W/C: 2,108

Requested by: whiskeyandcloves (Adrian)

Prompt(s):

—Your muse crying about something

—Your muse falling asleep with their head in my muse's lap.

Dear Diary,

In my opinion, there are few things worse than seeing a grown man cry; I suppose perhaps it is because we are conditioned to believe that such a thing is somehow beneath them. It's reinforced every time we hear a young boy being told to 'man up'—as if expressing emotions or pain is a weakness that is reserved only for girls or women. I can acknowledge how wrong and hurtful those things are, but that still does not change my immediate reaction to the sight of a man crying—every time it happens, it disturbs me on a very deep level. For me, it is a sign that something has pushed them to the point of breaking—they've experienced something so strong that it overrides their normal urge to hide their feelings away, and as a result, they are forced to expose the things they don't want others to see. When a man I care about is the one displaying such emotion, it shatters my soul into a million tiny pieces; I feel their agony as if it were my own, and I would do anything to take away their pain, erasing the sorrow from their eyes.

I suppose I am getting ahead of myself aren't I? I'm jumping right to the crux of things without telling you what led up to it. I'm sorry, please forgive me—seeing someone I love hurting…it leaves me quite shaken, though I suppose when you consider what it led me to realize... well… just hang on and you'll see. Let me rewind and go back to the beginning so you'll understand what's going on.

As grateful as I am for the opportunity to train with Dimitri, there are certain… setbacks to the arrangement. For one thing, my brother more or less knows what I am capable of, so he tends to be very hard on me. My grandmother worked with all of us from the time we were very small, so Dimitri tends to push me harder than the instructors at my school do—because he knows that I can take it. The excuses I use on them do not work with him—every single day, no matter how much I complain, he drives me to the very limit of my endurance. Additionally, he is a very hard taskmaster to please—one that does not dole out praise or reward lightly. I often find myself wondering if he behaved this way with his headstrong Roza back when he was her mentor—if so, to be honest, I cannot for the life of me imagine how she ever fell in love with him since he is as prickly as a tiger with its tail caught in a trap.

By the time we finish our sessions, I am always left wrung out and aching—not just physically, but mentally and emotionally too. You see, the problem is… every minute I spend training with Mitya is time I cannot be with Adrian, and I feel his absence like a giant hole smack dab in the middle of my chest. I never dawdle after my training is finished or hang around to talk to my brother—as soon as he indicates we are done for the day, I gather my things and escape as quickly as I can, hurrying off, anxious to return to the one who holds my heart.

Due to the secret nature of our relationship, Adrian and I always arrange to meet up in a different place. The reasoning behind this subterfuge is simple—both of us know that it is highly likely that at some point, Dimitri will end up trailing me. Already he is suspicious of where I spend my time—he has questioned me on numerous occasions, trying to ascertain where it is I disappear to and who I might be with. More often than not, I use Abe as my cover—it is an easy explanation since Dimitri thinks I have been 'assisting' Roza's father with whatever small tasks he deems unworthy of his 'valuable' time. Usually Abe's town home is where we meet up—but today that was not the case. This morning when I awoke for training, moy Dusha was still fast asleep; he looked so at peace that I could not bring myself to disturb him, so no meeting place was set. I couldn't call him—I'd forgotten to charge the battery on my phone—so I decided to check his apartment first before returning to my suite.

I was almost there—I was passing his Aunt's garden, trailing my fingers along the tall hedge—when I heard a low, faint sound that froze me in my tracks. It was the sound of a man crying—and since it was coming from the other side of the hedge, there was only one person it could be. Speeding my steps, I hurried to the entrance; I slipped inside—trying to avoid the branches that always seemed so determined to cling to me. As I untangled my hair from one that snagged me, my anxious eyes swept the garden, looking for the source of the sound.

Adrian was at the base of the statue, huddled on the ground. With his knees drawn up to his chest, he looked like a little boy—one who was completely lost and could not find his way home. It was a heartbreaking image—one that made my stomach clench in a painful knot and brought hot tears to my eyes. I wanted to call out to him, but at the same time I was hesitant; I did not want to intrude or force my presence on him—it was quite obvious that he had retreated to the solitude of the garden to hide his sorrow from the world. It was the one place where he could shed his tears without fear of being seen by anyone—except perhaps me.

He did not see me—his face was buried in the crook his arms made as he rocked from side to side, letting out painful sounding sobs that clawed at my heart. I was unsure what had brought him so low; it could have been a number of things. He could be missing his aunt or his mother. Perhaps he was grieving the loss of Roza's love—aching for what could never be. I tensed instantly at the thought of that last option; it was almost enough to send me fleeing to my room—but in the end, I knew I could not run.

