астроном – astronomer | sunday
"The stars lost their glow as he grew older."
"What are you writing?"
The napkin Toris is writing on is plucked from his fingers. He almost falls out of his chair as he twists around to rescue it from Feliks' grasp. Feliks catches him with one hand and with the other holds the napkin up to the light, squinting as he tries to decipher Toris' messy handwriting. He gives up in a few seconds and hands the napkin to a stranger. Toris' heart jumps into his throat. The stranger, a young woman with wavy dark hair laced with flowers, makes a weak attempt to read it and returns it to Feliks with an insincere "sorry".
"Here," Feliks says, stuffing it into Toris' hand. "You read it for me."
"It's embarrassing." Toris folds the napkin as many times as he can, then sticks it in his shirt pocket.
"Will you at least tell me what it's about?" Feliks leans over Toris, resting his chin on his shoulder. In his hand is a wine glass full of either vodka or water. Feliks does not own normal cups. He drinks everything out of wine glasses, which Toris finds both tacky and endearing. "I can't read your handwriting for shit."
"You have to promise you won't laugh," Toris says.
Feliks laughs. He's twisting Toris' hair around his fingers. "You writers are so sensitive. You know I wouldn't laugh, Tolys."
No one calls Toris by his old name anymore. When he moved to Moscow two years ago, he had a thick Lithuanian accent that few Russians could understand. Somehow, his name was interpreted as Toris. He was too afraid to correct people and it sounded more Russian, anyway. He went along with it and started introducing himself as Toris and found his life became much easier. The name Tolys outed him as a Lithuanian, which could either estrange him or force him into answering a thousand questions about his supposed backwards country or his medieval upbringing. As long as Toris spoke little and didn't have to tell anyone his last name, he could blend into the background. He could be another struggling Muscovite artist.
Feliks is the one person who knew Toris when he was Tolys. He can't bring himself to say the wrong name, despite Toris' insistence that it's okay, it doesn't bother him. Toris abandoned Tolys, leaving him in the past.
"Hello? Are you going to tell me about it?" Feliks says. "I'm actually interested in what you're doing for once. This is the opportunity of a lifetime."
Toris' chest constricts at the thought of explaining his creative soul in a room full of strangers. "Let's go talk outside," he says. "There's too many people here."
"I don't care if they hear."
"I do."
"Fine. Crybaby."
Feliks pushes Toris up and takes him by the wrist, leading him through the maze of artists and writers. Every Sunday Feliks opens his home to anyone who wants to be there. It's turned into a strange sort of support group for the artists in his neighborhood. Most nights are filled with quiet conversations about applications being rejected for the twentieth time and where the best place to buy colored film is. On the rare occasion someone is lucky enough to find a way into a union, they have a funeral for their artistic expression, complete with kolyva. It's campy and childish and Toris loves being a part of it.
For the most part, Toris stays in a corner and writes. He picks up pieces of other people's conversations and writes them in the margins of his notebook, orchestrates fight scenes in his head, and plots out novels he'll never write. Eduard usually comes with him and spends the night talking with Timo in Finnish. When Toris is guilted into bringing Raivis, the boy vanishes. If Toris is lucky, he'll see Raivis once or twice, surrounded by other painters.
Feliks always finds Toris and pesters him about what he's writing, which is more of a front to talk about himself than actual interest in Toris. Toris doesn't mind. Feliks has always carried their conversations. They grew up together in a town on the border between Poland and the Lithuanian SSR. They know everything about each other and have seen each other at their best and worst, so letting Feliks do most of the talking doesn't weigh on Toris.
As Feliks weaves his way toward the balcony, Toris sees Eduard sitting on the kitchen counter, talking to Timo. They both wear bruises from Ivan's fist. Eduard says something with a smile.
No one is out on the balcony, though the smell of cigarette smoke lingers. Feliks slides the glass door shut and pulls up a plastic chair for Toris.
"Well?" Feliks says, offering Toris the wine glass. Toris takes a sip of it – it's vodka.
"Well what?" Toris says. "It isn't like you to be drinking straight vodka."
