re flying without a layover. If only I could get to you sooner.

I’ll meet you in the arrivals hall.

Okay, I’ll be in a beige coat!

Volodya laughed and sent:

I’d recognise you even without the coat.

And added on the end:

By the way, before I forget: be careful with Gerda! When I got home, she threw herself at me for strokes and pushed me right into the mud.

Pfft… Gerda. To be honest, I’m counting on you throwing yourself at me… with kisses.

I have a feeling that might happen.

He was already on the way to the airport, forty minutes before the landing. As he drove around the area, he speculated with interest on what Yura was thinking right then as he flew high, high above the earth, by then most likely over Kharkiv or its surroundings. Was he sleeping or reading? Was he listening to someone else’s music, or coming up with his own? After stopping in the carpark by the airport’s main building, he stared up at the heavy, grey clouds in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the silver speck of a plane. Just to think - Yura was somewhere up there. What was on his mind as he looked down below? The same as Volodya, looking up? 

He had an urge to laugh.

Look at that, I’m standing in the middle of a car park, smiling at clouds, like an idiot!

Volodya went into the arrivals hall and gathered his thoughts. The number of the flight and its arrival time was already glowing on the signboard. Another ten minutes… Volodya restrained himself, with difficulty, from counting down the seconds.

He heard the roar of the engines of a landing plane, then saw it through the vast window that looked out on the runway. Ten minutes stretched out into half an hour: after all, there was still passport control, then baggage reclaim to come. Yura - with his suitcase in his right hand, and a bag from the duty-free in his left - came down into the hall together with a string of other passengers. He looked from side to side, immediately noticed Volodya approaching him, and broke out into a smile.

Volodya’s first impulse was to hug him. But at the last moment, with his arms already around Yura’s shoulders, he faltered. Constant noise beat against his ears: the hubbub of people, echoing off the walls of the hall, the clack of heels on the marble floor, the mechanical voice of the dispatcher from the loudspeakers. They weren’t alone; would it be appropriate to hug? Holding Yura thus, by the shoulder, Volodya simply gazed at his face, but Yura, his smile dropping, hissed between his teeth:

“If you don’t hug me right now, I’m going to straight up kiss you.”

The threat worked - out of the two evils, Volodya picked the lesser: he pulled him in close to himself and hugged him, trying to make it come across like they were just friends. But it didn’t work - he couldn’t let him go again at first, as he was taking pleasure in the smell of Yura’s hair. Yura figured out a way of touching his lips to Volodya’s neck so that his goosebumps ran across his skin. Detaching from the embrace turned out to be easier said than done. But, having noticed out of the corner of his eye a passing woman making a face at the sight of them, Volodya let him go anyway.

After sticking their things in the boot and getting into the car, Yura’s phone began to ring. He opened the message and smiled.

“No way! I’ve barely just landed and…”

“Who’s already….”

Yura showed him the phone screen. Since he was driving out of the car park and paying attention to the road, he only made out the name of the contact, transliterated, at a glance: Sidorova.

“Masha, huh? What does she want?”

“Get this, to see me. She says that if I refuse her, she’ll put a curse on me.”

Volodya laughed heartily, remembering the spell with the flies. 

“You bet… she’s an expert in all sorts of supernatural rubbish.”

For the first time in his life, Volodya regretted living outside the city. It wasn’t like he had to go deep into the wilderness, but the road home felt endless. Yura was firing off messages back and forth with Masha for half the journey, then he talked about his flight - about how the plane had fallen into turbulence a couple of times and he’d been stricken by nausea. Volodya tried to pay attention, but now and then he got the thought to stop the car somewhere in the middle of a field, so that he could finally get out from behind the wheel, turn to Yura and… And he didn’t even know what he wanted more: to throw himself onto him right then and there, or to simply hug him even harder than he had at the airport, and never let him go. He had missed him so badly!

But even once they had returned home, they didn’t immediately get the chance to be alone together - as soon as he opened the gate, Gerda practically knocked Yura off his feet. Luckily, there was no slush on the street, otherwise Yura’s monotone beige coat would have been turned all spotty. 

“Gerda, down!” cried Volodya, but the dog paid no heed, and neither did Yura - fully and completely happy, he went to pat her on the sides. “Now you’re going to get all the fur-”

“It’s alright,” Yura brushed him off, “Gerda’s fur is similar to the colour of my coat. Me and you are stylish, huh, girl?” He broke into laughter. “It’s crazy, she’s not seen me for half a year, but she remembers me!”

“You’ll be forgotten…” muttered Volodya as he wheeled Yura’s suitcase inside.

Yura followed him and slammed the door closed after himself. Gerda whined on the other side, insulted, but he was no longer paying her any attention - he took his coat off, hung it on a peg, turned to Volodya and froze as he looked him in the face. Volodya was biting his lip, drawn to him like a magnet. He took a step towards Yura, clasped his face in his hands and stuck his nose into his cold cheek:

“Yur… Yura…”

“Mm? What is it?” Yura touched his neck with his warm fingers and drew in close to his lips, but without kissing them, merely just lightly making contact.

Volodya shook his head and closed his eyes.

“I’ve missed you so badly…”

He found his lips without opening his eyes - soft, they opened pliantly as they met his own. The world around them stopped moving. Fragments of thoughts whirled through his head: he had waited, Yura was here, it was real… And then they fell quiet. Only sensations remained: Yura’s fingers in his hair, the taste of his mint chewing gum, his smooth skin beneath his hands - Volodya himself had not noticed when he had gotten up under Yura’s jumper. And then it grew particularly steamy. 

Volodya threw his coat on the floor. Yura grabbed him by the loops of his belt. He placed a kiss on his chin, breathing heavily, and whispered:

“Volod, stop…” But in contrast to his own words, he pulled him even closer. “Volod, I’ve been travelling, I need a shower.”

“Very well…” Volodya kissed him on the neck. “Then I’ll…” His lips reached the neckline of his jumper. “I’ll let you go now…”

And so he did, exerting incredible restraint on his part.

Yura went into the shower. Volodya couldn’t sit still - first he called Gerda back into the house, then picked up a towel that Yura didn’t need and stuck his head in the bathroom.

“There’s a towel here already,” smiled Yura.

“Have another one,” said Volodya, unable to tear his gaze away - Yura had already managed to get undressed and was standing in his underwear. “You remember where all the shower gel and shampoo is, right?”

“I’ve got my own.” But he was in no hurry to shut the door, holding the towel in hand and looking at Volodya.

“What?” Volodya asked, perplexed.

“You’re looking at me like Gerda.”

Volodya raised an eyebrow.

“How so?”

Yura shrugged.

“Well, when she’s begging for pats and strokes, she gives me just about the same look…” Throwing the door wide open, he walked off to the shower and turned the tap on. “Coming with me?”

Volodya didn’t need to be asked twice.

A few minutes later, Volodya almost fell out of reality. The shower rumbled, a jet of hot water trickled over his body. He embraced Yura and kissed his wet shoulders, squeezed him and was squeezed, and touched him wherever he wanted. But suddenly Yura, turning away, asked:

“How’s your German been going?”

