#kostya shin.

[ma6e]

✉️✉️✉️

JAKE A KIAN. [O algo así. La carta se encuentra prolijamente doblada entre las páginas de un sketchbook, sin intenciones de llegar a su dueño. Por el traspaso de algún material usado en el mismo sketchbook, tiene manchas amorfas de distintos colores encima. La letra descuidada y los borrones hechos de la misma tinta, sugieren que fue escrita a poca luz y con palabras rápidas, como quien se despierta en medio de la noche a escribir a la luz que entra por la ventana. El sketchbook se lo deja en la casa de Kian, por accidente. Es posible que la carta se deslice y llegue a sus manos.]

Mi amor, amorcito, mi vida. La cabeza me está dando vueltas en cosas que no debería, y acabo de imaginar el escenario más terrible de la vida: estás enamorado de alguien más, y es un sujeto que te trata tan bien y eres tan feliz, que no puedo ni siquiera quejarme. ¿Por qué me siento inseguro en este momento, por qué te imagino lejos de mi? Hace poco alguien me dijo que soñar con alguien es porque ese alguien está pensando en ti, pero si estás pensando cosas que lleven a que ese escenario se haga verdad, entonces prefiero que no me pienses. Que ni se te ocurra. Necesito botar estas imágenes de alguna forma, pero me rehúso a pintarlas, así que te escribo, y que se queden aquí encerradas para siempre, y tú a mi lado, y que esta imagen no se vuelva a materializar nunca más, porque no me puedo imaginar sin ti, y a ti sin mi. Lo siento, estás atrapado en mis brazos de por vida. Que pena. Soy un idiota. Te amo. ¿Esto cuenta como una amarre? Son como las tres y media de la mañana.

HAOKAI A JINAH. [La carta se encuentra dentro de un sobre blanco, como una carta formal, pero la estampa tiene la caricatura de un oso con un brote verde sobre la cabeza. Como los dormitorios no tienen un buzón muy ordenado, la deposita directamente por debajo de la puerta de Jinah. Tiene escrito su nombre, y en color rojo, las palabras top secret. Es un intento de bajarle el perfil, y hacerlo un poco gracioso, porque no es una carta de amor. De hecho, solo el sobre tiene esas pizcas divertidas, pero eso es algo de lo que Jinah se daría cuenta una vez lea el contenido. El mismo se encuentra escrito de su puño y letra, una letra ordenada y bonita, en tinta azul.]

Jinah, mi corazón, Sé que he estado extraño y ausente estos días, estas semanas, y me disculpo. Estoy tan acostumbrado a mi independencia, o a que los demás dependan de mí, que es difícil tomar las manos que te tienden. Es difícil verse vulnerable, incluso frente a las personas que sabes te contendrán en lugar de dejar que te desplomes. Dicho esto, si fuera menos cobarde, te diría esto en persona, pero es más fácil cuando sé exactamente lo que voy a compartirte, y cómo me vas a pillar la próxima vez que nos veamos. Lo que quiero que sepas es, que no estoy bien. Pero no tiene que ver contigo, ni con el amor que me entregas. Todas esas son cosas que valoro y amo, y no quiero que pienses que no es así, o que planeo dejarte ir. Porque no es verdad. Es mi madre. Hace unos meses se encontró una anomalía en sus exámenes de rutina, y eso ha evolucionado en lo peor que puedes imaginar cuando sabes de algo como eso. No sé hace cuánto lo sabe ella, pero yo me enteré hace aproximadamente tres semanas. Un poco más, un poco menos; he perdido un poco el sentido del tiempo. La cosa es que, ella está lista para irse, me dice, pero yo no estoy listo para dejarla ir. Cada vez que me encuentro con ella, que ahora es más seguido que nunca, me lo comenta. Me prepara, de alguna forma, para lo que ella ya asume como inevitable. Lo intenta. Pero no lo logra. No estoy listo, no me siento listo. ¿Sabes cómo es eso? Porque yo no sabía, y me abruma. Tanto, que no sé cómo encuentro la cabeza para seguir sumiéndome en cosas de la universidad, pero sé que no lo hago con tantas ganas como acostumbro. También sé que lo que tengo contigo ha sufrido un poco por lo mismo, aunque el único lugar en el que me siento un poco más vivo es cuando estoy contigo. ¿Encuentras tonto que te lo diga de esta forma? No me atrevo a articular las palabras y que estas salgan de mi boca. Dejarlo en un correo electrónico, por otra parte, se sentía más vacío que hacerlo por este medio ¿Te parece?. Pero estaba convencido de que tenía que contártelo, o terminaría por perderte. Y quiero que sepas que te amo. Tuyo, ZHK.