"I'm out of anything better besides water, and last I checked the faucet water color was somewhere between red and brown. Don't change the subject on me. Tell me about what you're writing. You don't talk much about it anymore."
"It isn't good. I should quit and go back to being a copy writer."
"Copy writer? Tolys, I'm getting worried about you," Feliks says. "You've been acting weird this whole summer. And now you want to work for a newspaper again? You hated Pravda. What's happening to you?"
"I'm just not as confident as I used to be," Toris says, which is small part of the truth. The rest of it is so complicated he can't begin to explain.
"Aren't we all?"
"That's not what I – " Toris is interrupted by David Bowie. Not the man himself, but a bootlegged recording of "Heroes", and a bad one at that. The quality does not stop whoever is put it on from playing it at the loudest the stereo will go.
"Hold on," Feliks says as leans back in his chair to look inside. He slides open the door and motions for someone to come to him. A girl appears before him and he tells her to turn it down, he's trying to have a conversation and he doesn't want the police to be called. The girl nods and leaves.
Feliks watches inside until the radio is turned down. The light from the kitchen washes him in an orange glow that Toris has only seen on summer nights in Moscow. The persistent, humid breeze makes his blond hair float like golden thread. When he returns his attention to Toris, half of his face is covered in shadows and the other side is illuminated, light catching in his eyelashes and highlighting his cupid's bow.
He's beautiful.
This is the heaviest burden Toris bears. Since he moved to Moscow and reunited with Feliks, he's fallen in love. It wasn't a quick realization. It was walking down a flight of stairs, lingering on each step, and then somewhere along the way he tripped and now he's falling headfirst. And although he sees that he's headed toward a landing and he needs to stop himself, he's still in denial that it's even happening. As if wanting to kiss and hold someone forever is a normal part of a friendship.
The issue with his affection isn't Feliks. Feliks came out years ago to Toris on a starry, too hot night not unlike this one. He'd be the most supportive of Toris. It's not fear of being cast out from his circle of friends. It isn't even the thought of losing every job opportunity (he doesn't have many, anyways) or worse, being exiled from Moscow.
The problem is sitting in the kitchen, watching Feliks and Toris through the sliding doors with a beer in his hands. There's a cigarette caught in his teeth. His shirt is partially unbuttoned, as if he's auditioning for a cliché, Casanova role in a student film. Toris does not want to admit how well he pulls off this look.
The problem locks eyes with Toris. Toris hides his embarassment by tucking his hair behind his ear and turning toward the inner courtyard.
The problem has a name: Gilbert Beilschmidt.
"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it," Feliks says.
"I do. It's about a businessman," Toris says so fast he doesn't notice he's spoken until he sees that Feliks is looking at him, his eyes asking for more. "He's sick. I don't know how. Cancer. Maybe. Probably. But he sees that he doesn't have much time left and he doesn't want to work until he dies, so he leaves his job to go live in the country and watch the stars."
Feliks says nothing for a moment – something so rare Toris can't help being anxious about what he will say. When Feliks decides to speak, it's short and simple. "How does it end?" he asks before taking a sip of the vodka.
"He runs out of money and is forced to return to his job. He dies during a meteor shower."
Feliks does not reply for a long, long time. Toris' heart stutters. He sinks in his chair inch by inch, looking up at the smattering of stars above them. He wishes he didn't speak. He wishes he could take his words back and rip them up into a thousand pieces.
"That's so…you."
"Is that good or bad?"
"It's only good because I like you," Feliks says. "You're a great writer. I'm not saying that because we're friends or anything. You have, like, a way of putting so much emotion into what you write. You have a better grasp on life than most of the people here tonight. I guess what I want to say is that you could cheer up. Write something nice for once. Get out of this gloomy phase you're in."
"How am I supposed to when I live here? No one moves to Moscow to be happy."
"You have to look past this" – Feliks gestures to the prefab apartments surrounding them, which ooze sadness and poverty – "and see the good here. Find happy moments instead of focusing on the sad ones. Why don't you tell me a good thing that happened to you yesterday?"
Feliks could not have picked a worse day.
"Yesterday wasn't one of my best days. Eduard and Ivan got in another fight and I spent all evening cleaning blood out of the rug in our living room and picking up glass."