Volodya choked.

“You found the time for the exam…”

Yura laughed:

“Go on then, tell me something in German.”

Volodya shook his head - right then, it was hard to think even in Russian, let alone in a different language. But he was still able to recollect something he had learnt recently.

He pressed up close against Yura’s back and, with his lips touching his ear.

“Ich will dich,” he said slowly and as a half-whisper, uncertain whether he had pronounced it right, or whether Yura could even hear him over the sound of the water. Volodya kissed him on the back of the neck, went back to his ear and added, “A lot.”

Yura began to tremble, either from laughter or from Volodya’s titillating breath. But then he slipped out of the embrace, turned to face him, pulled up to his lips and just before the kiss, whispered:

“Warte auf die Nacht…”

***

Volodya cooked dinner whilst Yura, sitting at his laptop, planned a trip: he was chatting with Masha about meeting up and was studying an advert for plays and concerts. He came up with a lot of ideas of what to do to fill the two weeks. Volodya even regretted it a little bit - he wanted not to go anywhere out of the house for the whole of Yura’s trip, even though he suspected that being shut up would quickly bore the two of them.

After laying the table, Volodya got the rum he had bought earlier out of the cupboard. Seeing the bottle, Yura raised his eyebrows.

“You bought this? For me?”

Volodya grinned and shrugged.

“I hope you’re alright with the brand? If not, shall we open yours?”

Yura chuckled:

“Everything’s alright. Rum’s rum, even in Africa. I’ll drink any.”

After eating and drinking half a glass, Yura began yawning, even though the clock didn’t even read nine. Volodya sighed looking at him - he had long since, even on Skype, noticed that Yura looked chronically exhausted. And in person, that exhaustion appeared even more intense: he had gotten thinner, his cheekbones sharper, and dark shadows hung under his eyes.

Volodya asked with concern:

“Yur, are you ill?”

But Yura just brushed him off:

“Everything’s fine, I just need to catch up on sleep. I’ll be myself again tomorrow - I have only just arrived on holiday.”

The conversation wasn’t going well. Volodya caught himself on the strange thought that, contrary to their habit, neither he nor Yura could find the right words or questions. As they constantly spoke online, they both knew how the other was doing, and their longing was only caused by the impossibility of feeling the other’s physical presence nearby. That was probably why the sense that they hadn’t seen each other for a long time was hazy and subdued.

Transferring to the sofa in the living room, Yura began to recount his plans for the holiday ahead. He was plainly drunk - it was strange that one glass had taken him there.

“We need to go for a walk around the city, since I didn’t get the chance last time. This is where I grew up, it’ll be interesting to see how much it’s changed.” He got cozy on Volodya’s shoulder, who put an arm around his waist. “When I was composing your CD, it was so nice to transform memories into music that now I want to make a record of my childhood and memory of Kharkiv when I get back home. I’ve been awfully worn out these last two months, I’ve not found a single day for my own music, just work…”

Volodya ran a couple of locks of his hair through his fingers and buried his nose in the crown of his head.

“You do look like you’ve been through it.”

“Wow, is it really that obvious?” He lifted his head and looked Volodya in the face disbelievingly. Volodya nodded and laid a hand on his cheek, stroking him with his thumb.

“You’ve lost weight. I bet you’ve only been eating whenever you remember, or did you forget to eat entirely?”

Yura shrugged and smiled guiltily.

“Well, maybe, sometimes… What, are you going to fatten me up then?”

“Of course!”

“I get the feeling that was a pointless question. I see you’re going to fatten me up with oatmeal, boiled chicken breast and salads…”

He took the remote control off the television and began flicking mindlessly through channels. He ended up on some soap opera. 

“It’s so odd hearing Ukrainian coming from the telly,” he commented. “It’s like I’ve ended up in another world.”

“When I came to visit you, it was just as odd hearing German everywhere. But you can at least understand what they’re saying here, whereas I was like… someone from a different planet.”

“But by now, you can translate some stuff?” Yura smiled craftily.

Volodya shrugged. 

“I’ve only been going to lessons for a couple of months… I can sort of read a bit, but listening is hard. But if they’re saying something uncomplicated slowly and clearly, I can understand. I speak badly myself; I can’t yet express my thoughts quickly without stumbling. And the words are convoluted as well. Your German sounds wonderful, soft, whereas mine is like nothing but barking.”

Yura threw back his head in laughter. He stayed half-laying like that, resting his cheek on the back of the sofa and touching Volodya’s forearm. Volodya turned and leant over him, while Yura, smiling, put his glasses right, which had slipped down his nose.

“You have a wonderful voice, Volod, no matter what language you’re speaking. When I was young, I loved listening to you-”

“And now you don’t?”

“I do! But now you speak differently: your Gs are softer, your Shs are more drawn out. Basically, you’ve taken on a Kharkiv accent. And you used to pronounce your unstressed vowels weirdly, like a typical Ma-a-ascovite. It used to drive me crazy!” He giggled and suddenly grew serious. “And then… and then I began to like everything about you.”

Volodya’s heart twinged from the confession, which sounded like it could have come from the distant past.

“It’s strange to remember someone’s voice after two decades, isn’t it?” asked Yura.

“I don’t know,” replied Volodya. “With hearing like yours, what could be strange about it?”

“Do you mean you don’t remember my voice?”

Volodya shook his head and spoke honestly:

“Not well. I remember that it was resonant: when you shouted at the kids, it made my ears ring. I kind of remember some of your intonation, but I can’t picture the exact pronunciations in my head. And there’s a lot getting in the way as well - I’m used to how you sound now… So soft and silky, with a nice accent. And, as it sounds to me, with a little bit of a rasp, right?”

Yura spread his hands, smiling.

“You’d know best; I sound completely different to myself.”

“It’s funny,” Volodya led on, “I’ve never discussed how someone’s voice sounds with anybody before. The thought’s never even crossed my mind.”

“You’ve just never had a musician for a boyfriend before,” chuckled Yura.

“Actually, I have,” disagreed Volodya, with playful seriousness. “True, it was a long time ago, when I was eighteen…”

Yura guffawed and prodded him on the forehead. 

“You didn’t consider me your boyfriend back then.”

“But it was obvious.”

Yura snorted:

“To who? If you ask me, even Sidorova had a better idea of it than you!” Mimicking Volodya, he reminded him, “‘Special friend, special friend’, that’s what you used to say!”

“That’s a synonym, though!”

“I disagree!” exclaimed Yura. He slung his arms around Volodya’s neck and pulled him onto himself. Volodya shifted to be fully up against him, and he felt Yura drumming his fingertips on his back. “It makes me a little sad to think back to how we used to be. Although at times, it feels like you’ve not changed that much. Just grown older, more solid, more… Serious?” he said as though asking himself the question. He replied immediately: “Nah, you’ve always been serious, but it’s easy to recognise the old Volodya in you. I’ve changed more.”

Volodya couldn’t tell whether that last part was a question or an affirmation. He didn’t want to reply - what if he offended Yura? Yes, people changed, especially after so many years, but in the present Yura, Volodya truly saw very little of the previous one.

