⧗ CHAPTER NINETEEN ⧗

Dmitri tried his best not to squirm.

Ksenia sat opposite him — their postures matched. Sitting in identical chairs only a few feet apart, back straight, both feet on the floor, hands on knees. The other girls were paired similarly around the classroom as the Madame walked between them.

"Study your opponent's body language carefully." She instructed, heels clicking as she held her gloved hands behind her back. "Don't be fooled by what may appear to be identical posture. You may all be sitting the same way, but rest assured, each of you are giving away your own unique cues. It is imperative you learn to hide them, become inscrutable — while also learning to read the most deft target."

"Hope you're not thirsty," Ksenia spoke in an undertone, that smirk on her face. "Or itchy."

"Shut up," Dmitri muttered, trying not to think of his dry throat or the urge to scratch a spot on his scalp.

"Watch for tells, and be aware of your opponent trying to feint," The Madame continued. "Just as body language is a tool, it can be used against you. Observe wisely. You may converse as normal, but never drop your guard, even for a moment."

The room was rather quiet, the conversations soft and a little stilted. That learning curve of multitasking; both observing and acting at the same time, a constant game of chess while never breaking eye contact. Dmitri tried to make himself relax. Or at least looked relaxed. Better than looking as tense as he felt right now.

"Been sleeping better?" Ksenia asked, her posture remaining upright. One ankle hooked behind another. A distraction or a tell?

"You tell me," Dmitri replied, rolling his neck from one side to the other, feeling a satisfying crack at the base of his skull. "Since you're the one watching."

A spark in Ksenia's eye, provoked and entertained. She smiled slightly, and leaned back as well. "What can I say? You sleep like a baby. All soft and defenseless."

Her mark matched his, a rough pink scar encircling her wrist. Dmitri would definitely not be sleeping as soundly if she wasn't locked up the same way he was. "Is that why you don't sleep? Thinking about how to hurt us?"

"Of course not," Ksenia snorted. She flicked her hair over her shoulder, tilting her head slightly. It could denote a sense of vanity, but Dmitri suspected Ksenia knew herself too well to let that get the better of her. That gesture was purely for his benefit. Or downfall. "Someone has to watch out for everyone else. Might as well be me. I don't need the same amount of sleep as the rest of you."

Bold. Dmitri didn't know if that was true or not. He obviously wasn't awake to be able to know if these claims were true or not. He reached behind to scratch the back of his head, still affecting casual boredom. "Must be tiring."

"No. I like it, the peace and quiet. Gives me time to think." Ksenia shrugged, all dainty and dismissive. "How about your shoulder?"

"Better, no thanks to you," Dmitri said, and did his best not to look at, touch, or move his right arm — no need to show how hyper aware he was of it, or the ways she targeted it during sparring sessions. "You probably set me back a week or two at least."

"And you'll be all the stronger for it," Ksenia said with a sniff. He watched as her fingers intertwined on her lap, trying to decipher it. What did it mean? What did she want it to mean? Was it another distraction? He took his attention back to her face when she added, "You have to know what it feels like now, before someone tries to take advantage of it in the field. Imagine how weak you'd be, if you didn't know how painful it is before someone was actually trying to kill you."

"If you expect me to show gratitude, I wouldn't hold your breath." Dmitri replied dryly.

"Don't worry," Ksenia smiled. "I always get what's mine eventually."

With that, she leaned forward. Dmitri didn't know what she was doing, not until Ksenia had risen completely out of her chair, had drawn in, had kissed him full on the lips.

Dmitri recoiled, shocked. The next table over, Annika gagged. "Ew!"

Suddenly everyone was looking at them, and Dmitri was spluttering, having nearly fallen out of his chair. Ksenia slumped back in her seat, as cool as could be. The Madame appeared next to them like a phantom, a shadow over her face — scarier than he's ever seen her. "Ksenia, what is the meaning of this?"

"I was only acting on his body language!" Ksenia protested, as Dmitri furiously wiped at his face, cheeks hot. "He was clearly showing sexual attraction!"

"Was not!" Dmitri protested, the words like a gut punch. What kind of accusation was that? His face grew even hotter, humiliation sinking in as the Madame turned her appraisal onto him. "I-I wasn't! I don't know what she saw, but it wasn't that!"

