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Chapter Text

Sampo shifts his weight, trying to look nonchalant despite his thrumming heart. He could practically hear it bouncing off Gepard’s office walls.

"Think of it as quid pro quo, my dear friend.” he begins playfully over a rare bout of nerves. “Each time we do the deed, I get a ‘get out of jail free’ card, and you get a good time. Now doesn't that sound swell!"

Gepard’s eyes narrow, unimpressed. "Or you can just stop going against the law."

“Pssh. Please. I hustle, you arrest, I escape, you chase. Rinse and repeat. C'mon, Captain. Live a little!” 

“A meaningful exchange requires both parties to be interested in what the other has to offer. As far as I'm concerned, I'm not interested in- sexual relations with you.”

Ouch. “Way to kick a man where it hurts, Captain.” Sampo laughs, easy and light, while his mind races. Alright, Sampo Koski. Think. How does one get a person like Gepard Landau to change his mind?

The thing is, Sampo Koski doesn’t actually have anything to offer Gepard Landau. The Silvermane Captain has a genuine desire to protect his home backed by soul-deep conviction. For a fully realised person like Gepard, Sampo must be a want rather than a need.

Gepard Landau wanting an unreliable, secretive, sleazy criminal though? Pah. Sampo laughs at himself. Damn, ol’ Sampo. Since when do you have such high standards?

He studies Gepard, noting how the captain’s eyes remain fixed on him unwaveringly. Testing the waters, Sampo feels for the door handle and locks the door. Gepard’s brow twitches with a brief flicker of wariness, but he doesn't get out of his seat. 

Actions mean much more than words to Gepard Landau. Which means that Sampo stands a better chance of getting his point across if he shows the captain what he wants.

Mind made up, Sampo slinks towards Gepard, all false bravery and charm. Up close, Sampo can see that the Silvermane Captain is equal parts guarded and impassive. He is watchful of Sampo's every move, yet not concerned enough to overreact. Okay. Yeah. I can work with this.

Sampo slides onto Gepard’s lap with practised ease and feels the captain’s muscles tense deliciously under him. A steely hand shoots up to stop Sampo from advancing further. “That's far enough,” Gepard says tepidly. He doesn’t look happy with the current development, but he isn’t pushing Sampo off yet, so the conman counts it as a win.

His eyes flicker to Gepard’s lips before blinking up to meet the captain's blue, blue eyes, feeling his own bravado starting to waver. Instead of tasting the mouth he's been dreaming of, he leans in for an innocent peck on Gepard's cheek. 

The captain scowls in response. “What was that?”

Sampo chuckles. “Think nothing of it, my dear captain. Ol’ Sampo’s just looking out for ya. After all, you should only kiss people you like.”

“I'm not a child, Koski. I have had romantic relationships before.”

“Not the kind you would have with me though, eh?” Sampo tilts his head as he observes the captain’s handsome face for signs of discomfort. Finding none, he proceeds to set a rhythmic pace with his undulating hips. “But that’s fine, Captain. This can be as serious or as casual as you want it to be. I’m simply here for the ride, and I won’t ask for more than you’re willing to give.”

He rolls his hips forward, rubbing roughly against the captain’s hardening bulge, pulling out a pleasured groan from both of them. “Oh- Heavens. Where was I? Ah, yes. Before I so benevolently graced your lap with my ample behind, you didn't even entertain the idea of a good time with me. Whaddya say now, Captain?”

Something in Gepard’s expression cracks — curiosity, perhaps. And dare Sampo hope, interest? And that is all the conman needs to keep trying. 

“You’re insufferable,” Gepard mutters. “Why use such . . . dalliances as a means to pay off your debt to justice though? Why not something productive to the masses, like community service?”

“Seriously?”

“Do I look like I’m joking, Koski?”

Sampo can’t help it – he giggles, which quickly develops into an outright guffaw when Gepard furrows his brow cutely at his antics. “Oh, sweetpea– but really, you are funny. Positively hilarious. With you, true happiness is within reach.” 

Gepard looks torn between being flattered and annoyed. “That doesn’t sound like a compliment.”

“It is!” Sampo exclaims earnestly, pouting in mock offence. “I will have you know that Sampo Koski always says what he means and means what he says.” Seeing Gepard’s doubtful expression, Sampo elaborates theatrically. 

“To me, true happiness entails the manifestation of mankind’s dignity. You and your soldiers defending Belobog against inhuman forces. Underworlders getting back up on their feet, continuing to fight despite all the odds stacked against them in life. That dignity is romantic to me. And Sampo Koski is nothing if not a man of romance.”

When he’s done with his little monologue, Sampo finds his face heating up at Gepard’s gaze. The captain’s expression isn’t one of lust or love, no, nothing quite so wonderful– but his small smile of pleasant surprise makes something in Sampo’s worn, tired chest flutter like it hasn’t for the longest time.

You are the embodiment of mankind’s dignity, Sampo doesn’t say. That is why I don’t want you to regret me.