“Do you remember, I said on the recordings that I wouldn’t want to go back there, to the past? That’s true. Because back then, me and you would have split up again, we wouldn’t have been able to be together. But we can now. But I’m so afraid that you won’t accept me as I am, the way I’ve become.”

Volodya disengaged from the embrace, propped himself up and looked him in the face with concern.

“What’s with this rubbish you’re on about? Yura, what we had between us when we were young is very important, but here and now, it doesn’t have any meaning. Youth has been and gone and me and you are here, together, and what’s the point in chaining ourselves to the past? I’ve already gotten past that stage. I’ve fallen in love with you all over again, With you the way you are now, not the way you once were.”

Yura lowered the fingers in his hair down to the back of his neck and pulled in towards his lips.

“Good,” he whispered as he closed his eyes. “The main thing is that you don’t have any regrets.”

“How could I-” Volodya began, but he gave up on finishing his sentence and simply kissed him.

Gerda began to whine outside the window - an hour before, Volodya had let her out to run around in the garden. While he cleaned the dog’s paws, Yura managed to pass out right on the sofa in the living room. More accurately, so it seemed to Volodya, because he was lying with his elbow propped under his head and his eyes closed. On the television, someone was running after someone else, shouting declarations of love. Afraid that the noise might wake Yura up, Volodya carefully took the remote out of his hand and turned the television off, but without opening his eyes, Yura suddenly said:

“Put it back on, I’m listening to it.”

Unsurprised, Volodya smiled - he recollected that Yura more often listened to films than watched them. And lo: when the scene finished and the sentimental music ended along with it, Yura opened his eyes and sat up. 

“Meh soundtrack,” came his verdict. “It’s all lovey-dovey, but the music’s making it sound like they’re on the verge of dying…”

“But it’s just some generic series, Yur. Who’s going to compose this magnificent accompaniment for it?”

“A quality job by the sound director and the composer could make it not quite so generic.” Yura yawned.

“Let’s go to bed. It seems like you’re already falling asleep.”

“Sure, let’s… I did promise you something else today, after all.”

He cocked his eyebrows suggestively and got up, stretching so that his vest rode up and lay his sunken belly bare for a long second. Anticipating where the evening was going, Volodya sighed fitfully, but then smiled softly when he saw Yura cover his mouth for yet another yawn.

“Your promises can wait ‘til tomorrow.”

He took Yura by the hand and led him to the bedroom, but Yura held onto him around the shoulders, hung off him and capriciously drawled:

“I don’t wanna go anywhere. Put me back.”

Volodya rolled his eyes.

“Looks like we’re back in preschool…” Gerda, agreeing with him, growled vexedly. “Even my dog’s telling you to quit messing around and go to bed.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll do as you say! All these commanders…”

Yura really was very tired. He fell asleep almost immediately - Volodya left him alone for only a couple of minutes to feed Gerda and when he returned, he was already snoring quietly, with the duvet pulled up to his chin. After turning off the lamp, Volodya carefully climbed in with him - Yura didn’t wake up, just shifted closer and buried his nose in Volodya’s chest.

Volodya laid without closing his eyes for a long time still. He was paying attention to himself - to the warmth flowing inside him, to the peacefulness and calmness he had known once  in Germany and which he had missed terribly in the intervening months. 

***

Whilst Yura slept, done in by his flight, Volodya went out for a run. When he returned and opened the door of his home, he paused upon the threshold. His heart was warmed by the pleasant feeling that his home was no longer empty, that there was another person in there, someone beloved. 

As he glanced inside the bedroom, he felt a sweet and tender feeling - Yura was laying, folded up into a kalachik, hugging a second pillow.

He woke up closer to eleven. Volodya was feeding Gerda and brewing the coffee when Yura came into the kitchen in his boxers and hugged him from behind.

"Good morning."

"Morning." Volodya wanted to turn around to kiss him, but the coffee was beginning to boil in the pot and Yura immediately darted off to the bathroom.

"What's your order for the day?" he asked when he came back. "I've done well to come on holiday, while you've still got work-"

Volodya waved him off.

"I also took holiday - I don't want any distractions. The firm won't burn down without me," he replied confidently, although he did actually have his doubts about that. "I'll have to go into the office a couple of times, of course, to sign some things and make decisions on projects. But on the whole... Why else do I have Braginsky, at the end of the day?"

"I see. I just don't want to distract you either...."

Volodya feigned indignation:

"It's not about you distracting me from work, it's work distracting me from you. You've not come for long, I can put my work to the side."

Yura looked down at his mug of coffee.

"Thank you..." he mumbled quietly, then suddenly burst into life: "By the way! Have you listened to my CD, all the way to the end?"

Volodya nodded:

"Yeah, but the last piece... if I'm being honest, I didn't understand it. I decided that since you were coming and the track's about you, then we could listen to it together so that you can explain it all to me... You wouldn't be offended?"

"No, of course not. I did think the last one would be harder for you, since you don't know my history. Alright, we'll listen to it, but let's not today. We're going out for a walk with Masha today! She's already been blowing my phone up."

"Oh Lord, it's still early!"

"Why do you think I woke up before lunch? You think that was of my own accord?"

"Well..." muttered Volodya. "I'd rather have woken you up in some... more interesting way..."

Yura smiled dreamily, but shook his head right after, as though shaking off the last remnants of sleep, and he cheerfully commanded:

"So, it's decided: we'll get dressed, and off to Kharkiv!"

It was as though not only Volodya, but nature itself was made happy by Yura’s arrival. Spring confidently conquered winter for its rightful place: the sky was clear, the sun was blinding, and the birds were singing. As he listened to the cheerful chirrupping, Volodya recalled unbidden his guest, unusual for those parts - the swallow that had flown into his garden the previous autumn.

“It’s nice here, when it’s not all wet and muddy,” commented Yura as they went outside. He inhaled deeply and said, “Smells of spring.”

Volodya drove Gerda outside into the garden, poured some food for her into her bowl by the doghouse and headed for the car. 

“What if it rains?” asked Yura, following him. “I mean, Gerda’s outside…”

“Firstly, I’ve not locked the door to the house; she knows how to open it with her paw. And in the worst-case scenario, she has a huge doghouse anyway, me and you could fit in it.”

“Isn’t it scary leaving your door unlocked?”

“That’s why the gate into the garden is locked.

Yura said nothing in reply, and merely gave an ambiguous chuckle.

They had agreed to meet Masha at three in the afternoon, and they decided to spend the time before that walking around Shevchenko Park. However, they ended up not walking for long. Yura had put on thin white trousers and was soon frozen, and Volodya as well, accustomed as he was to driving rather than going on foot, felt all the deceptiveness of spring. The sun was warming, while the wind still blew cold and strove to get up under his clothing to steal his warmth. Therefore, they decided to postpone their exploration of Kharkiv for another time and wait for Masha in a cafe by the metro station. But she wasn’t just sitting around at home, and she called half an hour before the agreed-upon time, to say that she was already waiting beneath the thermometer.

