Chapter Text
Sigma is only partly aware of how guns work. “You pull the trigger here,” he says and points his finger across the room. “And something dies over there.” It's like a magic trick, he thinks. It's the same principle like when Nikolai reaches inside his coat and brings out a bonquet of roses, a teddy bear with ripped ears, books with yellowish pages.
Nikolai laughs, boyishly excited and claps his hands just like Sigma does when he performs his tricks. He makes finger guns and points them at the balcony door, pulls the imaginary trigger when Fyodor enters, notebook in his hand and melting snowflakes on his shoulders. He urges Sigma to do the same but when his eyes meet Fyodor's gaze, he decides against pulling the trigger, imaginary or not.
“It's not that simple,” Fyodor says, voice soft and pushes Nikolai's hands away before he heads into the living room.
“He's in a bad mood,” Nikolai whispers. The glee is written all over his expression. He then turns Sigma around and parts his hair into three sections before he starts braiding it. “Someone died. Fedya doesn't like when people die before he wants them to.”
“How do you know that he is in a bad mood?” Sigma is genuinely curious. It's hard to notice any change when it comes to Fyodor - Nikolai is like an open book in this regard, perhaps not genuine in his emotions but clear about his happiness and sadness.
“He told me. He always tells me about these things.” Nikolai pulls Sigma's hair, not harshly but he seeks a reaction and once Sigma hisses and glares at him, Nikolai offers him a small smile and continues braiding. “But! He never takes his tea with sugar unless he is sad.”
“What is he like when he's angry?” Sigma asks. They both know what he means. Nikolai shows his rage through silence, with a smile plastered all over his face but not once laughing. He was washing his hands when Sigma caught him angry once, the second time he showed his genuine feelings, and the water had pinkish color and the edges of the sink were red. He showed Sigma a new magic trick the morning after, gave him strawberries covered in chocolate and they never spoke of it ever again.
Nikolai hums. He makes a show of it, pretending it's hard to remember things. “There is that look in his eyes,” he says. “It flashes through his face.” The jester giggles and finishes braiding. “He likes you,” he states then. “A little bit.” Sigma blinks.
“Will he hurt me when he is angry?”
Nikolai freezes. “It doesn't work like that.” He flicks his forehead and Sigma pulls away with an unhappy expression. “You would not be able to tell if he is angry or not. Fedya would not show up. Simple. I don't think he wants to be around you when he is angry. He sure doesn't want me around!”
They end up in front of the TV, watching a documentary about bears. Sigma is usually in charge of choosing what they will be watching for the evening. It's terribly domestic as they are curled against each other with Sigma's small body pressed against Nikolai's side. The mother bear loses one of her cubs and takes the other two away from danger without giving herself time to mourn. Sigma stares at the screen and at some point a question forms in his mind but he doesn't ask it until the documentary ends.
Nikolai pokes his cheek to check whether he is asleep or not, one last step of their routine before he ushers Sigma to bed. “How does it feel to have a mother?” he asks, eyes partly closed and Nikolai pulls away, badly caught by surprise because of that question. He hums and it looks like he tries to come up with an answer but his smile slips away gradually.
“It's not lonely.”
Then, he brushes Sigma's hair and leans over him, changing their positions so that his knees are keeping him upwards and his arms are caging Sigma on the couch. “ Golubka, ” he practically sings. “Do you like Fyodor, Sigma?”
Sigma, still very sleepy, only nods.
“In what way?”
“Huh?” Sigma wriggles and quickly realizes that he won't be leaving anytime soon. “What do you mean?” he asks.
“You can like someone like a brother,” Nikolai continues and the tone of his voice changes, and so does the volume. “Or like a lover.” He strokes Sigma's cheek with his thumb. “Come on! It's quiz time.”
Now a bit more awake, Sigma tries to think of the mother bear. “He gave me home,” he says, thinking that this is the first time he's ever said those words out loud. “I think of him sometimes.” It's a vague answer but Sigma is no expert when it comes to his own feelings.
“Think how?” Nikolai is not one to hide that he is having enormous fun while trying to figure Sigma out. He lowers himself and his hair tickles Sigma's cheeks. Sigma suddenly realizes that they are pressed so closely that it almost looks like Nikolai is lying on him.
