A/N: Before the uh... stuff happens! I want to thank the guest that left a review for the last chapter - which I wish I could reply personally, but oh well. Thank you! And also... it's okay to feel conflicted! I think we all do here...haha.

And of course thank you to both mikkamikka and lostbluefox! You guys always leave such detailed (and lovely!) reviews! I live on 'em.

Anyways. On with the chapter (it's an extra long one!)

Oh, not for nothing are you darker than the deep!

I see mourning for my soul in you,

I see a triumphant flame in you:

A poor heart immolated in it.

A warm puff of breath billowed out into the cold air, Yao watching it fade as he wrapped his arms around his knees tighter. Shivering, he wanted to clutch the parka to himself closer, but it felt that no matter what, the cold would always persevere and pierce through the fabric of his clothes. Ivan, however, was unmoved, almost unaffected by the gusts of hail ridden air. Yao watched Ivan's eyes flutter slightly when the wind picked up, and was reminded once again of how wintry and snow-like Ivan looked. He could lie in the snow and almost fade away without notice, had it not been for his black boots.

Ivan glanced over to Yao, a small smile creeping up on his lips. 'Again, myshka?'

Yao snapped his head away, somewhat glad for the rosy warmth that spread across his face, but nonetheless feeling oddly flustered. It should not have been a problem. Many times, Ivan watched Yao, without so much as a blink - so why was it so important that Ivan not see Yao doing the same?

'You don't have to sit out here with me.' Ivan sighed. Through the corner of his eye, Yao saw him turn his head back towards the horizon, to the fenced view of the snow covered field. They had been sitting here for quite a while, feeling almost as if they were waiting for the snow to melt away and give rise to the sunflowers that had been promised. 'I only do this because I have nothing else to do.'

'Then I don't have anything to do either.' Yao said. It was true, if there were no bodies to cut up, no 'night errands' to run, what was else there for either Yao or Ivan to do? Ivan lived to tear away the lives of others, and Yao… What did Yao live for? The ice cold man beside him? Somehow this was a thought that rattled uneasily in Yao's head.

Yao settled his head onto his knees, wishing he had been sat indoors by a warm fire that out here on a frozen over porch. But even so, Yao didn't want to sit alone, especially today.

'You know it's Christmas Eve today, right?' Yao turned his head slightly, relieved to not find Ivan staring right back. It was easier to not have him looking, easier on his chest and his breath. And yet, he still secretly wanted to feel the slight ache of his crushed breath. The pain was unpleasant, but it was also exhilarating – addictive, almost.

'Christmas… I've never really celebrated it.' Ivan turned to Yao, and almost instantly Yao forgot what was so exciting about having his breath shortened. No… it was uncomfortable. He was shivering from the cold, and his breath was giving way. No, this was not comfortable in the least.

'Not even with Katyusha?' His words were shaky, trembling. Excitement or nervousness? Yao wasn't sure.

Ivan shook his head. 'We were always busy scrubbing floors or struggling to keep our boots from falling apart at the orphanage. And now… Katyusha has her own family to spend Christmas with. I do not like to impose on her to spend time with me.'

There was a breath of silence, Ivan's hands fidgeting as if deciding what to do with them. He reached over and took old of Yao's ponytail, twisting it and twirling it in his hand. Yao tensed - though he should have been used to it by now, this recent game Ivan had taken up. The game in which Ivan toyed with Yao's hair as if he were a pet of some sort. And all the while Yao had to pretend he was not bothered in the least by it. But it did bother him, although irritation wasn't exactly the sentiment behind it. As he felt Ivan's hand tug at his hair, words and thoughts became muddled and so difficult to distinguish, as if they were all melting away into a meaningless puddle.

What's wrong with me?

'How do you normally spend your Christmas, myshka?'

'Um.' Yao shivered, the ice cold wind hitting his exposed neck. 'Alone. Watching TV.' He blurted out, biting his lip back when his own honesty surprised him. Somehow, with Ivan combing through his hair and the tiny flecks of ice landing and melting onto his hands, these words were spoken easily. 'Growing up, my parents were not around often. Things always got in the way. Mostly work. Sometimes I'd visit my cousin Jin but… his parents were worse than mine. So I just stayed home.'

'You didn't have friends?'

'I did… sort of.' Yao nodded, wanting to end it there, but feeling the urge to continue. 'Not really. I-'

(All I ever had was Jin and that clingy bastard Yong Soo)

'I just never felt close with… anyone.'

Ivan hand smoothed over the lock of hair and let it tumble loosely over Yao's shoulder. 'Do you still feel like that, myshka?'

'No…' Yao shook his head, now itching for Ivan's hand to caress his hair again, even though the feeling of uneasiness was still vivid and fresh in his mind. He glanced to Ivan, almost hearing the words in his head as if they were spoken out loud.

(It's nice having friends... Isn't it, myshka?)

But no words were spoken. Ivan only watched Yao intently, thoughtfully as he always did. Yao could only stare back, if only for a short and excruciatingly flustered moment, before retreating his gaze to the snow covered ground. Unable to keep his own gaze steady, Yao wondered why this was the case.