Yura spotted her from afar and began to wave. Volodya was surprised - how many years had they not seen each other, and yet he recognised her straight away? Even greater was his surprise when, instead of a simple greeting, Yura grabbed her and spun her around in a hug, so much that she squealed.

“Sidorova!” exclaimed Yura, placing her back on her feet. Holding her by the shoulders, he stared at her, narrowed his eyes, and gave his verdict: “You’re just the same as you always were!”

She clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes.

“Give it a rest, Konev! Neither have you!” She broke out in a smile. “And really, I’ve not been a Sidorova for a long time…”

“You’ll always be Sidorova to me… Because, you ass, you ruined my whole life,” Yura burst out laughing.

Masha took no offense; she caught the joke and also began to laugh, but for appearance’s sake, she thumped him on the shoulder.

“Wow, how about that?” commented Volodya once they finally paid attention to him. “And to think, you two couldn’t stand each other before.”

Yura snickered:

“That was my way of expressing my love for her!”

Masha brushed her hair off her shoulder coquettishly and rolled her eyes again.

“Oh, what the hell do I need you for?”

“Oh, yeah, where am I going with this? Volodya’s much better!” sneered Yura.

Masha snorted and gave first one of them, then the other an ambiguous look.

“He really is, isn’t he, Yura?”

Continuing to make multi-layered jokes, they headed to the cafe. Volodya had not yet grown hungry and drank some water, while Yura ordered himself ice cream. Masha limited herself to tea, cutesily alluding to her diet.

Volodya mostly listened, while Yura and Masha did more of the talking. They reminisced about their seasons at Lastochka, their friends in common and funny stories. Volodya, having only been to the camp once, could hardly contribute to the topic, and neither did he want to get in the way - he would find the time later to get his fill of talking to Yura. After thirty minutes, it grew clear that the formerly sworn enemies’ chat was not going to end any time soon, and Volodya decided to leave them for a little while, and he went to work. 

It was a stone’s throw to the office from there - across Constitution Plaza and down Sumskaya Street.

Volodya picked up his books on German, gave some commands to his colleagues and bumped into Braginsky, who he invited into his office.

“How is it that you’ve ended up here at work when you’re on holiday?” He spread his arms.

“Is it that easy for you to cast everything aside?” Volodya made a face. “You take holiday and forget all about the lorries at the border.”

“Oh, stop it!” Braginsky handwaved. “How is it our fault?”

“Because you didn’t tell me. Dima, how about you make sure this doesn’t happen again, deal?”

“Sir, yes sir,” Braginsky joked. “By the way, where are you going?”

“Going? Oh, my holiday… I’m staying in Kharkiv, I have… stuff going on here.”

Narrowing his eyes, Braginsky spread his arms graciously and slowly nodded.

“The same stuff as over the New Year’s holidays? Mhm, mhm, I see, you’re taking a lot of these holidays, Vov! When are you going to make it official?”

Volodya merely sighed in exhaustion:

“I’m not about to get married, if that’s what you mean.”

“And nor should you be!” Braginsky clapped him on the shoulder. “Why hurry? Everything in its own time! Very well, go with God; family is the most important thing.”

Though Braginsky did not know the whole truth about Volodya, over the course of years of friendship with his father, he had grown to accept him like his own son, something which, especially while under the influence, he declared openly. Braginsky sincerely loved Volodya and, were he to find out the truth about him, he would hate him with the same sincerity. In any case, that was what Volodya thought, and so when talking with him, he was always on his guard and trying not to get caught up in his lies. 

Upon his return to the cafe, Volodya discovered that the sworn friends had already managed to polish off two bottles of champagne, and Masha, who an hour earlier had been watching her figure, was devouring a cream, fruit and chocolate dessert. When Volodya walked up to their table, she was whispering something conspiratorially to Yura, leaning over the table, and giggling.

“Interesting tea you’ve got there,” remarked Volodya. He sat next to Yura and reached for a menu. “Shall we have lunch? Or are you only having champagne and dessert today?”

Yura smiled broadly and shrugged.

During his absence, the two of them had evidently managed to get through all of their Lastochka stories, because Masha was now asking Yura about Germany. He told her about it with enthusiasm, and Volodya, now familiar with the topic, could even take part in the conversation.

At some point after an hour, Masha began to yawn - and so she should, after two bottles. Yura promptly leapt to his feet and proposed everyone go for a walk in the park, despite Volodya’s sober reasoning that, getting on for the evening as it was, it would have gotten even colder outside.

However, they never ended up getting to the park. A gusty wind was howling down Sumskaya that day, and by the time they reached the Kharkiv State Academic Opera and Ballet Theatre, Masha’s teeth were chattering. 

“I did say you’d be freezing,” grumbled Volodya. “No-one listened to me.”

Masha waved him off and suddenly pointed at an advert on the theatre building.

“Oh, look, Volod, Phantom of the Opera’s coming back in May!”

“Do you want to go again?”

Masha shook her head.

“Well, no, why would I, we’ve already been… Something new would be better. Although maybe Yura would be interested? Yura, have you seen The Phantom of the Opera?”

“Of course,” he nodded. “Truly, if we’re going to something, I’d rather it be something else.”

“Why, didn’t you like it?” babbled Masha. “How, though? Volodya said that it was you who recommended he buy tickets specifically for Phantom…”

“Well, I knew that you’d like it,” smiled Yura. He walked along the fountain, turned off at the moment, and peered over the edge in curiosity, “What we have in you is a romantic sort of person, right? That musical is tailor-made for people like you.”

Masha came closer to him and also peered into the fountain. She snorted:

“Yeah, it’s a musical about love, of course it’s romantic, and I liked it! True, it was sad…”

Volodya had no recourse but to also approach the fountain. He looked down and barely held back a chuckle: there was nothing of interest, just dirty water crusted over with ice in the bottom. But Yura, still looking down, asked:

“Why is it sad?”

“Well, because he disappeared in the end, the Phantom,” explained Masha. “That’s sad! Did he die? Or something like that?”

Yura stuck his hands in the pockets of his coat and hunched his shoulders.

“I don’t know. But the ending is the right thing, I think. After all, his love for Christine was completely egotistical and wrong: he loved her as a muse, as a…” Yura paused in thought. “He didn’t love her as a person. Christine’s voice is nothing but an instrument for his creativity. And, knowing that she’s in love with someone else, the Phantom still tries to get her by manipulation and force, he’s even prepared to hurt her.”

Masha froze and stared at Yura, taken aback - even her mouth was hanging open.

“And here I never thought about that subtext…” she trailed off.

“And I always thought it was right there on the surface. And I was surprised that people kept thinking of it as a work about love. But that’s my personal opinion. I’m always getting hung up nitpicking the small details if it has anything to do with music, even in passing, it’s my job.”

“Hey, Yurka, you’re so smart!” exclaimed Masha. She raised the collar of her coat to shield herself from yet another gust of wind. “But boys, let’s maybe go home. Volodya was right: I’m frozen stiff!”

Volodya sighed with relief - finally, they were walking again.