Perhaps to help him, Nikolai chuckles before he asks: “Like this?” And then he presses his lips against Sigma's and kisses him. The kiss itself is sloppy, Nikolai's lips move, his tongue swipes over Sigma's lower lip which prompts Sigma to open his mouth a little wider. He closes his eyes, holds his breath and Nikolai leads the kiss. His hand cups Sigma's face, gently prompts him to raise his head up. When they pull away, Sigma finds himself panting. He imagines Fyodor in Nikolai's place, his hair framing his face.
Violet eyes so intense they turn black.
“Yes,” he breathes out before he can think and Nikolai laughs before he pulls away, clapping his hands like this is some joke Sigma does not understand. He wipes his eyes and shakes his head a little before he pats Sigma's head.
“Good,” he says dramatically. “This will be our little secret. Okay?” He presses his gloved finger against Sigma's lips. “Golubka, promise me.”
Sigma keeps his promise. He thinks of their kiss often, picturing the scene differently from how it really happened. The good feeling that he felt afterward is soon replaced by a thin veil of worry. Because the more Sigma thinks about it, the clearer it's to him that he's always only considered the relationship between him, Nikolai and Fyodor separately but not once he thought about what was between the two of them before Sigma joined.
Nikolai doesn't show up as if knowing that Sigma would drag him aside and demand answers and so he spends his time in Fyodor's presence. They don't see each other often because Sigma opts to stay in his room and Fyodor is unbothered by it though it's clear that he is quick to figure out that Sigma is avoiding him. There's never any real confrontation and it might be because Fyodor already knows what happened but Sigma is afraid to consider that possibility.
But they talk. In a way...
“Are you and Nikolai… partners?” That question slips past his lips before he can stop himself. Fyodor looks at him strangely but Sigma is plagued by lingering suspicion that he's already seen this conversation coming.
“Partners?” he repeats, head cocked to the side and his work abandoned. “In a sense.” Sigma needs to push him a bit more if he wants him to elaborate.
“Romantic partners?”
It's strange how nothing in Fyodor's expression changes and yet it seems like the air around shifts. There is no sign of change and yet it's so apparent, so clear. The amusement that radiates off him only convinces Sigma further that Fyodor knows what's been going through his mind.
“In a sense,” Fyodor repeats again, assuring Sigma he understood what was asked of him. Then he adds: “Because I don't wish to explain it, let's say that yes, we are romantic partners.” He folds his hands across his chest and leans against his chair, the first sign that he's made his move and now Sigma can pick between pressing further and turning back.
“I think I did something wrong.”
There is something utterly charming about how Fyodor chuckles and a smile appears on his lips. “Did you?” Then he stands up and crosses the space between them. He is tall, taller than Sigma but at that moment it looks like he is towering above the entire room. His violet eyes search Sigma's face and he sighs when he doesn't find what he was looking for.
“Are you afraid of me?”
Yes, Sigma thinks. How could he not be? Instead, he asks: “Are you angry with me?” Fyodor pushes back once again, violet eyes gleaming.
“Should I be angry with you?” He knows. He must know. Sigma imagines Nikolai coming to him, giggling as he tells him how they kissed on the couch in the dark living room. Or maybe he didn't say anything because he knew that Fyodor would figure it out as soon as it happened.
The tension bursts through the room and Fyodor, expressionless, seems to wordlessly ask whether Sigma is asking for forgiveness or refusing to repent. Sigma feels like he's missing something, as if he's trapped in a game where every player makes their move and he's the only one not fully understanding the rules. But Fyodor's here, clearly aware of what's going through his mind, smirking so softly it looks almost like a smile. Sigma feels as terror fills him from inside, the cold fright that runs in his veins instead of blood.
“ Golubka, ” Fyodor murmurs.
It's soft, white snow falling on pavements, melting. From Nikolai's mouth, that same word sounds like praise from a worshipper, a hungry whisper seeking benevolence. Fyodor says it is like the answer to all of Sigma's prayers, the benevolent deity uttering blessing.
Sigma leaps forward, falling and with closed eyes presses his dry lips against Fyodor's. Can I -
-and Fyodor accepts.