It must have been fear, or remnants of it. Old shreds of anxieties, left over from the summer nights when Ivan's blood coated hands terrified him. Looking at Ivan's pale face, surely Yao was reminded of this, and unsettled by the memory. But why was it that he could only see Ivan, and not the beast Yao was once sure existed beneath the lilac eyes and sweet voice?

It's still there, isn't it? The monster…

Monster or broken angel? Yao felt uncertainty once again, every feeling and thought suddenly not so clear cut.

'Let's go back in.' Ivan pat Yao's shoulder. 'It's cold out here, da?'

For Ivan, who was always blanketed by the cold, it felt odd to hear him say this. Yao, however, only nodded and stood up from the porch steps, holding back the hesitant smile that wanted to spread across his lips.

.

Arthur flipped the newspaper open, turning the pages and searching the bold headlines, muttering a curse when a gust of air violently slapped the pages in the opposite direction. He skimmed its contents, looking for particular words - perhaps even images - but seeing none. Nothing, only sickly sweet sentiments of reunited families and rescued puppies. It was Christmas Eve, after all... so what had he been expecting, really?

Setting the newspaper back onto the rack, his hand reached for another, only for someone to tap his shoulder rather forcefully. He whipped his head around, wary of what stranger would be bothering him today in this god forsaken place.

'So you still haven't left the country, huh?' Alfred said, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.

'Oh. Hello, er… Al…fred.' Arthur said, vaguely remembering the haze of whisky in his veins and the way in which he had so willingly agreed to call him 'Al'. That was, however, not something that rolled off Arthur's tongue easily.

Alfred chuckled, and for the first time, Arthur felt his mind was ever so slightly transparent for him to see. It was in this unsettling feeling of exposure that Arthur brought his cane to the front and stabbed it into the pavement.

'Well. It was lovely seeing you again… Alfred. But I have places to go and things to do, so if you don't mind,' Arthur offered a polite smile and turned to leave. 'I'll be going. Short and sweet, I know, but what can I do-'

'Hold up.' Alfred grabbed his arm. 'You can't just leave.'

'Why not?'

'You're not on vacation here, Arthur.' He tightened his grip as Arthur tried to slowly pull away. 'The killer's still out there, and you just decided to disappear for two months-'

'One month and three weeks, actually.' Arthur tried to pry Alfred's hand off finger by finger, but the man still held on, hand biting into him like jaws. 'And I was working. Just not in your presence.'

'Well, you weren't consulting me and Kiku about it. That's what you got called in for, isn't it?' Alfred stepped closer, his gaze not hesitating in the way Arthur had expected. 'Why'd you leave?'

'I had… personal matters to tend to.' Arthur said, a moment of silence falling between them. It wasn't a lie exactly… it was more so a guess on Arthur's part. He had presumed it was boredom - of the case, of Alfred, of this whole place. But oddly enough, he couldn't bring himself to leave. He still checked the newspapers for possible updates on the case, and the sight of Alfred's determined expression still amused him.

A lie to Alfred, no. A lie to himself… perhaps.

Alfred's hold on Arthur wavered, his grip loosening slightly as strangers passing by gave curious looks.

'Okay, well… I don't really care about your personal matters right now.' Alfred said, still tentatively holding on as if Arthur might make a run for it. 'I still need your help with the case.'

'I thought you had a lead.'

'I did…' Alfred glanced around uneasily. 'Look, uh... Let's talk somewhere else. This isn't really something you can talk about out here.'

'Why?' Arthur arched a brow. 'Are you trying to lure me somewhere?'

Alfred frowned. 'What? Lure you?'

'Picking strays up off the street is your specialty, isn't it?' Arthur smiled wryly. 'Alright. I'll follow. Where are you taking me?'

.

'Tell me, Linda.' Alfred spread the photos across the table. 'Any of these faces familiar to you?'

Linda did not even glance at the photos, crossing her arms and icily locking her eyes onto Alfred's. 'No. You've already asked me this.'

Alfred lifted up the first photo to Linda's face, watching her expression. 'Did you know him?'

Her face remained stony and blank, not even offering the courtesy of a nod or a shake. Alfred picked up the next photo, showed it to her and watched. Another photo. Nothing. Each and every face he showed to her was received with only an emotionless glare and nothing more.

'How about this guy?' Alfred lifted up another photo. 'Dr. Rothaugen?'

She pursed her lips. Her eyes stayed fixed and steady, but her mouth had given way, if only for a split second.

Alfred let the photo linger in front of her for a little longer. There was something there, he had seen it. He pulled back a chair and sat. 'We know you were a Glen Hills patient, Linda. We saw your file in their records.'

Linda shifted in her posture, crossing her legs in the chair that many suspects before her had sat. Just another egg to crack, to break down in the way that Kiku had often politely warned Alfred not to. But sometimes it was needed, just a little bit of tactless pressure…

The door clicked open. 'I apologize for making you wait, Ms. Sterling.' Kiku shut the door behind him and placed the paper cup onto the table. 'Here's the water you asked for.'