“Shall I drop you home? My car’s parked on Rymarskaya.”

***

Thinking back to those two wonderful weeks in Germany, Volodya tried to make it so that every minute he spent in Kharkiv would also be magical and inspiring for Yura. Though Volodya didn’t want to compare the two trips, he still ended up doing so, even in the small details. For example, his living room with its fireplace was no doubt stylish, but it wasn’t as cozy as Yura’s office - it was dismal and empty. The bare trees and withered grass out the panoramic windows also inspired no good cheer. But Volodya still tried to induce a similar atmosphere. Before going to cook dinner, he turned off the lights and lit the fire, and the glow of the fire danced throughout the house. 

Damp after his shower and wrapped up in Volodya’s dressing gown, Yura peeked over his shoulder at the frying pan and made a face:

“Gah, what’s that, fava beans?”

“Oh, stop it, you, they’re tasty. Especially with chicken and rice. And not to mention, healthy.”

“This isn’t Kharkiv, this is some kind of health rehab centre. I get the feeling that over this two-week trip, I’m not only going to put on weight, but also get ten years younger.” He laughed heartily and sat at the table after kissing Volodya on the cheek. “What was going on at work for you, by the way?”

“Nothing much. I went and picked up some documents. I’ll still need to check some reports, but generally speaking, I’m now wholly at your disposal.”

“Super!”

Volodya put a plate in front of him. Yura, his face still screwed up sceptically, tried the food, chewed thoughtfully, hemmed, and pronounced his verdict:

“Not so bad!” He began to dig into his portion with an appetite. “So, what are our plans for this week?”

“I don’t know. You’re planning to go for a lot of walking, to see Kharkiv. You just need to dress warmer. And also, if you remember, Ira and Zhenya want to see you, we could pop round theirs.” He thought, trying to remember what else he had planned for the trip, when Yura, smiling affectionately, beckoned him with his finger. “What?” Volodya asked playfully as he took a step towards him.

Yura got a hold of his t-shirt to pull him in closer to himself and, embracing him around the waist, he adhered his cheek to his chest.

“I don’t want to go anywhere, it’s such disgusting weather out! Let’s spend this whole trip at home, we’ll watch movies, drink rum and…” Without breaking off the embrace, Yura looked up at Volodya. “Not get out of bed.”

Volodya tousled his hair and smiled broadly:

“That’s the best plan in the world!”

***

The next two weeks turned out to be more or less the best of Volodya’s life. Despite the fact that every day of theirs was spent according to the same script, he didn’t get bored of it, and, so it seemed, he never would.

They woke up early - Yura invariably grumbled through his drowsiness, but exerted an effort to get up and, yawning, went to get dressed. In the first days, Volodya suggested he sleep a little longer, saying that he could walk Gerda by himself, but Yura was uncompromising.

“At the end of the day, you don’t think it’s you I came to see, do you?” he once joked while stroking the dog on the scruff of her neck. “No, of course I came for her, my heart belongs only to Gerda. How could I refuse a walk with her?”

Afterwards, they would return to bed. They would lounge around, lazily chatting about something unimportant, then Yura would fall asleep for a little while. Volodya would lay next to him meanwhile and admired him, trying to commit these moments of happiness to memory.

Sometimes, Volodya worked - despite his promise to Yura, he couldn’t completely set all his business aside, and he had to set aside at least a couple of hours per day. Yura didn’t get upset about it, he understood it all perfectly well. During those times, he forced himself to play on the old, out-of-tune piano, though with each passing day, his practicing grew shorter and rarer. Volodya was worried that he was breaking his usual routine, but Yura brushed him off, saying that he was on holiday.

More than anything else, Voloya looked forward to the evenings. Time and time again, they spent them in the same way, but they never got bored. The consistency gave the evenings a particular, familial veneer. 

Yura opened a bottle of rum, laid on the sofa in the living room, and rested his head on Volodya’s chest and together they would listen to all sorts of music - either something old that had stood the test of time, or something modern, fresh off the presses. Sometimes Yura would ironise, sometimes he would laugh and openly mock it, and sometimes he would sit in silence with his eyes closed, then go all meditative for a couple of hours.

Several times, Volodya suggested they listen to Yura’s own composition - the fourth track on the gift CD, but Yura for some reason kept saying no.

Further, Volodya suddenly discovered an interest for the culinary. He usually got by on simple combinations of ingredients, but cooking together with Yura turned out to be fun and exciting. Besides, Yura missed the local cuisine and therefore he kept remembering and suggesting something new for them to cook. More often than not, Volodya didn’t even know how to cook the dishes, but the internet and Masha came to the rescue. 

First of all, Yura, naturally, ordered borsch. They prepared it according to Sidorova’s strict direction, as she hung over them on the phone. It still didn’t turn out as tasty as her own, but Yura was still pleased. And when he got it into his head to make solyanka for dinner, Volodya said goodbye for good to the idea of eating properly for those two weeks. 

He tried to plan things out, to make shopping lists of ingredients so that he could buy things for at least two or three days at a time, rather than going to the shops every day. He was sincerely surprised by how Yura, who lived by such a strict routine in his working life could put up with so much chaos in the rest of it.

For example, at the end of the first week of the holiday, they went to the shops having agreed to make grilled chicken for dinner and came home with a bag of flour and a pack of mince to bake pelmeni. However, Volodya made no arguments against them, he just made his peace. Anyway, trying to bake pelmeni while listening simultaneously to a Brahms symphony and an introductory course on the era of Romanticism in music kept him too busy to complain.

At the beginning of the second week of the trip, it began to warm up properly outside. The sun beat down hard enough that towards the end of his morning run, Volodya had to take his jersey off. 

Yura caught up with him after five minutes, but not alone, with Gerda. Volodya chuckled ironically - normally she ran together with him, but now she wouldn’t take a single step away from Yura. 

“Shall we go for a walk around the area today?” suggested Yura as he looked off into the distant forest, his hand on his forehead to cover his eyes. “I don’t feel like the city, but the weather’s nice.”

Volodya nodded.

“Let’s. We can go there.” He pointed at a tall, forested hill in the distance. “The view’s beautiful from there, and you can get to it by car, so we don’t have to tramp around in the mud. True, we’ll have to climb it on foot.”

Towards lunchtime, the weather improved considerably. True, in the forest, it was chilly and damp, but the gusts of warm wind brought along with themselves the smell of spring. Shoots were sprouting from the branches and somewhere high up in the canopy, birds were singing.

Getting up the hill turned out not to be so simple - their feet kept slipping on the not-yet-dry ground. Before leaving the house, Volodya made Yura put on Wellington boots and an old jacket. While they were climbing, Yura managed to trip on a root sticking out of the ground and was only saved from falling by flying into Volodya’s back. Volodya laughed, Yura swore, but once they got to the place that had been pointed out, they agreed that it was worth the effort.

As they came out onto the small plateau, Volodya took a full-chested breath and cast his gaze around the surroundings. He turned around to face Yura, who looked puzzled. He was checking out the pile of debris in the middle of the plateau - damp,  rotten planks with green paint peeling off.