Sampo Koski is ultimately a hedonist greedy for elation. And for him to fully enjoy his elation, he must know when to cut his losses.

I want you, Sampo thinks giddily, honestly, as he presses a firm kiss on Gepard’s forehead. I want every moment of happiness I can steal from you. Even if this temporary elation is for show, it is real as long as I preserve it.

Schooling his face into a grin, Sampo slides off Gepard’s lap and straightens the captain’s attire as if he isn’t the one who messed it up in the first place. “Think about it, Captain. Ball’s on your court.”

He escapes through the window, leaving behind an office full of perfumed smoke and a blue rose for his beloved.

Chapter Text

Gepard sits motionless on his bed, gaze lost in shadows as moonlight pours into the bedroom through parted curtains. 

He’s not sure how long he’s been there – only that it’s already nighttime. His hand twitches against the cast, an incessant itch gnawing at him. 

He knows he’s not supposed to strain his right arm, but part of him wants to tear the cast off and claw until he tears the phantom rot festering beneath his skin out of his flesh.

His eyes drift to the wilting flowers on the windowsill, their petals drooping in the silence. He promised himself he would water them regularly. Just a few seconds in the morning, or in the evening, at least once per day. But like everything else in his life, they have been left to wither. Neglected and forgotten.

“You are my heir! Do you plan to let our name die in the Eternal Freeze with you?”

His father's voice echoes in his mind, heavier now in the silence. Gepard clenches his jaw, tries to modulate his breathing. In, two three four five. Out, two three four five. 

He is a son, a brother, a protector. But who is he really? Who is Gepard Landau?

“What are your plans, boy?”

The question stings because Gepard knows the answer.

Nothing. 

No plans beyond restoring and defending Belobog. No plans beyond duty.  

Just like the flowers he can’t bring himself to care for, his life is decaying, yet he can’t summon the energy to fix it.

He should get up – water the flowers, clean the kitchen. But he stays frozen, staring at nothing. The dishes pile up, the water in the sink stagnates, but he can't bring himself to do anything. A shower will only take five minutes, and he’s supposed to buy groceries for the rest of the week, but he just can’t move. 

His room slips further into darkness. 

A soft thud breaks through the fog. Gepard is on his feet instinctively, heart racing, a surge of adrenaline jolting him awake. He seizes and twists the intruder’s arms with the ease of someone who has done the same motion a thousand times before.

“Sampo?”

“The one and only,” the conman says, a grin spreading across his face, leaning his head back with a cheer too bright for someone caught in an uninvited entry. “Why, your reflexes are as sharp as ever despite your injury! Your old man must be a real piece of work if he ain’t proud of you. That chewing out earlier at your parents’ place? Unnecessary, in ol’ Sampo's humble opinion.”

Gepard freezes. The words hit deeper than he cares to admit, but his training forces him to keep his expression steady. "Don’t speak about things you don’t understand," he snaps. "What would someone like you know about duty or sacrifice? You, who live by carelessness and lies. 

Regret floods him instantly. Just last week, hadn’t Sampo surprised him with an earnest declaration of admiration?

But before he can form an apology, Sampo hurls both of them backwards, pulling Gepard off-balance and sending them tumbling onto the bed. Gepard feels the breath knocked out of him, his cast pressing awkwardly against the mattress.

He ends up sprawled underneath Sampo, who adjusts himself blithely, slotting his body close against Gepard’s in a way that feels alarmingly intimate. The conman’s breath warms his face, and Gepard feels an unbidden flush rise to his cheeks.

“There,” Sampo says with a satisfied hum, jade green eyes sparkling as he settles himself. “Much better.” He tucks his head into the crook of Gepard’s neck, sighing contentedly as if this were the most natural thing in the world. “Now, tell me everything you need to feel better again. Sampo Koski is all ears.”

Gepard tenses, unaccustomed to such intimacy, but his exhaustion makes him waver as he belatedly process Sampo's earlier words and sudden appearance. 

“You- You eavesdropped on me and Father! How did you even get into the manor without getting caught? And how did you get into my apartment?”

Sampo’s grin only widens. “Turns out your housekeeper employs just about anyone with a recommendation, what with all the holiday vacancies right now. As for your humble abode . . .” He leans closer, breath brushing against Gepard’s jaw. “No offence, Gep, but you didn’t lock your door.” 

The proximity makes Gepard’s face heat up, and Sampo’s audacity leaves him too stunned to pull away. Their bodies are so close it almost feels like an embrace, and he feels Sampo’s breath, warm against his skin. The sensation sends an involuntary thrill down his spine, and he pushes down the sudden urge to give in to it, to let the conman’s merry presence erase the hollowness in his heart for just a moment.

Sampo grins cheekily at the flush creeping up Gepard’s cheeks. “Why, Captain. You never cease to surprise me. Now,” he says gently, nudging Gepard’s chin. Name me five things you like in this room, in this moment.”

Gepard opens his mouth, caught off-guard. “But I don’t– ”

“Now, now, Captain. Indulge me.”