KOSTYA A MYEONG. [La carta se encuentra disfrazada en un sobre rosado con stickers de caricaturas de gatos dándose un besito, estrellas, corazones, y piedras de plástico, que asemejan a ese de un fan-mail. La persona a la que va dirigida es claramente Myeong, pero el remitente es una vagueza. La referencia a un gato con honoríficos cariñosos... en femenino. Nadie que no los conociera íntimamente y lo que comparten sospecharía que vendría de él, mucho menos que no se trata de una mujer. La carta ha llegado a manos del manager de Myeong, quien tiene como tarea entregársela al mismo. La carta misma está escrita en una hoja para cartas adornada con dibujos de un cielo estrellado, perfumada con su colonia, escrita en una fina tinta negra con una caligrafía acorde: elegante, y un poco difícil de leer. Junto a ella, una postal que no tiene más que un beso marcado.]

Mi estimadísimo Myeong, ¿Cómo te encuentras? Espero que mi elección de papel te agrade. Y los adornos, también. Los elegí yo mismo, con mis propios ojos y manos, y así me autodenomino tu mayor fan. No haría el esfuerzo por nadie más que tú. Estoy sentado en la mesita más bonita, con la vista más privilegiada de una ciudad que no visito tan seguido como para decir: estoy acostumbrado a esta belleza y ya no me impresiona. Pero aún así, no me siento completo, ni satisfecho, ni privilegiado. No te tengo a ti. Tampoco a mis gatas, pero para este mismísimo segundo en el que pensé en escribirte, ellas pasan a segundo plano. Quiero y necesito a mi chico. Estoy tan inspirado, y me siento tan desesperadamente enamorado, que hasta podría escribir una o dos canciones sobre ti. ¿Querrías escucharlas cuando regrese? Aunque lejos estés, en mis sueños te tengo. Como un gato sin dueño, siempre me encuentro. ¿Muy cursi? Piénsame, amor mío. Ya nos volveremos a ver. Kotenka ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

[cherryviscera]

if youre mean to them ill kill myself : eva , kostya , nanashi , valentine idgaf if you think theyre fucked up theyre for me and me alone : kazuyuki , collette , vita , mikhail if you dont hate them im going to block you , actually : mori , shin

[wickedlittlecritta]

Prompt #5: Deep, Earth, Curse

"You probably should have found someone from Moscow for this," Kostya said, peering down the manhole cover into the darkness dubiously. No one else in the little Moscow park looked at us as they walked past, which was as much part of being in a capital city as it was my illusions. I had never seen Kostya in anything less casual than good jeans and button up shirts before, so seeing him in a t-shirt and big rubber boots felt as unsettling as seeing him in a parakeet onesie would have, even though we were dressed more or less identically.

"I don't want a guide, I want someone who won't lose their shit when I inevitably start doing something spooky," I said, and Kostya grinned. 

"I can do that," he said. "After you. Spookiest first."

"Thanks," I said, and looked down. "Well. Here we go."

The ladder was slick with water, and it smelled like a basement after a flood. I stepped off into water up to my chest and scooted aside so Kostya could get off the ladder too.

"Where are we going?" he asked, flicking on his flashlight and sweeping it up and down the tunnel.

"Give me a minute," I said, and stepped into the Gray.

There was something under Moscow, and in the Gray I could feel it creeping like a cancer.

“This way,” I said, and waded through the water. Kostya made a soft noise and followed me with the flashlight.

“Maybe we’ll see the giant cockroaches,” he said.

“Is that really your tunnel cryptid? Cockroaches? I expected more from Russia.”

“They’re big and white, supposedly.”

“God. Not even a single sewer gator? Step up your game.”

“Excuse me?”

“American cities have sewer gators. Allegedly.”

“Oh, I hate that,” Kostya said. I laughed. 

At first there was evidence of other explorers, though we didn’t see anyone. The brick walls were tagged, some of the graffiti incredible works of art, others simple slogans drippily sprayed.

And then we went down deeper, and the graffiti petered out, until we were in narrow tunnels so low that even I had to stoop. It had the mildewy stale smell of a flooded basement. And there were cockroaches, but they were normally sized, and normally colored.

“So is this a job, or an adventure?” Kostya asked over the slow drip of water from a pipe above into the stream we padded through.

“Job. Quill didn’t want to go spelunking and sent me instead.”

“Sounds right. I can’t see them down here.”