“Is that…” He glanced questioningly at Volodya.

“The lovers’ hut,” he nodded. 

Yura sighed:

“Well, that’s sad. What a place it was.”

Volodya shrugged.

“The place hasn’t gone anywhere. I’ve arranged for this junk to be removed, it’s all rotten. But there’ll be a new one built soon.”

Yura drew closer and stood next to him. He trailed off in fascination:

“Beatiful…”

And it really was. A little scary because of the height. The plateau cut off abruptly: below, there was a sandy outcropping with thick undergrowth that led smoothly to the river. To the right was the cottage village and behind it, the boundless steppe with white voids of as-yet unmelted snow amongst the brown of last year’s grass.

The bright sun shining through the thick, fluffy clouds cast quaint shadows over the landscape spread out before them and glittered off the water. The river rustled, full of half-thawed water, and didn’t seem dried up at all, but Volodya knew: as soon as the thaw ended, the stream would grow thinner again, and in the scorching-hot summer, it would turn swampy and dry up completely.

“It’s all so familiar and yet, at the same time, so… strange,” said Yura thoughtfully.

Volodya nodded.

“Over there,” he pointed at a marsh covered completely in withered reeds, “used to be that backwater with the lilies.”

Yura sighed.

“And there’s Lastochka.” He took a step closer to the cliff. “It’s completely overgrown; in the summer, it’s probably not visible at all…” As he looked at the camp, Yura paused for several seconds, but then suddenly came back to life and asked, “Do you ever think about what to do with it?”

“Many a time,” nodded Volodya. Captivated by the view of Yura stood motionless on the very edge of the cliff, he approached him from behind and hugged him. “I’ve thought but never decided on anything.”

“Maybe a park for the Swallow’s Nest residents?” asked Yura. “Make some running paths, fix up the courts, some playgrounds for kids. It’d be nice, wouldn’t it?”

“We already have a park like that. And though it’s a long way from my house, a second would be too much.” Volodya shook his head. “Maybe we should build a camp? Or just a resort complex for family holidays. Fix up everything that we can, and build what we can’t from scratch.” He led his nose around Yura’s ear, kissed his earring and set his chin down on his shoulder. “What do you think?”

He replied, still looking far away, deep in thought:

“A camp? Who needs it… And half the camps and holiday resorts are empty anyway, as I found out last autumn.” He turned to Volodya and looked at him seriously. “You’re not going to bring Lastochka back, Volod. Even if you repair everything down to the tiniest details… the time has already passed.”

***

The last days were made gloomy by their impending separation. There was no sadness, but bitter thoughts lurked in the corners like shadows and now and then set upon Volodya, catching him unawares. He tried to remove them from his head and forget about their inevitable split, but time wouldn’t stop: the day before Yura’s departure had arrived.

Their last days together.

Right from the morning, Volodya felt déjà-vu. Just like in Germany, Yura woke up before him and was sitting in the kitchen in complete silence. He wasn’t smoking like he had been back then, but was rather staring absently in front of himself. Seeing him like that again , Volodya got the feeling they were caught in a time loop.

Everything that had already happened would repeat  itself perfectly: the internet, the waiting, the same questions - ‘When are you coming?’ and ‘Why aren’t you answering?’. Hours from message to message, working without interest, the search for something to occupy himself with to distract himself from his loneliness - existing rather than living. And constant yearning. He had had enough.

“This all reminds me of something,” said Volodya in place of a greeting.

Yura smiled sadly and shrugged. He stood up, kissed him on the cheek, went over to the piano and ran his fingers along the keys.

Volodya followed him with his eyes and asked:

“Will you play?”

“Maybe we could listen to something instead? How about jazz?”

Yura put on a Glen Miller Orchestra CD and sat down to breakfast with Volodya. The music felt inappropriately playful for that morning and irritated him rather than cheered him up.

“I have a better idea,” declared Volodya. He strode over to the music station, “and you, Yur, have a duty.”

He put Yura’s gift in, but didn’t have the chance to turn it on before Yura complained:

“Why, though? Don’t.” He went over to Volodya and tried to turn it off, but Volodya cut him off. 

“I insist.”

The music began to play. Yura folded his arms over his chest and, going over to the fireplace, slumped awkwardly into an armchair and gasped painfully.

“Ow, I think I’ve sprained it.” He frowned and began to rub his ankle.

Voloyda was by him in a flash to take a look at his leg, and not having discovered anything suspicious, asked:

“Yur, are you faking it?”

Yura rolled his eyes.

“Trust me.”

Voloyda sat in the armchair opposite, got Yura’s foot up on his knee and began to massage his ankle, but Yura frowned even harder. Volodya asked him, concerned:

“Is it painful?”

Yura shook his head.

“You shouldn’t have put it on.”

“I don’t understand…” Volodya looked him intently in the eye, but Yura lowered his gaze. “Yura, I don’t like all this avoidance. Why are you so stubborn about not listening to it?”

“I’m not against listening to it, but I don’t want to tell you about it. You’ve got to understand, I recorded this CD before you came to Germany, and back then, I didn’t yet know that you’d be so jealous.”

Sensing a familiar, painful feeling flare up in his chest, Volodya guessed what the reason was for Yura’s silence. More accurately, who it was. 

“Jonas again…” he sighed heavily.

“Again,” nodded Yura. “I understand your feelings. You might think my whole life revolves around him.”

“Yes, I really could,” replied Volodya. “But you were right when you said you can’t just cut someone out of your life who's been a part of it for six years. I understand you, I have Igor, only, unlike you, I’ve put not a small amount of effort into getting away from him.”

“Just don’t get angry.”

But Volodya wasn’t angry, just tired. He was sick of bumping into Jonas in practically every conversation. It felt like he was in the present, not the past, that there were three of them, not two.

As he ran his fingers over Yura’s skin, Volodya reflected on how to get rid of that superfluous third, but he didn’t make his mind up: he didn’t know enough about Jonas to cut him out of their lives once and for all.

After a minute of silence, he quietly asked:

“Yura, tell me about the two of you, and we can finally put an end to this. We’re both tired of it.”

Yura’s brow twitched.

“Won’t that make it worse?”

Volodya chuckled cheerlessly:

“It’s only going to get worse if I find him in your bed.”

“No way, that’s never going to happen! Jonas is long since in the past.”

I wouldn’t say so, thought Volodya, but he kept silent. 

Yura shifted to get more comfortable in his chair and put his foot back out to Volodya, since he noticed he was continuing the massage.

“We were introduced by mutual friends,” he finally began. “For some reason, Jonas reminded me of you. But only in appearance. On the inside, you’re completely different.”

“So?” Volodya interrupted more aggressively than he meant to. He didn’t appreciate the remark; it was like Yura was justifying himself.