"Oh, Jesus," Feliks says. "I thought he looked a little rough. What happened?"
"The usual. This time Eduard bit his tongue bad enough that he should probably get stitches. Can you stitch up a tongue?"
"How should I know? He seems to be talking fine. And hey, at least you've got a clean living room now. There's a positive. Now you try."
Toris rolls his eyes – only Feliks could make a fight between Eduard and Ivan into a good thing. "You're the one person who understands me, but God, could you let me be sad for once?"
"You've been sad your whole life," Feliks says as he props his feet up on the balcony railing and tilts his chair back so far he almost falls over. "I say this with so much love in my heart. You can be the most…exhausting person. Sometimes you make me feel miserable."
Toris feels like Feliks sliced open his chest and poured salt in the wound. He makes Feliks miserable? Or is Feliks exaggerating? If Toris hurts him, why doesn't he leave? Is he going to leave? What would Toris do without Feliks? The thought of a Feliks-less world is enough to send Toris into a panicked spiral of what-ifs.
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to," Toris says.
"It's okay, you don't need to apologize. I wish I could, like, take the sadness from you so you could enjoy yourself for once."
"That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."
"It's true. I'd do anything for you to be happy."
Toris is at a loss for words. He finds himself speechless around Feliks a lot more than he used to.
"You're blushing," Feliks says with a smirk.
Toris' hand goes to his cheek. "I don't want to be," he says.
"Would it hurt you to show an emotion other than miserable?" Feliks sits upright in his chair to grab Toris' wrist and take his hand away from his face. "It's cute, Tolys. You haven't changed."
If Toris could've melted, he would have. Instead, he pulls himself free from Feliks and nods toward Gilbert. "Someone's watching."
"I don't care about Gilbert," Feliks says. He sounds irritated – is it because of Toris or Gilbert? "I'm sick of him controlling everything I do."
"Then break up with him."
Feliks shrugs, as if Gilbert is more of an inconvenience than a huge, abusive problem. "I can't. He's paying most of the bills. I'd like to, though. I'm sure he's cheating on me with that girl, anyway. The one with flowers in her hair. She's from Hungary or some shit like that. She's always here. He says they work together and they're both working on some big photo assignment, which they happen to work on every time I'm gone. He's changed the sheets twice in the past week. I've never seen him clean this place once."
Toris doesn't have clue what to tell Feliks. He hasn't been in a relationship in a while, not since a series of one-night stands with Ivan's sister before he knew she was Ivan's sister. The familial resemblance killed anything Toris could have felt for Natalya.
"I'm sorry," he says, unable to find a better apology.
"Don't be. It's my problem and I'm too poor to fix it." Feliks holds his wine glass out in a mock toast. "Here's to being broke." He takes a shot of vodka and gives it to Toris, who takes a small drink and returns it to Feliks.
The door to the inside slides open and Raivis sticks his head out onto the balcony. "Hi, Feliks," he says.
"It's good to see you, Raivis. Here's to being broke." Feliks gives him the wine glass and Raivis tries and would have succeeded to take a drink, had Toris not pulled the glass from him. Vodka spills onto the concrete floor and down the front of Raivis' shirt.
"He's fourteen," Toris says to Feliks.
"He's got to learn some time."
"Feliks is right." Raivis reaches for the wine glass and Toris holds it out of his grasp, over the balcony railing.
"You're too young to be drinking. Why did you come out here?"
"Why did I..?" Raivis stops to think. Toris glances at Feliks and Feliks shakes his head. Raivis would forget to breathe if it wasn't instinct. "Oh! Eduard is bleeding again and he wanted me to get you."
"Does he have gauze with him?"
"Maybe?"
"I have gauze in the bathroom cabinet," Feliks says. "Is it bad?"
"How should I know? I'm not a doctor. He scared the hell out of Timo, though. I think they're in the bathroom." Raivis disappears into the apartment before Toris can ask any more questions. Toris looks to Feliks for help. Feliks is tracing the rim of his wine glass, looking like a lost child.
"I should go make sure Eduard's okay," Toris says as he gets up. "If he isn't losing too much blood, I'll come back."