Gepard glances around, his gaze drifting to his wilted flowers, their once-bright petals sagging forlornly. “My . . . flowers,” he says quietly. He clears his throat, feeling strangely exposed. “Serval’s guitar case . . .”  

The words stall, the rest slipping away. The silence grows heavy, and a surge of discomfort rises in him. He has nothing else. How? His entire life, and all he has to show for it are two neglected belongings in an empty apartment.

“Twenty-eight. And still a boy playing man.” 

“Shhh. Breathe, sweetheart,” Sampo murmurs tenderly. “So what if you can’t name more than two things? And actually, that’s on me for not clarifying – the things you like don't have to be objects.”

Sampo takes hold of Gepard’s good hand and raises it to eye level. “There are these hands,” he says, voice low. “These hands that protect Belobog. That help your comrades back on their feet in the merciless snow. That embrace your sisters out of love.” 

Sampo’s other hand then drifts to the side of Gepard’s face, thumb tracing his cheek with uncharacteristic tenderness. “And these beautiful, resolute blue eyes. They see the trusting smiles of Belobog’s people. They see those whom you love, safe and sound. Proof that everything you’ve done, all that you’re doing has meaning.” 

Gepard swallows, feeling Sampo's warmth, Sampo's words seeping into the cracks of his own doubts. The conman pulls back slightly, creating a sudden, unwelcome coolness between them. But before Gepard can question Sampo, the conman places a hand on Gepard’s chest, right over his heart.

“And this heart you bear. So strong, so full, and you don’t even realise. Beating even in those rare, helpless moments when you feel like dropping your shield and letting the Eternal Freeze take you. When you sit here in this empty apartment second-guessing your existence, wondering who you are and what you want . . .” Sampo’s gaze softens as he looks down at Gepard. “And still, it beats.” 

Gepard’s chest feels tight, the weight of Sampo a steady anchor against the void swallowing him on the inside. 

A sudden thought blooms, clear and undeniable: Your voice that just saved me. Your eyes that see me.

You.

And before he knows it, Gepard is reaching out and pulling Sampo close, his arms tightening around the conman’s frame, pressing him against his chest. 

Sampo lets out a breathless laugh, surprised but not resisting, his breath a warm whisper against Gepard’s neck. Like this, with Sampo’s weight grounded in his arms, Gepard can feel both of their beating hearts, steady and real.

Usually, duty keeps Gepard busy enough to banish the darkness in his head. But whenever he speaks to his father . . . whenever he returns with jumbled thoughts to a soulless apartment . . . Gepard would succumb to shadows of his own making. And he has never truly escaped, merely letting sleep knock him out and shove him into a new day.

This is the first time Gepard has found something to hold on to while being lost in the Eternal Freeze within his soul.

“Y’know, you remind me of a friend I had back in the day,” Sampo says absently, not looking up from where he’s using Gepard’s chest as a pillow and idly playing with the fabric of Gepard’s shirt. “He categorised people into four types: cats, dogs, cats with an inner dog and dogs with an inner cat.”

“That’s . . . unique,” Gepard replies, his brow furrowing at the unexpected shift in conversation.

Sampo chuckles. “Isokay, Captain. You can just say he’s a bit nutty in the head.”

Gepard coughs awkwardly. “Well, you said he was a friend of yours. I wouldn’t want to offend.”

“Don’t sweat it. Can’t offend someone who’s dead.” Sampo must have realised the abrupt freefall into 'uncomfortable subjects people usually don’t bring up when they cuddle' territory, because he peers upward almost meekly. “Sorry.”

Gepard clears his throat again. God, he never had trouble interacting with Sampo before. So what's with this sudden change in their dynamic? “No worries. So . . . which am I?”

“Huh?”

“Your friend's people types.”

“Oh. Definitely a dog with an inner cat.”

“What? Why? And what does that even mean?”

Sampo snickers. “Oh, Geppie. You really don’t see it?” Gepard shakes his head, and Sampo tuts teasingly. “Why, look at yourself – all loyal guard dog energy. But here . . .” He trails, patting Gepard’s chest lightly. “Deep down, there’s a big, fierce wild cat in there just daring anyone to trample on the ideals he believes in. You've got a stubborn rebel in you, sweetpea. Runs in the family, I bet.”

It’s a lot to take in, but Gepard can’t help but hang onto Sampo’s every word. There must be some strange magic in the air tonight because this green-eyed man on his lap is drawing out his soul like a pied piper sent to captivate the unsuspecting. “How about you?” Gepard asks curiously.

Sampo’s face instantly falls, and the only thing that stops Gepard from outright panicking is the fact that the conman isn’t standing up to leave. After a stretch of silence, Sampo’s lowered gaze flickers up to meet Gepard’s. “A sneaky dumbass cat with an inner golden retriever.”

Gepard has to pause at the foreign terminology. “What’s a golden retriever?”

Sampo barks out an overly delighted laugh that borders on unnatural, and Gepard knows that he will lose him for the rest of the night if he doesn’t act. 