“Nothing, I’m just saying,” he said, seemingly without noticing the harshness. “For a while, we were just dating, it never crossed our minds to move in together. But after a year, my parents found out about us. We had such an argument that I had to leave home and move to Jonas’ in Berlin. I hated depending on him. But I was deep in my studies and couldn’t rent an apartment - that’s how I justified it to myself. Jonas was already a gay activist at that point, but he hadn’t yet gotten into politics. That’s why we liked our civil partnership.” Yura put that in air quotes. "It’s true, I think back to those times now and I know, we lived pretty well, we went to all sorts of parties and gatherings. But his apartment was like a thoroughfare: always full of people, some of which Jonas even let stay the night. But soon, he came up with the idea to found a political party to fight for the rights of sexual minorities and turned our home into something like a headquarters. And with my music, I needed quiet and personal space. Since then, there was a split between us, we began to argue; we even had a fight once, can you imagine?” Yura laughed.

It was not funny to Volodya. He couldn’t even imagine lifting a hand against Yura, let alone because of his music. He swallowed the ‘That bastard’ roaring in his throat and continued to listen in silence.

“After the fight, we didn’t split up, but I did decide that I’d rather live alone and I began to actively search for an apartment. But as soon as I moved, I caught wind of rumours that someone had turned up at Jonas’s. But we hadn’t actually broken up, we met at his three times a week. I hurtled over to his and caused a scandal.” He chuckled and averted his gaze. “Then we made up.”

“And it was that easy for you to forgive his cheating?” growled Volodya.

“I still don’t know for sure whether he was cheating on me then or not. He assured me that he was being slandered. That there was, and had been, no-one but me, that he didn’t need anyone else. Besides, the guys who had told on him unexpectedly backtracked, saying maybe yes, maybe not. Whatever the case may have been, after that incident, I began to get paranoid. I tried to find out who he was talking with and when, I made scenes of my jealousy, while he was never jealous of anyone. He was actually a bit insulted. In general, our arguments were tremendous, but our make-ups were… good as well. I was afraid of leaving him alone and in the end, we moved in together again, but this time, he moved to mine - my apartment was bigger. But together with him came all his trash. You can’t imagine what bedlam it was at ours: I’d be in my office and he’d be in the living room with his comrades and acquaintances. He’d have friends shouting, I’d have my music, he would shout at me because of my music, I’d shout at him because of his friends. And you know, despite the fact that they were engaged with such noble work, politics, the parties at ours were wild. And not just the drinking. I don’t know how I tolerated it for almost a year! But my patience ran out when I came across, in my bedroom, in my own bed, a threesome!”

“With Jonas?” probed Volodya hoarsely. 

“What, no! He wouldn’t have had the nerve.”

He fell unexpectedly silent. He chewed his lip and stared unseeingly out the window. Volodya saw he was trying to pick his words, that it wasn’t coming easily for him, and therefore he didn’t hurry him.

Once he had collected himself, Yura continued:

“Anyway, the story of the headquarters in my home came to an end and we began to live like a proper family. So it might have seemed from the outside, but in actual fact, the politics was beginning to ruin our lives. It demanded too much time and effort, although it came into our lives by bits and parts. Jonas had a need to talk about it constantly, and, perhaps, you could say I’d deprived him of that by kicking out all of his society. Soon after, he opened the community centre. The one that me and you went to,” he specified. “Jonas lost whole days and nights at a time there, but even when he was home, we had nothing to talk about. I couldn’t keep the conversation going with him the way he needed me to.”

“What did he need?” Volodya didn’t understand. 

“Jonas didn’t just work in politics, he lived for it. In the beginning of their journey, people like him need a partner who thinks alike. Jonas needed another person just like himself, to not just share ideas with, but to go on to the point of exhaustion about them together with. Early on, I tried to find time between Jonas and my music, but in the end, my music won. I finally got a big break in my career - I finally stopped slapping together cheap, mass consumption stuff for shops and restaurants. That’s such a uniquely empty kind of music, you know, to fill silence but without distracting customers. I earnt my living from that parody of art for several years. But then I closed a deal with a label and could finally work on real creative stuff. And since then, that’s all I’ve been interested in. But Jonas simply hated it. He once told me that my music, and music on the whole, for that matter, was meaningless.”

“That’s a load of rubbish!” exclaimed Volodya with heat. “What, he denied the value of art?”

“He didn’t deny the value, he denied the very point of my ‘scribblings’, as he called them. And the worst part was that he was actually right. Music really is meaningless, because time passes and it will inevitably be lost and forgotten. The works of the great composers might become immortal thanks to chance or their exclusive talent, but that certainly won’t happen to mine. A soundtrack will be preserved in history thanks to the film it’s in, but even the most popular films will be forgotten. And in fifty years’ time, no-one’s likely to be listening to anything written by some Yura Konev.”

Volodya was about to open his mouth to object, but Yura smiled condescendingly and shook his head.

“Jonas didn’t understand the main thing: for me, these ‘scribblings’ were an attempt to preserve what’s condemned to die out. I love music for its frailty. But Jonas was right about something else: that what he was doing was for everyone’s benefit and was even saving lives. But back then, I was so wounded by what he’d said that I went off on a real hysterical one - we had a terrible argument. He packed up his things, left, and stopped answering my calls. Sometime after a week, I couldn’t hold out any longer and I ran off to find him. He wasn’t at the community centre; I was going to go to Motzstrasse and go round every club, but I first guessed to go to our old apartment. Of course, I still had my keys, and I didn’t even think to knock on the door, I opened it myself. I should have knocked, I wouldn’t have seen-”

He fell abruptly silent and turned away, as though trying to hide his emotions. He inhaled, exhaled, looked back and Volodya and continued flatly:

“He didn’t hear me come in and continued bouncing on some guy. I couldn’t believe my eyes as I stood there in the doorway, staring like an idiot, thinking it couldn’t be Jonas. But it was him, not drunk, not on drugs, the real him!”

He fell silent again and turned away.  Then he leant his head back fully on the rest and covered his face with his hand. He sighed heavily.

“I don’t know what went through my head, I don’t remember. But I didn’t say a word, I just ran out of there and my feet brought me with a will of their own to Motzstrasse.” As he was saying this, he didn’t take his hand off his face, trying to avoid looking at Volodya. His voice sounded muffled. “I drank myself into oblivion and in some club, I don’t remember which anymore, I bumped into this one guy from pride who’d been trying to hook up with me for ages. Don’t ask me why I did it, I don’t know! He’d wanted it for a long time, but I was the one who proposed it: I was a free man now, after all, there was nothing to stop me. Oh God…”

“Uh-huh. And naturally, he agreed,” drawled Volodya, making a face.

“Yes.”

With the understanding that he had no right to judge, Volodya still couldn’t stay silent. He asked mockingly, knowing the answer in advance:

“And did that solve the problem? Did it make things easier?”

“No, of course not.”

Yura lowered his feet onto the floor and sat hunched over in the armchair. Volodya couldn’t stay angry at him. But he could at Jonas.

“I now very much regret,” he hissed through gritted teeth, “not giving that sleazebag’s face a beating. And you were good, you did well to break up with him.”

“I didn’t break up with him,” whispered Yura. “I forgave him. I loved him, you’ve got to understand.”

Loved him, repeated Volodya in his mind. Nevertheless, even without having said that, it had already become clear to him: Yura had truly loved Jonas, genuinely and sincerely. 

