Day 10: Love Language
Shoulders that Ache, Body that Burns
"You are stressed."
Mikhail's voice is blunt but benign. He speaks as if he knows he's already right. And as he stands at the corner of her desk, hand resting on top of hers, Phoebe doesn't want to admit it's true.
The case had been far more difficult than she anticipated. When she accepted the mission - a direct one from Hollis Forsythe - Phoebe believed in her abilities. She had faced dastardly villains in her few years as an official Psychonaut, ensuring every assignment was completed within the parameters given to her. (There were, of course, times when she was flummoxed, overwhelmed, or out of her league, but in Phoebe's internal records, she still accomplished them despite the tribulations. There was nary a blemish to be found. If there was, she had already scrubbed it clean by succeeding no matter what.)
But the paperwork spread out in her poorly lit office is her fault. She hasn't made much headway, and she had herself to blame. She had lost a crucial lead. Her target realized she was being followed and teleported beyond Phoebe's reach. Phoebe was mortified, gobsmacked, and everything in-between. Such a mistake was something an intern would make on a supervised undertaking. Thus, she needed to restart her progress. Hollis grimaced when Phoebe sheepishly admitted her mistake, worsening the blow to her confidence, leaving her to sort through previous data to salvage what had been yielded.
"I'm fine," she mumbles, refusing to break eye contact.
He frowns. "You are not."
Arguing is a waste of time. She knows how stubborn he can be, especially when he's correct. Phoebe can be plenty obstinate as well, but as Mikhail tilts his head, eyes narrowing, her willpower is already zapped. The case has tried her patience and singlehandedly decimated her sleep patterns. Staying up late had been the only feasible solution to make up for her errors, scouting directives she had lost.
Still, she doesn't answer. She tries to grin, hoping to appease him. But her lips are fixed in a straight line, the corners beginning to droop. She isn't able to produce a single rebuttal, her tongue tied and mind heavy.
Mikhail shifts around her. His footsteps echo in her office. Slowly, his firm, worn, calloused hands rest on her shoulders. She straightens, fixing her poor posture, looking up at him.
"In addition to stress, you are tense," he says, his voice rumbling. "Here. Let me help. You will feel much better."
She isn't one to ask for it. She tries to take care of herself as much as possible. As an official Psychonauts therapist, teacher, and agent, Phoebe sets an example. It might sound arrogant if spoken aloud, but she knows there are interns and friends who admire her. And she wants to live up to expectations placed on her by her superiors and herself, unrelenting in her personal quest for improvement.
But Mikhail is different. He understands her, seeing through the curtains to the woman who aches. He doesn't judge or criticize. He only speaks his mind. Lies are foreign to him; he is the epitome of honesty for himself and others.
Mikhail's fingers work their magic. He kneads through her strained shoulders. Immediately, Phoebe sighs and leans back in her seat. The tension knotting in her muscles begins to lessen the more gentle pressure he applies. Although she is naturally warm, a pleasant heat emanates from his palms to the ends of her shoulders and spreads throughout her upper body.
It's a little slice of Heaven. She closes her eyes and basks, breathing out, "Oh, this is nice."
Mikhail chuckles. "Of course. Am master of physical therapy in addition to wrestling, Psychonauts work, and more."
"It could be your side gig."
He hums, thrilled. "Physical therapy hustle? Hmm, could pan out nicely for Mikhail. I do it under table for potential clients by setting up shop in Psychonauts. Works perfectly."
A bubble of laughter pops out of her. "Hollis would chew you out before you could start."
"Not if she is ignorant of the matter. You will not tell on Mikhail?"
She opens her eyes and tilts her head back. Meeting his genial gaze, his features set up for delight, she shakes her head. "Of course not but I better get a discount."
Mikhail traces his thumbs across his collarbone, his knuckles slowly pressing inward. "For you? My favorite customer? Free of charge."
Smiling, Phoebe lets him return to work. He is forthcoming in both words and movements. He only wants what is best for her, sweetening her mood and heart with small and large gestures alike. Getting her in the sunshine when she was swamped or dreary, bringing her what she needed without being asked, or running on keen intuition even when she tried dissuading him from assisting her, Mikhail's actions seemed to know what she needed before she did.
While he massages her shoulders, his strong grip molding her tense muscles to his whims as if working with clay, Phoebe melts. Although she burns as a master of pyrokinesis that had scorched her many times over, the heat soothes her, smothering her worries under his scarred hands.
"Agent Love, have you made any-?"
Phoebe jumps in her seat. Mikhail holds her down, his grip still comforting as he steadies her. Their attention darts for the entrance. With a rule for no locked offices, there isn't a door. Standing there in the open entrance is none other than her boss, eyebrows arched and head cocked on them.
Hollis clicks her tongue. "I see I've interrupted a moment."
Phoebe tries to spring into action, but Mikhail speaks. "Indeed. Was giving her nice shoulder massage. She needed it. She is burning out over this case."
Surprise etching on her features, Hollis unfolds her arms. "I see. Don't lose sleep over this case, Agent Love. You are one of the best at the Psychonauts." She smiles. "It's just one setback. We'll still nab 'em, okay? I trust you."
Phoebe blinks, lost for words. She clears her throat and manages to grin. "Uh, I am - I mean, thank you, Agent Forsythe. I, um, needed to hear that."
Hollis nods, then eyes Mikhail. "As for you, Agent Bulgakov, shouldn't you be teaching a class of interns right about now? And don't say you shouldn't be because I know otherwise."
Mikhail withers. Phoebe knows it's a summer duty he enjoys, but his current roster of interns aren't the most motivated bunch. "But they hate wrestling. Combat class with them is nothing but tedious chore. I'd rather do as Phoebe does."
"Well, teach them something else that isn't telekinesis." Hollis gestures for him to leave. "Come on. You and Phoebe had your rendezvous, but let's get back to work."
She misses Mikhail's touch as soon as he drags himself away. They share a smile, Hollis urging Mikhail to hurry, for class had already started. Phoebe would have commented, but she decides to let it go. She feels full, warm, and her stress is nonexistent, even as she glances at the vast amount of paperwork still sprawled on her desk.
"See you after work?" Phoebe calls.
Mikhail glances at her in the doorway. "Looking forward to it. Best part of my day."
And as Hollis nudges Mikhail up the hallway, Phoebe winks as he goes, reassured of herself and him.