Feliks laughs. It's half-hearted. "I need to check on Gilbert, anyway. It was good talking to you. I hate that we see each other once a week. You should come by more." He comes inside with Toris and stands on his tiptoes to reach Toris' ear. "It'd make Gilbert mad," he whispers, tucking a strand of Toris' hair behind his ear.
Toris can feel Gilbert glaring at him. He's too emotionally shocked to be afraid. "Maybe I will. I'd do just about anything to make him mad," he says in a voice that isn't his. Where did this braver Toris come from?
"Good. I hope Eduard isn't bleeding too much."
And with this, Feliks goes straight to Gilbert. Toris can't do anything except watch as Gilbert pulls Feliks in, holding him not with tenderness but force. He sees Gilbert grab Feliks' jaw and tilt his head up so their eyes meet. They speak in short, furious sentences. Gilbert looks up at Toris. Feliks tries to push away and Gilbert presses him to his chest.
Toris turns and leaves the room with a knot of anger in his stomach. He walks through conversations in the living room and avoids familiar faces in the hallway until he reaches the small bathroom. Raivis is leaning against the doorframe, talking to someone inside. Toris steps into the bathroom and finds Eduard sitting on the vanity with a washrag in his mouth, his button up shirt off, and round drops of blood on his white t-shirt. Timo is trying to scrub the blood out from Eduard's shirt in the sink. Timo looks worse up close than at a distance and he moves with an uncharacteristic stiffness, as though every movement pains him. Toris doesn't doubt it.
"Hi, Timo," Toris says. "I'm sorry about Ivan and Eduard."
Timo nods in acknowledgement. "Kiitos. Ei se ole sinun vikasi."
"He says it's not your fault," Eduard says through a mouthful of washrag.
"I mean what he says." Timo is always reluctant to speak Russian. He understands it well, however, he speaks it at about the same level as a toddler. He prefers to speak through Eduard, who is fluent in Finnish by the grace of God, years of studying, and having Estonian as his native tongue. "What should I be doing to fix him?"
"He's good," Raivis says. "He's just being a baby."
"Am not," Eduard says.
"Hys." Timo hits Eduard's arm with his elbow and both of them cringe. "He does not stop talking when he's got blood. He is so… Kuinka sanot tyhmä?" he asks Eduard.
"Stupid. And I'm not."
"He is so fucking stupid," Timo says. Cursing is the one thing he has a strong understanding of.
"Do we need to go home?" Toris says.
Eduard shakes his head. "No. I'm good."
"You have blood all over. Go home, Snufkin." Timo wrings out the shirt and gives it to Eduard. Eduard takes the washcloth out of his mouth – it has more red splotches on it than its original blue. Timo flinches at the sight and holds the rag under the faucet. The water, already discolored, turns a deeper shade of red.
"Walk me home, then," Eduard says.
"Sinä olet niin ikävä."
"Sinun ei tarvitse olla töykeä." Eduard slides down from the vanity and pushes past Toris and Raivis. Toris watches Timo chase after Eduard.
Toris is an expert at hiding his emotions from everyone, including himself. Most of the time he doesn't even recognize what he's feeling. So why does it hurt him so much to see Timo and Eduard together? Why can't he be glad that Eduard is happy? Why does he have to be jealous?
As he walks through the living room, Toris sees Feliks sitting on Gilbert's lap. Feliks' hand is interlocked with Gilbert's. Gilbert kisses his neck and whispers into Feliks' ear. There's a collection of old bruises on Feliks' arms that Toris didn't notice before.
You're such an idiot.
Feliks glances up at him.
"Bye, Feliks," Toris says with a small wave.
"See you soon." Feliks keeps his free hand on his lap. He bends his fingers into the shape of a phone and mouths call me. Gilbert asks him what he said. Feliks says it's Lithuanian and Gilbert mutters something into Feliks' ear that Toris can assume isn't complimentary.
After everyone collects their shoes by the front door, the four of them set out into the night. The street is bare and the only noises come from their footsteps. Thousands of stars speckle the sky, the open arms of Virgo leading them home. Eduard and Timo talk in sleepy Finnish and twice Timo glances at Toris in such a way Toris knows they're talking about him. Raivis asks what Feliks and Toris were talking about on the balcony. Toris says he doesn't know. It's not quite a lie.