But Volodya was scared, truly scared of something else: the main person in Yura’s life wasn’t him, it was Jonas! And Volodya, in reality, was merely the continuation of a first love, the kind everyone has and everyone forgets about.

Volodya had nothing after Yurka, there was nothing left after him. His feelings for him had for many years extinguished Volodya’s ability to fall in love. He felt a tenderness for Sveta, shame and fear for her. There was lust for Igor, hope and hurt. But there had been no love. In all his life, Volodya had felt it for nobody but Yura. But Yura had loved. Genuinely, strongly, self-denyingly, self-sacrificingly, exactly how Volodya had once loved him. 

At the same time, he understood that in actual fact, there was nothing reprehensible, wrong or unjust about Yura having loved someone else. Yura had simply had the courage to experience such strong feelings anew. How could he be guilty of anything? Of course he wasn’t, but Volodya was killed, poisoned and turned inside out by the fact that Jonas meant as much to Yura as Volodya had in their youth.

If his bright, crystalline image of Yurka had begun to crack back in Berlin, then during this conversation, it had shattered into pieces, which smashed against the floor with a melodic sound as they fell and disappeared forever. But if the Yura whose image he had so carefully preserved in his memory no longer existed, then who was sitting in front of him right then? Someone else? Not likely. A stranger? No. And what did that ‘someone’ mean to him?

He meant a lot. After all, one look from his brown eyes made his heart beat faster and his chest grow warm. He was drawn towards Yura, and his own voice sounded so sweet when he said his name. Yu-ra. The music of that name, whether whispered or shouted, was singularly magical. 

“Then why did you break up?” asked Volodya, feeling an emptiness inside.

“We broke up without any reason. It all happened by itself. It’s like the wool was lifted from my eyes, I blew like a bulb and realised that I simply didn’t want to see him anymore, that it had all gone: the love, the attraction, really any kind of feelings or emotions.”

“But Jonas said that you came back to him.”

“I felt bad about the time I’d given to him and the feelings I’d once felt. I went back, yes. To leave the next day. But there’s a limit to everything, and one time, I left for good.”

“I see,” said Volodya. 

The track about Germany which had been going round on repeat was beginning to irritate him. As if he had caught onto the change in Volodya’s mood, Yura went over to the music station and turned the CD off. The house was plunged into silence. 

Yura returned to Volodya and ran his fingers through his hair. Volodya lifted an empty, emotionless look to him.

“What’s wrong?” asked Yura softly.

“Nothing,” replied Volodya drily. “I just envy you. In almost forty years, I’ve not loved anyone apart from you.”

A spasm seemed to pass over Yura’s face. He suddenly sank to his knees, clasped Volodya’s cheeks in his hands and stared him in the eyes so intently, it was like he was trying to peer into the most secret corners of his soul.

“Volodya, what have I just done?” he asked hoarsely.

“You told me about-”

“No! What have I just done to you? Have I offended you? Hurt you?”

“How could it be otherwise, Yura? Of course it hurts me!” exclaimed Volodya. “But what do we do now? You can’t change the past. But thank you for your honesty.”

“How can I set this right?” Yura sank to the floor entirely and set his forehead on Volodya’s knee.

The gesture embarrassed him - Yura shouldn’t have had to apologise sitting at his feet like a dog. Volodya offered a hand to Yura, trying to lift him back up, but Yura squeezed his palm and kissed it.

“You know,” he whispered as he looked up at Volodya with tenderness, “I never dedicated songs to him. I’ve never done that for anyone except you, and no-one has inspired me like you do.”

Volodya lowered himself onto the floor next to Yura and hugged him. He gently pressed his head to his chest and kissed his hair. His heart was being torn apart by his feelings swinging from pole to pole: from anger, almost hatred, over Yura’s love for someone else, to an all-encompassing affection for Yura and a fear of losing him, to let him out of his embrace for even a minute.

“I don’t want you to go,” croaked Volodya - his throat was tight with anxiety. “I don’t want to give you back to anyone.”

“You’re not giving me away to anyone. Before thinking like that, ask my opinion, whether I’d really want to give myself to anyone but you?”

“But I can’t live the way you’re suggesting. You over there, me here. A relationship across two countries, not even just two cities! Separate lives: you have your own, I have my own, we each have our homes, it’s just we sometimes cross paths. Surely that can’t be what you want?”

“No,” mumbled Yura.

“Me neither!” Volodya laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it firmly. “I want it all and right now, I want us to be a family. I want to share a home, day-to-day life, my dog, I really just want to share.”

Yura laughed mutedly.

“And what’s to be done about it? Emigrate again? Which one of us?”

“Well…” Volodya trailed off and fell silent. His words sounded naive, but he refused to give up. “Stay with me, work here, and send your commissions off over the internet. That’s possible, right?”

“To live like that? I don’t think so.”

“Well, maybe not to live, but just to stay for a bit longer than a week? If the need arises, you could fly to Germany, like a business trip.”

“My dear Volodya…” Yura let hang in the air, withdrawing. The sad smile on his lips spoke better than any words.

“I see,” said Volodya. He stood up. “I need to take the dog for a walk.”

He quickly got dressed, called Gerda and went into the hallway. Yura hurried to go with him, but Volodya stopped him:

“I need to spend some time alone. It’s been too much information for one day - I need to get it all through my head.”

As he closed the door behind himself, he saw Yura standing at a loss in the middle of the room, but he simply could not find the strength to be with him right then.

When he returned an hour and a half later, he caught Yura in the hallway putting his coat on.

“Where are you going?” asked Volodya, without hiding the anxiety in his voice.

“I also want to go for a walk,” replied Yura. He shot him a serious look. “Tell me, what have you been thinking? Are we breaking up?”

“What? No!”

“Shall I wait for you in the summer?”

“Wait. Of course, wait,” said Volodya, hiding his eyes. He understood what Yura was getting at, and added, “I’ll put up with a long-distance relationship until it breaks me. For our sake.”

“That’s good.” Yura nodded.

“Still though, where are you going?” 

“I said, I’m going for a walk.”

Yura quickly disappeared behind the door before Volodya could say a word.

He regretted allowing him to waste the scant time remaining to them. He wanted to go back to that morning and not start the conversation about Jonas and Yura’s past at all. To not ruin their last day together. But it was already ruined, and then evening and the night as well. And Yura’s plane was the next day.

After an hour, Yura had not returned, nor after three. Volodya called him twice to ask when he would be coming back, but he replied that he wasn’t ready to go back home yet.

During all that time, Volodya couldn’t find a place for himself: he paced around every room, washed all his dishes, even the clean ones, made dinner, but didn’t eat a bite, got books out, but put them back straight away. He grew angry.

When the clock struck six o’clock on the dot, he heard the doorbell ring and he broke out running towards it.

“Where have you been?” He barely restrained himself from shouting at Yura. “Why were you so long? I practically lost my mind!”

“I returned my ticket,” was all Yura said in reply as he victoriously watched Volodya’s lips spread into a smile.