“Oh, just some dog breed from somewhere, sometime far, far away that is overly friendly and starved for affection. Don’t worry your pretty head about it.” The conman then sits up and stretches like a big, lazy cat. “Welp, that’s all from Sampo Koski tonight. These old bones don’t work like they used to no more, and I’m sure I have overstayed my welcome. Ta-ta, my darling captain.”

Gepard’s good hand shoots out to grab Sampo’s wrist. “Wait!” At Sampo’s startled expression and slight flinch, Gepard loosens his death grip. “I mean- it’s late, Sampo. Would you . . . like to spend the night?”

Sampo looks at him, clearly processing the sudden request. “When you say ‘spend the night’, Captain, do you mean, like, on your bed? With you?”

Gepard gives a halting nod, too mortified to risk any further explanation as his face burns with embarrassment.

Sampo looks at him owlishly, his expression wary. “Um, well, not to say I’m not pleased with the progression of things, but . . . Don’t you think we’re moving a bit too quickly, Captain? I mean, we haven’t even had dinner yet!”

“I don’t mean sex! Just sleeping! Regular, normal sleeping!” Gepard exclaims, so aghast at Sampo’s implication that his brain takes a moment too long to register the conman’s last line.

We haven’t had dinner yet.

Does Sampo want a date? Are we ready? Should I . . . 

“Oh,” Sampo replies quietly, his eyes averting in a way that makes Gepard slightly uneasy. It’s rare for the ever-confident conman to show so much hesitance over something. “If that’s what you want.”

“What kind of response is that?” Gepard asserts, frowning. “No, Sampo. I asked if you would like to. You can say no.”

“I . . . I don’t have an extra set of clothes. I’ll get your bed dirty.”

“You can wear mine,” Gepard says, muscles loosening in relief. “I have a spare toothbrush too.”

For a moment, Sampo looks like he's about to bolt again. Then, astonishingly, he goes slack and slumps back on Gepard like all the fight has left him. “Okay,” he mumbles.

They take turns cleaning up for bed.  

As they settle into the covers, a loaded silence fills the air. Gepard is sure neither of them are falling asleep anytime soon and Sampo is practically lying at the edge of the bed. 

It is then that Gepard has a sudden, visceral epiphany.

This isn’t what I want.

He shifts closer to Sampo, and before the conman can even react, Gepard pulls him in from behind.

“Captain- ” Sampo’s breath hitches. “Don’t you think you’re being a li’l clingy for our first time in bed together?”

Gepard’s self-consciousness is tamped down as soon as it rouses. Sampo Koski is a man of contradiction, he thinks.

An overly friendly dog starved for affection, huh? He tightens his hold around Sampo’s waist, resisting the urge to sneak his hands under the cotton nightwear and greedily map out Sampo's body.

“Push me off then,” Gepard breathes daringly near Sampo’s ear, pleased with the full-body shiver he elicits. And it’s so strange – he has never felt such an intense desire to close the distance between himself and any of the noblewomen his father had introduced to him before. This- his situation with Sampo is all so new.

All so right.

Feeling a sudden boldness grasp his being, Gepard starts mouthing at Sampo’s nape, dragging his lips along the graceful column of the conman's neck and suckling a bruise there.

“Captain- Gepard!” A hand pushes his face off just as he’s about to bite into flesh. Sampo turns slightly so that they can see each other. His pupils are blown wide, almost engulfing the alluring green of his eyes. “Let’s not jump the gun, hmm?”

Gepard can feel a telltale heat pool downward, but for some reason, he doesn’t feel nervous at all. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” he reminds the conman.

Sampo falters but quickly collects himself with a dramatic pout. “In return for not being incarcerated, I want you to have a good time, Gepard. You regretting this in the morning ain’t part of the deal.”

“I won’t,” Gepard says resolutely, but Sampo’s disbelieving huff tells the captain that he has to switch tactics. “Would you like to go on a date with me, Sampo Koski?”

Sampo stiffens in his arms.

The stretch of silence is so long that Gepard is about to apologise when Sampo finally speaks.

“Ask me again in the morning. Then we’ll see.”

Chapter Text

As twilight creeps into the bedroom's lull, Sampo blinks awake. 

He lets himself savour the warmth and weight around him; cocooned in Gepard's arms with half of his back on the bed while the other half lies on the captain’s front. 

He tilts his head slightly, enough to catch a glimpse of Gepard's relaxed face. The rare sight of those fair features smoothed out in peace makes Sampo pause in appreciation, as he allows contentment to settle in his chest like a blanket. 

He wants this. Every day for the rest of his life if fate allows it.

Too bad Sampo doesn’t know what fate has in store for him. Fair enough though, since he’s on the same boat with everyone else. 

If only he hasn’t seen so much. If only he isn’t aware that every good thing he’s made for himself here is merely free theatre to all those higher, cosmic beings that don’t give a lick about the puny actors playing their parts. 

Carefully, Sampo tries to wriggle free, shifting inch by inch to avoid waking the Overworld’s most diligent protector. He is halfway to success when Gepard stirs, his arms tightening like steel bands around Sampo. 