When they arrive at Timo's apartment, Timo pulls Eduard up the front steps and motions for Toris to follow him.
"Berwald has new telescope," he says as he throws open the door.
"We should be going…" Toris falters when he sees Timo and Eduard are already halfway up the steps.
They climb the steps past the second floor, where Timo shares a room with another Finn, and continue up to the roof. The door is propped open and a triangle of light spills onto the roof, revealing a tall man hunched over a telescope resting on the edge of the building. He stands up straight at the sound of them, turning to face them like a military general.
"Brought guests," Berwald says, glancing from Timo to Eduard to Toris to Raivis in slow succession. "And Raivis."
"Hi." Raivis holds up a hand in a peace offering. Berwald turns his back on the boy and leads Eduard and Timo up to the telescope. All three of them speak Finnish and Raivis and Toris are left standing in the doorway, Russian and clueless.
"I guess he's still mad." Toris gently elbows Raivis and the boy slaps his arm away.
"It's not my fault," Raivis says. "He shouldn't put his telescope on the roof of a building with a five-story drop. It's like he's asking for it to break." His face screws up at the memory of the telescope crashing to the sidewalk. "You can go if you want to. I'm staying here."
Toris goes over to the telescope and the three of them stop speaking, glancing at Toris as though he's a child walking in on an adult conversation. Berwald asks Eduard a question and begins adjusting the telescope. When he's satisfied, he steps away and Timo and Eduard approach the telescope like it's a priceless artifact. Their voices turn to whispers.
"It's good to see you," Berwald says to Toris, watching Timo and Eduard point the telescope to another star. "Been worried about you."
"You have?" Toris and Berwald aren't friends. They're more of distant acquaintances, tied together by Eduard and Timo. He's been over to Berwald's apartment a few times with Timo and Eduard. They've talked about their jobs and life every now and then. Toris doesn't know a lot about Berwald other than he grew up in Sweden, was kicked in the head by a horse when he was eight, and works in the observatory at the University of Moscow. He doubts Berwald knows much more about him.
"Timo said you're not doing well. With writing. Wondered if you'd lost your job." He glances toward Toris and Toris realizes this is a question.
"No, not yet. I'm working for a new journal. I'm trying to write a story now and well, you know how it is. Everything gets in the way. It's a miracle if I can get a hundred words down," Toris says, ignoring the thick layer of awkwardness between them. They have never spoken to each other like this. He can't even remember the last words he said to Berwald. "How have you been?"
Berwald sighs and looks up into the deep black of the universe. "Fine."
Toris can't tell if this is Berwald's usual short speech or if he's struck a nerve. "How are things at the observatory?" he asks.
"I'm not working there anymore. Sent me to Kazakhstan. I leave in two weeks."
"Congratulations," Toris says with enough hesitation in his voice that it sounds more like a question than a compliment.
"It's no good. I'm not in the space program. Got me working on missiles."
"Oh. I'm sorry."
"I don't care much for war. Doesn't concern me. I don't want to leave here." He looks at Timo with the faintest hint of a smile. "I'll miss you all. Even Raivis."
"We'll miss you, too," Toris says, hoping to God he sounds sincere. He didn't think Berwald cared about him until this very moment. If he'd have known Berwald was this close to them, he would've been nicer, would've spoke to him more, would've invited him to come out with them for drinks.
"Come here." Berwald leads Toris over to the telescope, brushing Timo and Eduard aside. He spends a minute or so fiddling with it, pointing it at what looks to be a blank spot in the sky. "Here. Look," he says as he steps away.
Toris stoops down enough to look into the lens.
There is a small speck of beige floating in the darkness. As his eyes start to focus, the rings of Saturn appear before him. The planet is faint, almost transparent, and its edges blur out into space. It is so small. It is so alone.
He isn't sure how long he stares at the miniscule planet. It could be seconds. It could be years. When he stands up straight, he is haunted by the thought of Saturn drifting through space. Silent. Unaccompanied. A graceful, haloed giant, following a path set millions of years ago. Waiting until it dies.