'Thank you.' Linda sipped the water.

Kiku took his seat next to Alfred, muttering an apology to him as well. He looked to Alfred, signaling for him to continue. Alfred nodded and turned to Linda.

'As I was saying, Linda, we know you were a Glen Hills patient. We also know that most of the men and women who've disappeared recently were previously Glen Hills staff.'

It was a flimsy case for suspecting Linda. Alfred knew that. The DNA samples didn't match, nor did the descriptions – but this was the closest they had gotten to a suspect as of yet. Alfred was not letting this woman hold back one shred of information from him.

'Ms. Sterling,' Kiku said, perhaps noting the direction Alfred was trying to take this interrogation in and trying to salvage it in his own orderly way. 'Can you think of any reason of why someone would do this? Anyone in particular who might be behind this?'

Linda blinked, features softening slightly. 'No… I can't think of anyone. But I'm not surprised this has happened.' She looked down at the photos, frowning. 'They were ugly people. Disgusting people.'

'So you knew them?' Alfred asked.

Linda exhaled, hesitating before shaking her head. 'Only some…' She pointed to the photo in the middle, of Dr. Rothaugen. 'This pig – he deserved it.'

Alfred was ready to pounce on that statement, but Kiku was faster.

'Why's that?'

'You don't know?' Linda looked up, irritation lacing her voice. 'That hell hole was made for people like him. Pedophiles. Perverts. It took the police long enough to put a stop to it.' She slid her hand across the table, collecting the photos up in a pile and pushing them back towards Alfred. 'I was fifteen when I finally got out. You want to know the first thing they told me when I did? Told me that my name was Linda, and that they were going to put me in a rehabilitation center.' She chuckled. 'They wanted me to go through it all over again.'

'I'm sorry, what do you mean they 'told you' your name is Linda?' Alfred frowned. 'Isn't that-'

'My name's not Linda.' She looked at them questioningly. 'Don't you have that on the files, or wherever you're getting your information from? I'm not Linda.'

'Who are you, then?' Kiku asked.

'Natalya.'

'Natalya what?'

Linda furrowed her brows. 'Just… Just Natalya. D-Don't you have that…' She peered over to the files on Alfred and Kiku's side of the table. 'Don't you have a record of that? My name and… where I came from…'

'We have a Linda Sterling here.' Kiku said. 'It's possible they put you under her name, so they wouldn't have to record the real Linda Sterling's death.'

'N-No, that can't be right.' Linda shook her head, combing her hand through her hair. 'I'm Natalya. Not Linda. Natalya. Linda's just… just a mistake. I gladly took it, but I was always Natalya… always… Natalya…' Her voice trailed off as her hand continued to comb through her long hair, leaving the strands to fall back onto her shoulders slowly.

'Ms. Sterling?' Kiku said. 'Are you alright? We can stop here-'

'I'm not Linda!' She snapped her eyes up fiercely. 'I'm… Natalya. Don't forget that. Don't call me by any other name, don't fucking tell me I'm someone else!'

'Please calm down, we're only trying to understand-'

'How can you not know? Why isn't it on there?' She stood up from her seat, the chair screeching across the floor. 'Why aren't I on there? Where's my name? Where is it?' She banged her hands onto the table. 'Where's Natalya?'

'Sit down.' Alfred said.

'Do you know what they did to me? Do you know how many fucking needles they stuck into me? How many times they strapped me to the bed and let me starve? That was Natalya they did this to, Natalya that got bruised and kicked and – and –' She swallowed, hand shaking as she pointed to the file in Alfred's hands. 'And they don't even have my fucking name down?'

'Natalya, sit down.' Alfred seethed, standing up from his chair.

'You're lying. You're lying, aren't you?' She shrieked. 'Of course my name's on there! Of course it is! Little Natalya and all the different sounds we can squeeze out of her little neck!'

Alfred and Kiku hurried over to her side of the table, taking hold of her thrashing arms.

'There are so many, you know? So many different kinds of pain and so many kinds of screams, they wrote them all down! Tell me I'm not just making this up! Tell me it's written on there!'

'Please calm down!' Kiku said, aiding Alfred in pushing her shoulders down so that she sat in the chair.

'Please…' Natalya croaked out, slumping forward in the chair, her back shaking from quiet sobs. 'It really did happen… I…I'm not making this up…'

'We know.' Alfred said, pulling his hands away from her shoulder. He glanced to Kiku, finding his brows furrowed in concern. 'We know you're not lying, Natalya.'

'Ivan will tell you, won't he?' Natalya said, her voice barely a whisper. 'He'll tell you… what they did…'

.

'Ivan?' Arthur leant forward in his seat, arms crossed over on the table. 'And I suppose you checked for his record?'

Alfred nodded, setting his coffee down. 'We checked the records for either an Ivan or a Natalya. Neither came up.'

'I see.' Arthur's eyes trailed to the window, watching the snow fall onto the busy pavement with feigned interest. Curious, Alfred studied his face, the way Arthur's green irises flickered and thick brows furrowed slightly. Not quite the same, not quite as confident as before… No, something was different about him. More hesitance than cocky arrogance, more sheep than wolf in his demeanor.