"Your pupils were dilated!" Ksenia shot back at him. "Extended eye contact, mirroring, preening, he was showing all the signs!"

Dmitri found himself at a loss, replaying the last few minutes in his head. Was that really what he was doing? And for whatever reason, this was what came out of his mouth: "I'm not attracted to you."

Ksenia stared at him, but when she opened her mouth to retort, the Madame interrupted her.

"Ksenia, I don't have to remind you of the rules of fraternization between classmates," The Madame warned. "Not to mention an unwanted advance. Dmitri's gender makes it no different."

The other girls were murmuring their own disgust; though Dmitri did not view Ksenia as a sister in the familial sense (loving or otherwise), he had instinctively known how wrong her act had been. Students didn't have relationships with each other. He imagined the strong use of words like "brother" and "sister" were to help reinforce that.

"But was I wrong?" Ksenia demanded of her.

"A demerit, then," The Madame tsked, shaking her head and deftly avoiding to. answer. "Laundry duty for the rest of the week."

Ksenia wrinkled her nose, dissatisfied. Clearly she had hoped her observations would absolve her of her crime. Laundry duty was the worst; all those bedsheets. All those clothes. Covered in blood and dirt and who knew what else. Dmitri had perhaps hoped for something a little harsher, but he supposed this was the best he could hope for.

He had to take a shower after that class, he couldn't shake Ksenia's smell off of him. Apparently a demerit such as that meant Ksenia was not only given chores, but made to miss entire classes. He only saw her at mealtimes the rest of the day, and the next; a dark, stormy expression on her face, not speaking to anyone. Dmitri avoided talking to her, or direct eye contact. After that class, how could he anticipate what she might read from him?

But on the third day, curiosity got the better of him. When Ksenia missed lunch, Sabina grumbled and made a tepid suggestion that one of them check in on her and make sure she's eaten. No one immediately volunteered, so it was a surprise when it was Dmitri who finally raised his hand.

"I'll do it,"

Four pairs of eyes flashed at him. Oksana raised her eyebrows. "Are you sure? I'm sure one of us can go with you."

"It's alright," Dmitri could guess very well why they'd be concerned, but he only brushed them off. The empty plate meant for Ksenia was easily filled with what was arranged on the table. Ksenia always preferred the small veggie sandwiches and preferred peaches over apples. "I'll just be a minute."

He had no intention of being late for their next class; he feared Ksenia might attempt some trick in order to sabotage him, just out of pettiness. But Dmitri didn't want to show cowardice either. If any of the other girls went instead of him, then Ksenia would no doubt interpret it as him being upset or intimidated by her.

And Dmitri decided he was already over it. Ksenia had risked punishment for a stupid prank, just to get a rise out of him. The class merely provided an opportunity.

"If you're gone too long," Annika called after him, as Dmitri walked away, plate in hand. "we'll send a rescue party!"

The laundry was located in the basement of the old palace; Dmitri was aware of several sub-basements, but students could only access the laundry room; everything below the palace was very modern by 1990's standards (as opposed to 1890's), and retrofitted with cement and steel. It was a large room filled with rows of industrial grade washing machines and dryers, lined up on two walls with six metal tables between for folding, and several massive canvas hampers on wheels; containing bedsheets, clothes, table clothes, sorted by color and location. Most of the machines were operating, filling the room with an almost demeaning roar.

And there, standing between two growing piles of folded white stacks, in front of an open dryer, was Ksenia. Completely alone.

The noise of the machines masked Dmitri's approach. But Ksenia was facing his direction, and eventually noticed as he got close. She raised an eyebrow at the offering he placed on the table.

"The girls noticed you missed lunch," Was all Dmitri offered.

"I can see that," Ksenia replied, her expression impassive. If she were touched, or annoyed, she gave no heed. Her eyes flicked from the plate, to him. "You drew the short straw?"

"No."

Ksenia studied him for a moment, interpreting that answer. "I must look like her,"

"Look like who?" Dmitri asked, leaning in; Ksenia's voice was partially drowned out by the rumbling and rolling of the massive barrels behind her.

"The girl who hurt you," Ksenia replied; she didn't raise her voice, though there was no one here to eavesdrop. Still, she might as well have shouted it in an empty room for how clearly Dmitri had heard it, how it struck at his heart. Dmitri couldn't guess what his face might have looked like, but Ksenia registered it all the same. "Mia, right? I look like her."