"It's my favorite," Berwald says.
"Thank you," Toris says. "Thank you for everything. I am so sorry Raivis broke your telescope."
"It's alright. He's just a boy."
They leave soon after. Toris lingers in the doorway, watching Berwald disassemble the telescope with a precision he didn't think a man of Berwald's size could have. This is one of the last times he'll see the astronomer. He won't ever come up to this roof again to look at the stars. Berwald will leave for Kazakhstan and Toris will be left with the memory of Saturn.
"Good luck in Kazakhstan," Toris says.
"Good luck writing. You need it more than me," Berwald says. "Take care of everyone here 'til I come home."
"I will."
Eduard stops on the second floor to tell Timo goodnight. Toris keeps walking with Raivis. As he reaches the landing between floors, he looks up through the banisters to see Eduard place a soft kiss on Timo's bloodied lips. Their fingers interlace. Raivis opens his mouth and Toris digs his fingers into the boy's wrist.
"Hyvää yötä, muumi," Eduard says.
"Hyvää yötä, Snufkin."
Toris wants to be happy for him.
Raivis somehow restrains himself from exploding until they're a block from Timo's apartment. When he's sure no one else is around to hear, he springs onto Eduard's back and wraps his arms around Eduard's neck, screaming into the night: "Eduard has a boyfriend!"
"Shut up!" Eduard throws him to the ground and Raivis' head hits the sidewalk with a concerning crack. He scrambles to his feet and runs ahead a safe distance in front of Eduard.
"You love Timo," he says in a nauseating, sing-song voice.
"Do you want someone to hear you?" Eduard picks up the nearest rock and throws it into Raivis' stomach.
"Eduard kissed Timo!" Raivis chants over and over as they walk home, ignoring the onslaught of punches and kicks behind the knee Eduard is giving him. When they reach their street, Raivis races to their apartment to tell Ivan, leaving Eduard and Toris alone.
They sit down together on the steps. Eduard buries his face in his knees.
"Fuck," he whispers.
"It's okay, no one's out tonight," Toris says, putting a reassuring hand on Eduard's shoulder. "I'll have a talk with him."
"That's not it," Eduard says.
"What's wrong?"
"I'm in love."
"That's a good thing, Eduard."
"Is it?" Eduard snaps. "This is Moscow, not Paris. I'm going to get arrested, or he is, or we're going to get murdered. I'm hurting him more by loving him." He rakes his fingers through his hair, his hands shaking. "I love him so much. Oh, God. I love him so much and I can't. I can't do this to him."
Toris can do nothing more than put his arm around Eduard. Eduard continues to talk to himself, trying to justify everything he's feeling and the fate of their relationship. Toris listens. He makes gentle suggestions. Blood begins to drip out of the corner of Eduard's mouth.
"It's late. Let's go to bed and talk about this in the morning, alright?" Toris says as he stands up. Eduard nods weakly, following Toris upstairs.
Toris starts to open the door and Eduard grabs his forearm. "I don't want to see Ivan," he says.
"I won't let him hurt you." Toris says this with far too much confidence, as though he's even close to being on the same playing field as Ivan.
Ivan is standing in the hallway, his arms folded over his chest. Toris toes off his shoes and walks around him. Ivan lets him pass. When Eduard attempts to do the same, Ivan steps in front of him.
"No," Eduard says. "Please, Ivan. Let me go to bed."
Ivan looks down at Eduard.
Toris waits for the insult, for the first punch.
Ivan smiles. He reaches over and ruffles Eduard's hair. "I'm happy for you, you stupid fucking queer."
And with this, he turns on his heels and goes to his room.
"That went…better than expected," Toris says.
Eduard glances down the hallway toward Ivan's room. He wipes the blood from his mouth on his wrist. "Was that sarcasm?" he asks.
"It didn't sound like it."
"There is no way he'll let this go," Eduard says. "I'm going to bed before he has a chance to change his mind. You coming?"
"I'll be there in a minute. I want to type up what I wrote at Feliks'."