What's happened while he's been away?

'But do you really think that it's these two you should be chasing?' Arthur turned his gaze back to Alfred, almost startling him.

'N-No.' Alfred said. 'No, they're just… One step closer, I guess.'

'Hm.' Arthur took a sip of his tea, smacking his lips in distaste as he set back down. 'Bloody awful tea… I'm sure the waitress spat in it.'

'I wouldn't be surprised.' Alfred said. 'You sent it back three times.'

'Well.' Arthur slid the tea cup further away. 'It's not my fault they can't brew a proper cup of tea. How's your coffee?'

'Fine.'

'Let me try some.'

'No.' Alfred pulled his drink closer, now cooling to a lukewarm in the way his coffee always did before he could manage to finish it. 'Look, just… I wanted you to hear your thoughts on the case. Not share my coffee with you.'

Arthur let out a small exhale, settling his hands back into a folded position and eyeing the file by Alfred's hands. 'Alright, then. Tell me.'

'Tell you what?'

'The latest kill, the most recent mangled body they've left for you. What has our boy done since I've been away?'

'Well… not much, actually.' Alfred slid the file forward. 'There was a woman found a little more than a month ago. Flora Garrison. Formerly a nurse at Glen Hills.'

'Let's see.' Arthur pulled the file closer and opened it, leafing through it with perhaps the slightest bit of child-like enthusiasm, one that Alfred would pretend he had not seen. Holding up the photo of the dead woman's corpse, Arthur frowned.

'I'm disappointed…There's not much to work with, is there? Only a slit of the throat?' A pause, as his hand hovered over the next photo. 'Oh, hello… what's this, Alfred?' He looked up to Alfred, eyes glazed with over curiosity.

'You tell me.'

'It's someone else's blood, isn't it?' Arthur held the photo close, peering into it. 'Two victims in one night. An unexpected witness, perhaps?'

'The blood wasn't Flora Garrison's.' Alfred said. 'But it was a DNA match for the hair we found on Neil Bowman.'

Arthur blinked, setting the photo down. 'So that was him then… our boy.' He looked up at Alfred, looking almost dazed. A frown settled upon his brows, turning his head back to the photos, flipping through them furiously. Arthur chuckled.

'What is it?'

'Oh, it's just…' Another chuckle. 'I'm not sure what to believe…' He picked up the photo of the pool of blood, curled and blackened petals scattered across it. 'That our boy really did get butchered… or if he's looking for a way out. I thought he was rather enjoying this.'

'What do you mean?' Alfred leaned forward. 'You think it's been faked, too?'

'Faked?' Arthur smiled wryly. 'Alfred, you almost got there faster than I did. I'm impressed.'

Alfred said nothing, unsure if the man was teasing him, or if he genuinely meant it. Perhaps able to perceive this, Arthur laughed.

'The way I look at it, there are two versions of events. Version one, we believe what this woman said in that 911 call, according to this transcript…' Arthur picked up a page from the folder. 'That the two killers entered her apartment, had an argument of sorts, and our poor boy got stabbed to death.'

'By his partner?' Alfred asked. 'Why?'

Arthur smiled and shrugged. 'A multitude of reasons… The petals tell me it was a lover's quarrel, perhaps one the killer felt remorse for.' He glanced up at Alfred. 'When two lovers commit a crime as treacherous as murder, they're bound for life. Neither can escape, neither can speak a word of their actions to anyone but each other. Trust,' Arthur set the paper down. 'Is no longer a luxury. It's something they've got to hold on to, all the way to the grave. And when one of them wants out…' Arthur leaned forward in his seat. 'That's when their bloody fairytale ends.'

'So you think one of them was going to turn themselves in?'

'Oh, no…' Arthur chuckled. 'No, nothing drastic like that. Perhaps one of them got paranoid. Maybe our boy was a little too creative, having too much fun with the victims. The stakes were a little too high for their liking…'Arthur straightened the papers and photos on the table, taking another look at the photo of the petal strewn bloodstain. 'Anyway, that's the first version.'

'And the second?'

'The second…' Arthur exhaled. 'The second one is troublesome. A death like this can be easily faked. And frankly, given the circumstances, I find it hard to believe our killers would turn on each other so easily. Let alone in front of a victim. So personally, I buy the second version.'

'What's the issue with it, then?'

'The issue, Alfred,' Arthur lifted his cup of tea to his lips, although why he was still drinking it Alfred wasn't sure. Just as Arthur put the cup to his lips, a passing by waitress bumped into his shoulder, knocking him and causing the tea to slosh over the rim.

'Oh, bugger me!' Arthur set the cup down and turned to the waitress.

'I'm so sorry!' The waitress threw napkins over the spilt tea, continuing to apologize as she tried to salvage the soaked papers. She wiped away at the photo of the dead woman and gasped.

'It's fine, we'll take it from here.' Alfred reached over to take the napkins from her trembling hand.