“Too early,” Gepard mutters thickly, warm breath causing goosebump across Sampo's nape. His large hand slides lazily across Sampo’s exposed stomach, securing the conman even more. “I rarely get to sleep in, and I'm not dealing with your shenanigans before the sun’s up.”

Sampo freezes, caught off guard by Gepard’s cuddliness. “Aww. C’mon, Gep. I didn’t peg you for the clingy type,” he teases as a way to calm his hammering heart.

“Not clingy,” Gepard mumbles petulantly. “Efficient. Now stay still. I’m comfortable.”

Sampo snorts softly, a grin tugging at his lips despite himself. “Efficient, huh? You’re detaining me like I’m some kinda criminal.”

The sensation of Gepard smiling against his skin makes him want to combust. “Exactly. Now go back to sleep, Koski.”

Well . . . there are worse places to be than tangled up with the person you’ve been crushing on since forever, I guess.

The minutes tick by as Sampo regulates his breathing to feign sleep. But Gepard must've finally had enough of his restlessness because he turns Sampo’s head so that they're facing each other.  

The captain sighs, half miffed and half fond. “I requested for leave last night. So, how about that date?” 

Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. He was serious.

Sampo’s is clearly taking too long to answer, because Gepard’s expression tightens and his arms slacken around Sampo. “It’s a no?”

Sampo shakes his head quickly. “No! No. It’s- It’s a maybe, Cap,” his answering voice quieter than usual. “Gimme some time to mull it over.”

A flicker of confusion crosses Gepard’s face. “How are you so brazen with your body, but so apprehensive about one simple date?”

Sampo chuckles, the sound more strained than amused. He is aware that his choices may seem strange to anyone who doesn't know him.

On the other hand, Gepard Landau is infamous for his polite but firm refusals to high-born suitors, often indulging in one perfunctory date to avoid offending anyone before bowing out. In fact, traditional dating is probably the one part of romance Gepard doesn’t lack experience in. 

The thing is, Sampo doesn't expect Gepard to return his feelings. 

He wants. Of course he wants.

But someone like Sampo Koski doesn't deserve good things. 

It would be funny. Hilarious, even – if Sampo wasn’t on the receiving end of this joke.

Instead of giving in to mental breakdown, Sampo winks at Gepard. “Let’s make another deal, Gep.”

Gepard groans in exasperation. “Sampo- ”

“I’ll blow you,” Sampo interjects smoothly. “And you give me the rest of the day to think this through carefully. Fair?”

“Sampo, I don’t- ”

Before Gepard can finish, Sampo’s hand slithers under the sheets, deftly wrapping around the captain’s already hardening length and eliciting an involuntary yelp from him.

“You’re telling me you don’t want to see my lips wrapped around you,” Sampo murmurs with his sultry green gaze. He begins to stroke, slow and deliberate, as he grins wickedly at his beau. “Don’t want to watch me choke on your cock as you fuck my throat raw? My face all flushed, my eyes locked on yours, showing you exactly how much I’m loving it.”

Gepard’s breath hitches, and suddenly he has Sampo’s wrist in a vice-like grasp. 

“Sampo.”

“Well, Gep?” the Masked Fool quips, though it comes out shriller than expected. “How do you want me?”

“You . . . You don’t have to barter for time, Sampo,” the captain manages to ground out evenly as his neck flushes a painful pink. “Just think about the date. No strings attached.”

Sampo stares at Gepard for a beat before his body moves on its own. 

He gives his dear captain a sweet kiss on the cheek.

When Sampo backs away, Gepard's reaction sends a full-body shiver up his spine.

The captain's muscles are delectably tensed, eyes charged with unbridled desire as he breathes heavily.

Gepard Landau looks like he’s using every ounce of his willpower to not take Sampo like an animal then and there.

Sampo gulps, bending down to fish out Gepard’s dick before he does something stupid like spread his legs whorishly. Because holy shit, what happened to the saintly, prudish captain of the Silvermane Guards, huh? 

Whatever. Sampo has to get into the right headspace. After all, he prides himself in never leaving a debt unpaid.

He starts with the balls, massaging ‘em, giving ‘em a good lovin’ as he angles his face to get that heavy cockhead into his mouth. 

The smell down there is the headiest; strong with musk and sweat. Sampo feels the ends of his lips tug upwards as he sucks Gepard's dick while fondling his balls. 

"Sampo!" Gepard shouts, hips jerking sharply when Sampo licks the slit of his dick. Sampo’s groan is muffled, mouth stuffed full of cock as Gepard grabs a fistful of his hair to fuck him deeper. 

Gepard’s dick fills, weighing down on Sampo’s jaw as it throbs and leaks in his mouth while he runs his tongue along the girthy length. Gepard writhes above him, chanting his name alongside curses and moans, his fingernails digging painfully into Sampo's scalp. Sampo doesn’t mind. He likes pain. It’s one of his many elations.

Pain helps him remember that he’s alive, that all of this is real. 

Pain makes sure Sampo Koski never forgets.