Ivan is standing by the window, pulling off his shirt when Toris walks in. Toris doesn't acknowledge him and sits down at his desk. He hears Ivan rummaging around behind him and the door closing with a subtle click. A warm hand brushes his back. Toris pulls three napkins from his pocket, laying them out in order, and starts to type.
"Do you have to do that now?" Ivan asks.
"Yes."
"I'd like to talk to you. We haven't seen each other all day and there's been quite the development."
"Eduard kissed Timo. That's all you need to know. Don't you dare talk to anyone outside of us about it," Toris says.
"I'm not going to hurt him. I like Eduard more than you think I do."
"Really? Because I seem to remember you knocking him unconscious yesterday." Toris pecks at the keys with more and more force, the arm punching the paper. The 'a' key gets stuck. Toris holds his head and wishes he could scream without his neighbors calling the police.
"Come here." Ivan pulls Toris up from his chair and takes him to the couch. Toris does not want to follow him. He does not want to be here with Ivan. He wants to write and go to sleep on the floor. He wants to hold Feliks' hand and have cute pet names like muumi and Snufkin. Yet he lets himself be moved by Ivan, sit next to him, and rest his head on his shoulder.
Toris allows himself to cry for the first time in two years.
Somehow, he falls asleep there. Or rather, he cries himself to sleep. He is half-awoken when Ivan lays him down over the couch and pulls the sheets over him. Toris opens his eyes a little to see Ivan sitting beside him.
"I know you said you were…" Ivan falters. Toris knows what he wants to say and prays he won't say it. "I miss you, Toris. I miss us."
There is a curved, jagged scar that cradles Ivan's collarbone, a scar he won in a knife fight in Perm-36. Toris stares at it instead of meeting Ivan's eyes. "I can't do that again," he says.
"What changed?"
"Nothing."
I want to feel something, Ivan. You could never make me feel anything.
Ivan kisses Toris. Toris feels nothing. He begins to wonder if he ever felt anything.
There are a few quiet questions asked. Toris answers them with no emotion in his voice. He doesn't want this. It's a cheap substitution. A terrible imitation of love.
So why does he go through with it?
Ivan takes off Toris' shirt with the same delicateness Berwald disassembled his telescope with. They are on the floor and it's so hot that Toris' skin sticks to the floorboards. There are still tears on his face. Ivan locks the door and turns off the lights. Toris absently traces the scars on Ivan's chest, running his thumb over the smile of the knife fight scar.
Afterwards, they lay next to each other, Ivan drawing loops over Toris' fluttering heart. Ivan whispers about how great it is to be in love again. Toris feels like he's rotting from the inside out. He wants to peel off his skin. He imagines what it is like to die. Somewhere, he heard that hearing is the last sense to go. What will he hear when he dies? Voices? Crying? Music?
Or will there be no one there?
Will he die just as alone as he feels now?
"I love you," Ivan says as he kisses Toris goodnight.
"Thanks," Toris says.
He thinks about Saturn.
a/n: hello again!
I didn't think I would take this long of breaks between parts. My apologies. However, I did say that I was updating when I felt like it, and this is when I felt like it, so I don't technically have to apologize. I am, though! I will apologize for anything and everything.
A small note about this part:
Timo and Eduard's nicknames for each other come from Tove Jansson's incredible, timeless, perfect books/comics, The Moomins. The moomins are going through a huge renaissance right now, which is great for you! I strongly encourage you to go watch the new Moominvalley or pick up the books. You will fall in love with the moomins as much as I did, guaranteed.
I picked their nicknames from the two main characters, Moomintroll (muumi is the Finnish spelling) and Snufkin.
Also, they will speak Finnish to each other throughout the story. I'm not translating most of it, because I'm trying to put you in Toris' position. What they say is not crucial to the plot, I promise.
I will translate my favorite Finnish phrase for you, though.
Hyvää yötä = goodnight (for those of you who are interested, it's pronounced heu-va oo-ah-ta. Try saying it. It's a lot of fun to say. Finnish is a very fun language to speak and I'm jealous of native speakers)
It's the last thing my host sister said to me before I left.
Thank you all for reading last time and for the amazing review! I hope to see you here again next time.