'O-Okay.' The waitress nodded vigorously, swiftly leaving with a terrified expression on her face. Arthur glanced at Alfred.

'Don't you think you should have told her you're with the police?'

Alfred dabbed the papers. 'I come here often enough. They know.' He set the tea soaked napkins to the side, the sight of the stained papers catching his eye. As the pages crinkled slightly, darkened by the tea, Alfred was reminded of the Glen Hills records and the similar state he had found them in. The thought that someone had been through the records prior to Alfred and Kiku resurfaced, and as he looked up to Arthur, something clicked.

You knew.

'Something the matter?' Arthur asked.

'No.' Alfred said, collecting the damp papers together. 'You were, uh… You were saying? About the issue with the second version of events?'

'Ah, yes.' Arthur sat back hands clamped together and resting on the table. 'As I was saying, the issue is with the motive...'

Alfred watched as the man continued to speak, green eyes darting and flickering as they always did, as if catching on to every micro movement of Alfred's face. But, preoccupied with his own ramblings, Arthur did not seem to catch onto Arthur's thoughts, the questions that were starting to form in his mind.

You knew about Linda.

Alfred had been so sure that Arthur had become tamer, more hesitant in some way - but the man was still playing games with him! Still toying with Alfred and leading the way at the same time, as if he were guiding a mouse through a maze but not telling him of the traps along the way. Still cocky, still arrogant… still the man that infuriated Alfred.

'There's a long goodbye…and it happens every day.'

Perhaps Arthur had not changed at all since he last saw him.

'When some passerby, invites your eye to come his way.'

Alfred blinked, the sudden crooning in Arthur's voice jolting him out of his thoughts. He frowned. 'What are you doing?'

'Ah, so you are listening.' Arthur smiled. 'At least… you're listening now. Want to hear more?'

'More of what?' Alfred said. 'What about the second version you were talking about? The, uh… motivations?'

'Oh, I got bored of that! You did, too, I saw it.' Arthur rested his chin on one hand. 'You tuned out and went somewhere far, far away…'

Not that far. Alfred thought, wondering if Arthur had even the slightest inkling of what he had been thinking about. Perhaps he did and was toying with him right now, feigning innocence and singing obscure songs. Alfred could not let his mind rest easy in his presence, and perhaps he never would.

'Even as he smiles a quick hello, you've let him go. You let the moment fly.' Arthur's voice lowered to a hum, eyes locked onto Alfred as he made gliding hand gestures in the air.

'Stop it.' Alfred said, wary of curious glances from other tables.

'Too late, you turn your head,' Arthur continued to sing, all the while his smile widening. 'You know you've said… the long goodbye.'

'You done?'

Arthur bowed his head and tipped what Alfred could only assume was his imaginary top hat. 'Thank you.'

'Don't thank me. Apologize.'

'For what?' Arthur lifted his head, a dry smile still plastered across his lips. 'I did you a service.'

'You've got other services that you're neglecting.' Alfred said, straightening the papers and photos and placing them into the folder. 'Like catching serial killers. And telling me whether or not this guy's actually dead or not.'

'Oh, he's very much alive. I'm sure of that.' Arthur said. 'It's finding him that you should be worried about. I very much doubt he'll be leaving us bodies and hair samples from now on.'

'Right.' Alfred sighed, fishing out coins from his pocket and putting them on the table. 'Well. I gotta go. Show up at the office now and then, will you? I don't want to have to go searching for you again. And Kiku would like to see you, too.'

'I'm flattered.'

'Yeah, don't think too much of it.' Alfred got up, slipping his coat on. He picked up the folder and turned to leave the coffee shop. His hand was on the ice cold door handle when Arthur called out to him.

'Ah, Alfred!'

'Yeah?' Alfred stopped and turned back to Arthur.

'Poisoned Apple. At eight.'

Alfred frowned. 'What? Why?'

'It's Christmas Eve.' Arthur shrugged. 'I was going to have a drink by myself anyway, so I thought to extend the invitation. You're not working, are you?' He smiled dryly, likely because he was all too aware that Alfred had indeed planned on working tonight.

'No...' Alfred said, although he wasn't exactly sure why he was bothering to lie. He let go of the door handle and approached the table. 'But that place is seedy as hell. Have you been there before?'

'I've heard recommendations.'

Alfred raised a brow. 'Really.'

'Look. Just come, alright?' Arthur said. 'Indulge me for once. I'm not just any old street dog, you know?'

'What?' Alfred frowned. 'What the hell are you talking about?'

'Don't worry about it.' Arthur waved his hand dismissively. 'You coming or not?'

'Yeah, sure, whatever…' Alfred sighed and turned back for the door. 'Can't make any promises, though.' He opened the door and felt a gust of icy air sting his face.

'Good enough for me. So until then,' Arthur called out. 'Goodb-'

Alfred let the door shut behind him. He walked out onto the frosty pavement and shoved his hands into his pockets, the folder under his arm. A tune lingered on his lips as he walked through the crowds, the words playing out over and over in his head. How did the song go again?