Gepard abruptly pulls out of Sampo’s mouth. The captain’s voice is ragged when he speaks.

"Sampo . . . I'm going to- You can stop."

Light-headed and wanting nothing but to have Gepard’s cock spear his hole, Sampo grins up stupidly at his captain and opens his mouth.

Sampo shows Gepard exactly what the captain has done to his mouth, how thick and white his semen is, how he rolls the globs along his tongue before closing his mouth and swallowing like he’s made to do nothing else.

Without warning, Sampo is slammed down on the mattress, thighs spread apart and pushed upwards by mighty hands as Gepard starts rutting against his clothed bulge. 

Oh, Aeons. It’s like he wants to knock me up.

If he knew I could mould a pussy and womb . . . damn. 

He’ll go to town with me. Fuck me stupid until I’m bloated with his seed and pregnant with his kid.

Fingers grip his jaw firmly. “Look at me,” Gepard orders gruffly. “Don’t think about anything else when we’re like this.”

“Possessive much, Captain?” Sampo might be fanning the flames a li’l too much, but he’s pretty sure that if he tells Gepard his actual thoughts, the captain might snap and actually do something he’ll regret. “What will everyone say when they find out the esteemed Gepard Landau has the hots for a no-good scoundrel?”

“Don’t ruin this,” Gepard growls, eyes flashing as he stops his movements leaving Sampo to inhale sharply. “We both know what we want. So for once in your goddamn life, Sampo Koski, stop running away.”

Oh, Gepard.

My dear, sweet Gepard. I only want what’s best for you.

“One blowjob for a day’s consideration,” Sampo reminds the man pinning him down.

Gepard takes a deep breath, as if to physically calm himself. “I didn’t agree to it.” Nevertheless, he reluctantly releases Sampo and sits back on the bed, closing his eyes. “Go before I change my mind.”

As emotionally inept as Sampo is, he doesn’t want to end such a nice morning on a sour note. 

He takes Gepard’s hand and kisses his knuckles before giving it an affectionate squeeze. “You were amazing, darling. But gimme some time, hmm?” 

Honey, I’m mad for you.

But you deserve nice things.

And I’m anything but that.

Gepard doesn’t reply.

Sampo waits patiently, and is eventually rewarded with an answering squeeze.

Alright . . . Now, let's see who else thinks this is a bad idea.

Chapter Text

The clink and hum of machinery filled Serval’s workshop as Sampo slips inside with deliberately casual steps. He leans against the doorframe, arms folded and lips curled in his trademark grin.

“Afternoon, Serv. You got a minute?”

Serval glances up from her tinkering. “Sampo? What's up? This better not be trouble.”

“Can’t a guy drop by for a friendly chat?”

Serval snorts, setting down her tools with an almost fond smile. “Sure, as long as he’s not trying to swindle me.”

Sampo lets out an easy laugh. “I wouldn’t dare. Just thinkin’ to get some advice from a trusted friend.” 

Serval raises an eyebrow, but motions for him to continue.

Sampo had been thinking about the best way to ask for Serval’s blessing without making her balk, before realising that there’s honestly no way of sugarcoating the fact that Gepard is wayyy out of his league. 

So he decides to just rip the bandaid off.

“Well, where do I start? Honestly, it’s a bit of a doozy!” Sampo begins lightly while lowering his gaze. “See, I might have a teensy bit of a crush on your brother and started poking at him a little more than usual, right? But I didn’t expect the man to actually ask me out on a date! And . . . actually, that’s about it.”

Serval frowns. “You came here just to ask for my permission to date Gepard?”

Sampo’s head snaps up so fast, he almost pulls a muscle. “No, no! Of course not! No one’s anyone’s to ‘give away’. I just- wanna know what you think, that's all. ”

Serval sighs and closes her eyes to think of a satisfactory response. When she finally decides to regard Sampo, any trace of optimism he’s been holding on to vanishes. “Look, Sampo, I trust Gepard’s judgment. If my brother thinks someone’s worth his time, then that’s his call. I’ll support him as long as he’s happy.”

“That’s nice to hear,” Sampo replies smoothly, though he’s already waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“But,” Serval adds, her voice sharpening, “Gepard’s well-being comes first. I won’t lie — you’re hard to trust. And Gepard deserves someone who he can rely on wholeheartedly. He’s got enough on his plate as it is.” 

Sampo chuckles softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Aww shucks, Serv. You don’t gotta soften the blow on my account! Just say that our dear Captain deserves someone better than a shady businessman like me.”

Serval’s brow creases. “I didn’t mean that as an insult, Sampo. But every action invites an equal reaction. How others treat you is based on how they perceive your character. You can’t expect people to know you if you don’t give them anything to know.”

“Oh, there’s no need to explain. I gotchu,” Sampo says breezily, though the smile he gives Serval is genuine. “And I agree, of course. We reap what we sow, amirite?”

“Now hang on a minute, you’re mis- ”

“Anyway, since we’ve both established that our sweet captain deserves everything good in the world, I was wonderin’ if ya got any tips on how I can treat Gep right.”