“Oh, I can. I have. We just got back from Mongolia though, and they’re much more interested in staying home and flirting with Marina for a while. So here I am.”

“Devin?” the Grim said. I turned and saw him crouched in a side tunnel set about half a foot up in the main tunnel, his tail hanging out.

“Grim? What is it?” I asked, and went to him.

“Something bad,” he said softly. He looked back at me, silver eyes shinning like moons in the light.

“What is it?” Kostya asked.

“The Grim says something’s coming.” I offered my hand. He looked down at it.

“Is this where the spooky shit starts?”

“Abso-fuckin’-lutely.”

He sighed and took my hand.

In the Gray the water running beneath our feet was mixed with ichor, the lifeblood of an ancient city flowing around us. And something snuffled in the darkness.

“Oh,” Kostya said, and sounded very small. I turned back to him. In the Gray he looked so young—ten? twelve?—wearing a torn coat too big for him, the scruffy shape of his pigeon daemon huddled on his shoulders. He had a smudge of dirt on his face, and matted hair, and tired eyes. He still held the flashlight steady, even as he stared at me. “You look…different.”

“So do you,” I said. He looked like he wanted to say something, but something scratched in the dark, like nails on chalkboard, and he started.

It was not a cockroach. It was a sludgy form like a man covered in oil, leaking shadow into the ichor-infused water. It had claws on its hands bigger than my head. It dragged them across the brick, making a noise that scrapped against my skull. I squeezed Kostya’s hand and drew my sword. This was about the worst place I could imagine fighting a wraith. In a fucking tunnel. Where I had to duck. Where my boyfriend was reminding me in very visual terms that I had to protect him, that I’d dragged him underground and out of his depth.

Things could have been better, alright?

“Stay behind me,” I said, and let go of his hand. I didn’t think he’d stay in the Gray that way, and I wasn’t sure what he’d see without being there. He was a powerful witch in his own way, but he wasn’t a Graywalker like I was.

I moved forward, hoping to use the closeness of the side tunnel against the thing, to keep it out of the larger tunnel Kostya and I were in, but it moved bonelessly and slipped past me and my sword, and I felt cumbersome and heavy against it. It just wanted to eat me. I wanted to make sure it didn’t eat me, or Kostya, or escape. I had a lot more to keep track of. In out, strike, doge—

It caught me, claws sinking into my chest. Don’t drop the sword, I thought as it clattered to the ground. I grabbed one claw like that was going to do anything. I stared at its teeth and chocked on blood and ichor.

Getting eaten was so fucking embarrassing.

My hands pawed at its claws as it pulled me in to its long teeth. And then it stopped, jerking, and hissed. So very, very slowly, it toppled to the ground, still keening softly.

Kostya stood behind it with a knife, shadows dripping down his hands.

“Thanks,” I croaked. He swore at me expressively in Russian, pulling me free of the claws. 

“We have to get you to a hospital—”

“I’m fine,” I said, knowing I did not look fine even a little. “We have to burn it.”

“Devin, you’re—”

“I’m going to be fine. Here, can you…” I trailed off until I pulled the bottle of vodka and box of matches from my jacket. The shadow and blood and ichor stains on it were never going to come out.

It was easier to think about the ruins of my coat than the ruins of my chest, and how badly it hurt to breathe. I could feel the Grim curled deep, and I wonder if the wraith had gotten his heart. I didn’t think I’d be conscious if it had gotten mine. “Devin, you’re bleeding out of your mouth. That’s bad,” Kostya said gently, squatting next to me in the water. I grinned at him.

“Takes more than that to kill a witch,” I said. He sighed and took the vodka and matches. I watched him light what was left of the wraith aflame.

“And this is why we don’t feed our daemons,” I said in cheery sing-song as Kostya returned to me. “Did you know you’re great?”

“Devin. Stop talking,” he said. I grinned up at him, feeling woozy and useless. He bent down beside me again, tucking my things in my pocket and lifting me to my feet. I leaned heavily on him while he slipped my sword back into its scabbard.

“You’re a fucking danger to yourself, you know that?” Kostya grumbled, leading me back out of the tunnel. I turned to watch the flames smolder out on the damp bricks.

“I’m harder to kill than I look.” I looked back up at him and added, “You know how it is.”

Kostya looked back at me, his scowl twisting into some expression that was both amused and annoyed about it. “One day we’ll run into something bigger and meaner than we are.”

“Not today.”

“Not today,” he agreed. “Here’s to living when we should’ve died.”

“Here’s to living,” I repeated, squeezing him with the arm wrapped around his neck.