There's a long goodbye…

Alfred glanced over at passing by faces, vacant and listless expressions he would never see again. He wondered if any one of them could be the beast he was looking for, hiding in sheep's clothing the way Arthur did. If perhaps they too, knew him better than he knew them.

...And it happens every day…

Why Alfred had been unable to free himself of this song, of those words ringing in Arthur's voice, he did not know. He could only mutter a curse under his breath and give himself in to the softly singing voice in his head, saying his goodbyes to every fleeting stranger that came his way.

.

Yao felt his throat burn, as if fire had ripped it up from the inside. He coughed and gagged, setting the vodka flask down onto the floor with a grimace on his face. Ivan chuckled.

'You get used to it, myshka. Before you know it, you'll be drinking it like water.'

'I doubt that.' Yao wiped his mouth, the bitter taste still stinging his tongue and his throat feeling raw. Even so, he felt as if it had woken him up somehow, warmed him up from the frozen pile of nerves he had been before.

The room was cold and bleak looking, drafts of icy air leaking through the boarded up windows. Empty, the only warmth this room was given was the crackling fireplace, around which Yao and Ivan sat on the rough wooden floor. It was a miserable looking living room, but staring into the fire, Yao could not say he felt miserable. Perhaps it was the warmth, or the way that the silence did not bother him in the least. And yet, of the many warm and silent Christmas Eve's Yao previously had with his family, none of them could quite match up to this, even with the room dusty and empty as it was.

Yao glanced to Ivan, expecting to lilac eyes to be staring right at him. Only when he did, he found Ivan's eyes lost in the flames, expression drawn as if viewing some other sight entirely. Wanting to see this sight, to understand the feeling behind this look in Ivan's eyes, Yao watched. He let himself become absorbed in the way the light played on Ivan's pale features, the warmth illuminating them, only for Yao to forget his breath for a moment. He had lost it and could not snatch it back, chest tightening in that horribly familiar way. Yao gave up on retrieving his breath and let himself spiral into the dizzying haze that began to cloud over his vision.

Only a breath…I won't miss it.

But the breaths continued to be stolen away, and it was no longer bearable. His hand reached for the vodka flask, wanting to do something to break the cycle. He unscrewed the cap and gulped down the vodka, feeling the urge to spit it back out but choosing not to. It would wake him up, snap him out of this ridiculous trance that he kept falling into. He felt his entire chest burn as the vodka made its way down, and exhaled in relief.

'Already liking it?'

Yao looked up from the flask, Ivan smiling at him. He nodded, blinking as the vodka seemed to sting his eyes as well as his throat. 'Sort of.'

'That's good.' Ivan hummed. 'It's nice sharing, isn't it?'

Yao offered a small smile, turning back to the fire. As his watery eyes met the bright flames, he frowned. Tangled and coiled, the flames seemed much brighter than before. Closer than before. Had Yao moved? He was sure he was still sat in the same spot. He blinked away the tears in his eyes and hoped they would not spill. It was warmer, too, than it was before. The radiating heat from the crackling and crumbling embers seemed to reach further through Yao's skin, melting him down like he was made of wax.

He glanced back at Ivan, oddly concerned that the fire would melt him away, too. Ivan's eyes met his, a gentle smile gracing his lips briefly. The smile was a short-lived one, flickering uneasily like a flame. Something was eating away, burrowing in Ivan's mind. What was it? Why was his smile so weak? Yao felt his brows crease together, the questions unsettling him as they swam around in his dizzy head.

'You look worried, myshka.'

'Yeah…' Yao said, the words having left without thought. Yao shook his head, mouth suddenly feeling dry. 'Um. It's nothing.' He averted his eyes to the vodka flask, throat itching for the fiery liquid again. A different pain, perhaps, to ease the aching wound in his chest. A distraction…

Yes, a distraction would be good…

Without further hesitation, the vodka was pouring down his throat again, tearing through it and leaving behind it blazed trails. It was nicer this time, smoother and more inviting as it traveled down his throat and through his chest. Bleeding into his veins, Yao felt everything sway ever so slightly, a drowsiness settling in.

He turned to Ivan, finding his expression surprised. A smile tugged at Yao's lips, the sight of Ivan's face causing a laughter to bubble up from his throat, ringing out in the empty room.

'What are you looking at?' Yao said, heat flaring out across his face, finding himself unable to stop laughing.

Ivan broke out into a chuckle. 'Nothing, just… I have not seen you laugh like this before.'

'Hm!' Yao giggled. 'Neither have I!' His head lolled over to the side, the room turning with it in sickening motions. Was it still aching? He put his hand to his chest, feeling his heart beating wildly. Yes, yes, it still was. Still hurting, and even though Ivan was smiling, this pain would not go away. Why was that? Why was that?

Why…

Unable to answer the question, Yao lifted the vodka flask up once again, downing the very last of it. He shook it to get every final drop, and he could see Ivan frown in the corner of his eye. The burning liquid trickled down his tongue, only it didn't sting enough. Yao wanted more, but there was none left. He dropped the flask to the floor and let his head drop down, wanting to fall to the floor and crumble.