The way Serval is studying Sampo makes him shift uncomfortably. Truth be told, he doesn’t understand why he’s bothered by Serval’s lack of enthusiasm towards his and Gepard’s date.

Didn’t I already expect a response like this? Why am I so desperate for her approval? 

The ache in his chest answers him.

Maybe he had hoped for a different scenario, one that would’ve been possible in another kinder, more ideal universe where he was a better person — not whatever he is here and now.

“I don't know what your brother sees in me,” he says without thinking, steamrolling through despite how much he wants to hide away from Serval’s scrutinizing gaze. “But I promise you, I will do everything I can to make Gepard happy. His well-being and happiness will always come first. Whatever he wants, I’ll fulfill it - breakup and all that unpleasant stuff included. His call.”

And once he’s done experiencing all that I have to offer, I’ll let him go. 

Silence fills the workshop after Sampo’s little speech, save for the faint whir of cogs and gears. Serval breathes in deeply and exhales. 

“I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours, but please get one thing straight: Gepard likes protecting people. His reasons aren’t mine to share, but trust me when I say he does this for his own sake as much as for those he’s protecting.” 

Serval stares Sampo down meaningfully. “If he’s asking you out, then by all means, go out and have a good time with him. If things don’t work out, fine. If things work out, that’s fine too. You two are adults who have full say in your own lives. My opinion should not hold weight in any of this, understand?”

But it does. Yours and everyone’s opinion of me matters. 

Because Sampo wasn't made to be loved. 

Sampo was made to bring happiness to others.

Still, he wants nice things.

To be accepted. 

To be loved.

To be happy.

Except, there’s always a price for desire. 

“Yeah,” Sampo answers, making sure that his gaze is as firm and sincere as he feels. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Serval.” Having maxed out his capacity for feeling small and worthless in front of someone he respects, the conman spins on his heel. “Anyway, ol’ Sampo’s gotta get a move on. Business as usual. Ta-ta! 

Serval barely has time to respond before Sampo slips out the door, willing his lips to curve upward as he whistles a forgotten tune only he knows.

The Underworld’s familiar dry air greets Sampo as he meanders through the streets, his light steps leaving no prints in the snow. Lanterns flicker overhead, their light bouncing off numerous trash cans littering the neighbourhood. 

He spots Seele speaking with a few Wildfire members in one of the alleys. He sends her a friendly wave while resuming his path to Natasha’s clinic, but to his surprise, he hears her bid farewell to her comrades followed by her running footfalls.

“You goin’ to Nat’s too?” Sampo asks since he can’t really think of any good conversational topics at the moment.

“Nah. I was almost done when you walked past,” Seele explains plainly with a sidelong glance. “You good?”

“Good? I’m swell! Whydya ask?”

Seele stops in her tracks, making Sampo pause to look back at her, only to find her hand-on-hip staring at him expectantly. “Normally, this is where you ask how I’m doing.” She holds up her other hand just as he’s about to mend his blunder. “See what I mean? You’re all off. You usually control the pace of any interaction. Now, you’re just reacting to whatever. So, what’s up?”

Ah, man. Might as well.

“Got a crush on someone out of my league.”

Seele immediately frowns at his answer, and her frown only deepens when he doesn’t elaborate.

“If you got a crush, just say you got a crush. There’s no ‘league’ when it comes to feelings.”

There is when you’re unworthy. But Sampo doesn’t say that out loud because the people on this planet are just too damn earnest to understand the truth he’s experienced firsthand. Instead, he tilts his head playfully. 

“Hmm. Lemme put it this way then, my dear friend: you and the new Supreme Guardian are as different as can be, so how do you make yourself feel worthy enough for her?”

Anyone with less self-esteem would probably take some amount of offense if they took Sampo’s question at face value. Evidently, Seele isn't like most people.

“I don’t,” Seele answers firmly, arms crossed.

Sampo blinks, genuinely thrown off. “Come again?”

“I don’t make myself worthy of anyone but myself,” she clarifies while giving Sampo a long, assessing look. “Bronya doesn’t need me to prove that I’m good enough, just for me to be as I am. That’s how it should be for everyone.”

The words leave Sampo’s mouth before he can stop them. “But what if what I am isn’t what they want?”

Seele doesn’t falter. “It doesn’t matter.”

“What?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Seele repeats seriously, her indigo eyes boring into Sampo’s as if to drill the point into his head. “What matters is you are what you want to be. Staying true to yourself makes you more than worthy, in my opinion.”

Ha, guess I’m outta luck then.

“Damn. No wonder Miss Bronya’s smitten with ya,” Sampo compliments genuinely. “That’s a real positive message that every insecure soul should hear!”

Seele shakes her head in exasperation. “It’s like you didn’t hear a word I said.”

“Hey, I heard and took everything to heart, okay! You should write that down in the papers. It’ll be a hit in the whole of Belobog!”