"Barely." Dmitri didn't know why she was bringing this up again. He'd already told Ksenia before, the resemblance between her and Mia was superficial at best. Stand the two next to each other and they'd be night and day.

"But enough, right?" Ksenia insisted, and her blue eyes bore into his. "Enough that you saw her sitting in that chair, and not me. She's who you're attracted to."

Dmitri didn't know what to say to that. He hadn't seen Mia that day; he knew it, because it would've affected him differently. That coldness in his hands, the trembling, the trouble breathing. Ksenia was infuriating, but she didn't provoke symptoms of a panic attack in him.

"Was she pretty?" Ksenia asked, when Dmitri said nothing.

"Sure." Dmitri only shrugged.

"How pretty?" Ksenia studied him, perhaps displeased that Dmitri wasn't giving her a strong physical response. "What did she look like? Tell me."

"Why? You're not her."

"I want to know. Tell me."

Dmitri just threw her a look, baffled. But he couldn't see the harm in it; if anything, maybe he could prove to Ksenia that her observations were wrong completely; that he could point out enough differences to disprove it. So he leaned against the folding table, folding his arms. "She's tall. Taller than me, when we first met. But that was… a year ago, I think. Maybe two?"

He couldn't remember how much time had passed. He'd known Mia for less than a year, between their first meeting and the inevitable conclusion. How fast things had changed. "She's blonde but… different shade than yours. Paler. Freckles. Gray eyes. And… big. Strong, I mean."

"Strong?" Ksenia frowned, tilting her head.

Dmitri laughed a little, unsure how to describe it. "Buff, you know? She was… an athlete." Dmitri almost said super soldier, but changed his mind at the last moment, before quickly adding, "Pretty sure my waist is skinnier than hers."

"Oh," Ksenia said, and with a veiled look of disgust on her face; Dmitri decided his endeavor was successful. Ksenia didn't believe she resembled Mia, not when she thought Mia sounded unattractive. Though Dmitri didn't think so. They just had different body types. Equally attractive, just in different ways. "Well, then. She sounds… interesting."

"She was."

"And she hurt you?" Ksenia asked, and Dmitri's temporary mirth immediately disappeared. Bristles out, hackles up. "Because she was stronger than you?"

Dmitri tried to shield his expression, and failed. But it was hard to explain. It wasn't like Mia beat him up. "No. She never laid a finger on me."

But she could fire a gun all the same.

"I see," Ksenia folded a shirt carefully, before moving to add it to the pile. Then stopped, reconsidered, and handed it to him. "Give me your shirt."

"What? Why?"

"It's got blood on it," Ksenia said, and she wasn't strong. Rada had bopped him on the nose during sparring and it had bled a little, leaving rusty droplets down his front. Nothing overtly disgusting, Dmitri thought, yet Ksenia insisted. "Come on, I'm already doing a school's worth of laundry. Just throw it in the dirty pile over there."

If she wasn't already offering a clean shirt, Dmitri would have objected. But the bin was right there, and he had observed the clean shirt leave the dryer, and never noticed her slipping something in it. "If that has itching powder on it —"

"It doesn't," Ksenia rolled her eyes. And Dmitri didn't fully trust her, but some part of him decided to go for it anyway.

Pulling off his shirt and chucking it into the basket, all without a second thought. Only too late did Dmitri realize that she would see the scar on his shoulder, and by that point he was already pulling the clean shirt over his head.

And when he could see again, Ksenia stood right in front of him.

Dmitri jolted, stepping back, but he only bumped into the table behind him. And Ksenia only closed the distance between them, reaching up to cup his face with both hands. "I'm not like her. I won't hurt you."

And with that, she kissed him again.

And this time, Dmitri didn't push her away.

Perhaps he should have. If anyone walked in at this moment, they'd be in deep trouble. Far worse than the punishment Ksenia already received, Dmitri thought. But he didn't raise his hands; Just gripped the table behind him, the cold metal reminding him this was very real, as he started to feel a little lightheaded. No, this wasn't a dream.

When Ksenia finally pulled away, Dmitri couldn't quite catch his breath. Her cheeks were flushed pink, no doubt matching his.

But her eyes gleamed, a secret smile on her lips. "See, that wasn't so bad, was it?"