He felt Ivan's hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. The gesture was so small, so careful and tender. It hurt.

Why was that again?

'Myshka, perhaps you drank a little too fast…' Ivan's hand was smoothing over his shoulder now, petting him as if he were a bird that had broken its wings. Yao chuckled at this thought, finding that maybe he really wasn't all too different from a broken bird. Trapped, made dependent to these cold hands… Had Yao chosen this? He could have ended it long ago, and so perhaps he did choose this golden cage of his.

He lifted his head up, finding Ivan's face close – too close. He could feel his breath linger on his face, warm despite the frostiness of his hands. Yao reached for his pale face, trailing his fingers over the ghostly white skin, gliding over the ice and melting it away. Almost delicate, almost fragile.

Ivan smiled, still wearing that broken smile that seemed to burrow deeper into the hole in Yao's chest. 'Ochi chernye…'

Yao slid his hand down to Ivan's shoulder, the room still swinging from side to side unsteadily. The blood in his veins still burning and the aching hole in his chest still feeling hollower by the second. He needed something to hold on to, because even as the cold wooden floor remained solid beneath him, he felt something begin to swallow him up, envelop him in something dark and viscous. He tightened his grip on Ivan, not wanting to fall.

'You don't have to hold on so tightly, myshka.' Ivan placed his hand on Yao's, gently prying it away. But Yao only felt panic rising in his throat, dreading having to let go. He persisted in his grip, leaning his head on Ivan's chest. Shutting his eyes, this seemed to ease the dizziness slightly. But still, as he sighed deeply, it seemed he was too close… and yet not close enough.

Yao's hand reached for the scarf, grasping onto the edge of the fabric by Ivan's throat. 'I tried to kill you once…' Yao mumbled, head still against Ivan's chest and listening to the gentle thud beneath the coat. Still there, when in some other world it might not have been. Beating wearily, like the labored pulse of a beast.

Ivan pulled Yao's hand away from the scarf, keeping it in his own cold grasp instead. 'I know.'

'But I couldn't do it.' Yao said, his hand shifting and turning in Ivan's grip, wanting to reach for the scarf again. But Ivan would not let him, icy fingers coiling around his wrist, biting into him a little more strongly when Yao persisted. Why was Ivan fighting him?

'Let me.' Yao hummed, his words drawling out of him uncontrollably. He lifted his head up drowsily, opening his eyes to see Ivan's. He reached with his other hand, tugging at the scarf and trying to pull it loose. Ivan took hold of this hand as well, locking it in a frozen grip.

'Don't, myshka.'

Yao frowned, relaxing his hands so that they hung limply in Ivan's hold. 'Why not?'

'You won't like what you see.'

'That's what you always say!' Yao felt a weak chuckle bubble out of him, feeling so small, so tiny in this world that seemed to be tumbling around him. 'I'm tired of hearing excuses…' Yao pulled a hand away and prodded Ivan's chest, his words starting to blend together as he spoke them. 'It's not a pretty story, myshka. You don't want to hear it, myshka. It's not something to discuss at the table… myshka.'

A breath of silence, of Ivan's calm mask gazing at him. But Yao would not avert his gaze this time, not with the vodka in his veins encouraging him, enticing him to stare back.

'Perhaps you should go to bed, mysh-'

'Don't even say it!' Yao snapped, his wrist still shackled by Ivan's icy grip as he struggled to pull it away. Like chains, holding on to him and coiling around him with every panicked breath Yao took. 'Don't…'

Yao yanked his hand away, pulling himself up to his feet, swaying slightly as he did so. He felt so heavy, as if he were balancing the world on his head. He looked to Ivan, still seated on the floor and gazing with his brows furrowed. Only mildly concerned, only inconvenienced slightly… is that how it was?

Then, as if the vodka had been pouring down his throat once again, he felt a fire spread and blaze throughout his chest. Crumbling, cracking and breaking into dusty charcoal like the logs in the fireplace. Yao felt sick, wanting to curl up and cave in on himself, but his legs took him elsewhere as if of their own accord.

He stumbled out of the living room, the floor rougher than it was before as his bare feet padded across it. He stopped at the main entrance and grabbed his coat, yanking off the car keys from the little hook on the wall. He opened the front door, a biting gust of air bursting into the hallway and piercing through his thin layer of clothes.

He stepped out, pressing his foot into the glittering snow and wincing as the cold stung him. Yao wasn't entirely sure why he was doing this, he only knew that he couldn't stay in this house any longer. He couldn't take this hollow pain in his chest any longer. He had endured it for long enough, and only wanted something –anything – to alleviate it.

'Yao!' A hand clamped onto his shoulder. Yao didn't even turn around, didn't even think of how panic had laced Ivan's words in a way it hadn't heard before.

'Don't even bother looking for me!' Yao hissed back, shaking Ivan's hand off with such force that he stumbled into the snow covered ground. His hands and knees scraped against the ground, snow around them melting and soaking into his clothes. Yao pulled himself up and ran for the pickup truck, yanking the car door open and throwing himself in. Frantically he started up the engine, locking the doors and windows before Ivan could get to him.