Steeling myself , I set my own feelings aside, carefully walling them up as I stepped into the garden. This wasn't about me, it was about him—he was the one in need. As I crossed the distance between us, I focused on the most important thing—he needed my help and I would give it, no matter what the cost. It did not matter if he was grieving for Roza—the fact he grieved was enough to motivate me. Whatever the cause, I shared his pain; the love I have for him makes me feel it as clearly as my own and though there was a strong chance he would order me away, I would gladly risk his anger. When it comes right down to it, I have no choice—I could never leave him to suffer such misery alone.

He didn't look up as I dropped down beside him and gathered him in my arms. "Shhh. It is alright, moy Dusha. Whatever is troubling you… I am here to share your sorrow."

He did not speak, instead he just clung to me; I rocked him, gently stroking his back as I murmured nonsensical things. He couldn't understand a word of it, of course, since I spoke in my native tongue, but the soft tone of my voice soothed him, and eventually his sobs tapered off, and the frantic pounding of his heart slowed down.

When his grief was spent and his hold on me loosened, I shifted, leaning back against the statue; he stretched out, resting his head in my lap the way a small child might do. Despite the fact that he seemed to be calming down, I could tell he still needed comforting; I trailed my fingers along his back, tracing out his name, humming one of the old lullabies that Yeva used to sing. The words that went with the melody were always changing—that was why I did not use them; the song she sang to my nephew Paul was a completely different version than the one she'd used with me. I asked her once why her song had changed—the answer that she gave was something that played through my mind as I hummed.

"The words are unimportant, Vika. A baby cannot comprehend them—what it understands is the emotion behind them…it can tell it is a song of love. The song is different for each person I sing it to because my feelings are different. Someday you will understand that every woman makes her own song from the words that are rooted in her heart."

Gazing down at Adrian and watching as the tension eased out of him, I smiled with relief. Whether it was the brush of my hand or the soft rhythmic tune that had eased his troubles, I could not say. Perhaps it was neither and it was simply the comfort of having another person there—knowing that someone cared so much that they could not leave him to suffer all alone.

His breathing evened, becoming slow and deep, so I paused, thinking that he'd dozed off. I didn't want to disturb him—but I needn't have worried. He was still awake—though barely; he rolled over, wrapping his arms around my waist, his face nuzzling against my stomach.

"Don't stop," he mumbled, his voice already thickening with sleep. "Sing to me—please?"

"Alright," I murmured, running my fingers through his hair, "but only if you promise not to make fun of my voice."

"It's perfect…. You're perfect."

His words—whispered so softly that I almost did not catch them—made butterflies flutter in my stomach. In that moment, I felt the burning need to lay my heart bare before him—to let out all the emotions I constantly struggle to keep locked away inside. I couldn't—not yet… he wasn't ready to hear them—so I did the next best thing, weaving them into the melody of my grandmother's song. I was secure enough that he would not be able to understand the Russian words, so I felt free to finally pour out all the things my heart was desperate to say.

Forget her—let go of the past and embrace what is right in front of you.

She does not care, but I do. Can't you see that you are my world?

For you…I will gladly accept their brand of servitude on my skin—you are my Moroi. I will die to keep you safe.

I love you, moy Dusha—so much that it steals my breath.

I am yours, forever—you are the keeper of my heart and soul.

How long I sang, I do not know—my voice became hoarse long before I realized he'd drifted off to sleep. I bent, pressing my lips to his forehead before brushing the tears off my cheeks. As always, Yeva had been right—my heart had sung a very different song, one that was completely its own. Tilting my head back to rest against the statue, I gazed up at the night sky, making a silent wish on the first star that I spotted—then I focused my eyes and all my attention on the entrance to the garden. My training had left me physically exhausted, and the strength of my emotions had drained me, but I would not nap—I couldn't. I would stay alert, watching out for any possible sign of danger to the Moroi that I love.

I know what is important now—it echoes throughout every fiber of my being, resonating from the very depths of my soul. My heart guides me, and now that I have acknowledged it's song, I cannot deny the truth. I am driven by the same thing that fuels Roza's fierce devotion to her best friend—the most dangerous emotion of them all.

Love.

I have not graduated. I do not bear a mark.

Neither of those things matter—my fate has been cast.

I am Adrian's Guardian.

May God above have mercy on anyone who dare try and separate me from my charge.