Yao's hands trembled as the gripped the steering wheel, chest tightening as he struggled to drown out Ivan's voice beyond the frosty window. And as he backed the car out onto the dirt road and drove off, he didn't give so much as a glance to the rearview mirror, looking only to the pitch black road ahead.

.

Yao snapped his eyes open, swerving sharply as the car leaned dangerously close to the edge of the road. Lights nearly blinded him, bursting in his eyes as he drove by them. He noted the cars cutting ahead of him and picked up his speed, wondering how long he had been asleep. On a road like this, he could have easily crashed. Yao wanted to stop somewhere, to let his eyes close as drowsiness weighed him down. He eyed the clock on the dashboard. It was only ten o'clock, and yet somehow Yao felt he had been driving around aimlessly for longer than this.

Signs flew overhead, names of motorways becoming a blurred haze in Yao's mind as he glanced over to them. The headlights of cars on the other side of the road flared out and melded together with highway lights, a yellow tinted glare masking Yao's vision and stabbing his aching head. Yao groaned, the vodka in his blood thinning out and leaving behind only a sickening feeling in his stomach, in his head and chest. He pulled the car over to the side of the road, not caring for the blaring honks of passing by cars.

He switched off the engine, letting his head fall back limply onto the seat. Cold air seeped in through the cracks between the windows, and without the car's heating on, it wouldn't take long for the whole car to become an icebox. But he couldn't bring himself to switch the engine back on, nor even summon up the energy to care. It was too stuffy in here, anyway, too stifling and too cozy. Too comfortable, almost.

Yao opened the car door and stepped out, inhaling sharply as his bare feet hit the icy ground. It made his skin feel raw as he walked, and this eased Yao's mind slightly. This was better, to feel the flecks of hail bite his skin and melt into his hair. He rolled up the sleeves of his parka, extending his arms out to let the cold spread over them as well.

That all there was, skin that stung. And this… this hurt less than whatever he had felt before.

The wind picked up, pushing against Yao and causing him to stumble like the hollow porcelain doll that he was. Just a toy, that's what he had become since that July night. So why should Ivan answer his stupid questions? Yao was a fool – a drunken fool – to even think to ask. He had been reckless, and that was all there was to it.

A silly mistake…

Yao would not bother with the questions anymore. Ivan did not want to answer them, and that was that. Yao would not bother with the pain anymore either. The hole in his chest, burrowed by the invisible snake that plagued him, was here to stay.

I'm just breathing here…

Just breathing - that was all Yao would do, all he ever had been doing anyway since he killed the scar faced man. He inhaled the icy air, his fingertips going numb. Numb… that was a nice feeling. Or rather, it didn't feel like anything. But that in itself made it feel so good to Yao.

Remember when these hands felt crimson red…? A voice whispered by his ear. Perhaps it was the wind… or was it his own?

But yes… that crimson red.

It was beautiful, wasn't it?

Yao felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips, remembering the way the spider lilies hung from the dead woman's hair. The way her heart lay scorched, shriveled and black. How it had felt in his hands as he arranged it. It was so heavy, her heart. Yao did not realize until he ripped it out of her, how much a heart weighed, how much of a burden it truly was to carry it inside of you.

Did you get it, Ivan? Did you understand what I was trying to say to you?

Yao felt his knees weaken, crumbling to the ground. The ice beneath him sticking onto his skin, pricking it and letting warmth seep out. It was getting so cold… but it was getting less painful, too.

The scent of honeysuckle lingered, mingled with the frosty air and caressing his face. It was a sweet and familiar fragrance, only something was missing from it. What was it? What was missing?

Blood, of course…

Yes, that's what it was, that nostalgic metallic taste of it. How much Yao missed this flavor… he could almost taste it now.

The wind coursed past him more violently, yanking his black parka open and leaving it fluttering in the air. Yao gasped, instinctively pulling the parka to close around him, when a red card peeking out from one of the inner pockets caught his gaze.

He pulled it out, barely able to read the letters on it. He lifted it up so that it faced one of the distant streetlights, squinting to read it better. But all he could see was a faint gold scribble, unable to make out the letters. Giving up, he dropped his hand to the snow covered ground, card still in his grasp.

The snow was soaking up everything that was left of Yao, taking his warmth, the ache in his chest, the barely coherent thoughts that roamed in his head. Until eventually, it took his vision, too. The streetlights faded away, flickering out like cooling embers.

Catch my heart, before the wind takes it away… Yao wanted to say, his mouth too weak to speak these words. Although to who he wanted to say this to, Yao wasn't sure.

'Catch…' He managed to whisper, before a silent darkness swallowed him up.

A/N: The poem excerpt at the beginning is from an English translation of a Russian poem called 'Dark Eyes' - or 'Ochi Chernye' - by Yevhen Hrebinka. And the lyrics that dear Arthur sings is from 'The Long Goodbye' by John Williams. I couldn't help but include them! They were honestly stuck in my head for a whole week whilst writing this.

Also, thank you for reading and please feel free to leave your thoughts via review!