“Uh-huh,” Seele sighs with a dismissive wave as they reach Natasha’s clinic. “Seriously, you need to straighten up that brain of yours.”

“Nice talking to you too, Miss Seele!” Sampo sings and bolts inside.

In the warm, dimly-lit interior of Natasha’s clinic, Sampo works in uncharacteristic quiet, his mind clearly elsewhere as he busies himself with organising supplies. Natasha notices, of course, but she waits for him to break the silence.

"Hey Nat . . .” Sampo starts as casually as he can. “You think I’m capable of making someone happy?"

Natasha pauses, brow furrowing as she sets down the clipboard in her hands. "That’s a loaded question. What brought this on?"

He hesitates briefly before letting out a self-deprecating chuckle. "Oh, it’s nothing really. Just that ol’ Sampo got himself a crush. The too-good-for-him kind, too. Brave, devoted, principled . . . " he trails off while stretching, trying to sound nonchalant. “They’re definitely interested in me — I mean, who wouldn’t be, right? But actually fall for me? Chances of that are slimmer than an unfrozen Belobog, ha- Ow!”

Natasha swats his arm for the joke, though she regards him softly. "Don’t sell yourself short. The kids adore you. And most of us enjoy your company when you’re not pulling one of your ‘business ventures’. Believe it or not, Sampo, you’re easy to like."

“See, that’s the thing,” Sampo muses. “I’m pretty sure he likes me too. Or at least, what I bring to the table. Excitement, pleasure, all that fun stuff. Love me to the point of ‘till death do us part’ though? Not happening.”

“And what makes you so sure?”

“I just am.”

The care and empathy in Natasha’s red eyes are wasted on him, in Sampo’s opinion. But to his utmost surprise, Natasha’s warm fingers find their way to his jaw, tenderly angling his face back to her. 

“You asked me whether you’re capable of making others happy. Of course you are. It’s one of your many virtues, Sampo. A more important question would be: are you capable of making yourself happy?”

Happiness is a way to soften blows and trade for nice things like a good night’s sleep. Happiness brings laughter, which fills hungry bellies and distracts from bruises.

Happiness only truly matters when it belongs to other people. Other people can make a difference. Other people have loved ones they can make happy. Family, friends, lovers . . . their happiness is tangible. Real.

Happiness isn’t Sampo’s to have. 

It is his to bring.

But Belobog has made him greedy.

Sampo’s feet move on their own, his arms wrapping around Natasha in an uncharacteristic embrace. The hug startles her, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she rests a tentative hand on his back.

Then, wordlessly, he gives his friend one last smile and leaves her establishment. 

Outside, he pulls out his phone before he can change his mind.

Sampo:

Hey, Gep

Still up for that date? *Pom-Pom heart*.

The response comes almost immediately.

Gepard:

??

Sampo?

How did you get my number?

Nvm. Probably Stelle. Wait—

!!!!!

Do you mean that?

Sampo smirks to himself as his mind conjures Gepard’s doubtlessly flustered face. The conman types quickly.

Sampo:

Why ofc, Captain~

I happen to be missin’ a certain comfy bed in the Overworld... and the company keeping me warm that night *Pom-Pom wink*

Sampo sends the text and, without waiting for Gepard’s reply, turns his phone off. 

Chapter Text

Gepard frowns at his reflection, adjusting one of the cuffs of the crisp white shirt he’s trying on. It's high quality fabric, cut to follow the lines of his muscles and tapered waist.

Just like all the ones he already has at home. 

“We’re here to buy clothes for you, Sampo,” Gepard grumbles, tugging at the collar. “Not for you to play dress-up with me.”

Sampo, lounging lazily on a velvet bench outside the dressing room, only grins up at Gepard cheekily. “Aw, don’t be like that, Captain. I’m not losing anything here. You’re paying for your own clothes, and I get to watch you being eye candy. Sides, the clothes in this store ain’t exactly my style.” 

Gepard sighs and steps out. “Just so you know, I’m only trying these on because you seem to be enjoying the show.”

Sampo stands and saunters over with his trademark carefree swagger, eyes trailing appreciatively over Gepard’s figure. He steps closer than necessary, reaching out to grab Gepard’s wrist, guiding the captain’s hand to rest on his exposed waist window.

Gepard’s fingers twitch against bare skin. To Sampo’s delight, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, Gepard’s hand trails down, giving Sampo’s behind a playful squeeze.

“Feelin’ handsy today, Captain?” Sampo teases. “Should’ve shown up in one of my dresses. Makes gettin’ frisky in public easier, if you know what I mean.”

“Then why didn’t you?” Gepard asks, brow furrowing in mild disapproval.

Sampo hums, his gaze softening for a fleeting breath. “It would’ve invited less scandal than being seen with ol’ Sampo Koski, I’m sure. But I figured you’d appreciate me more as I usually am.”

Before Gepard can respond, Sampo leans up and plants a quick kiss on his cheek.

“Thanks for the show, Captain,” Sampo croons with a wink before slipping out of the cramped dressing room, leaving Gepard standing there with a faint blush creeping up his neck.

As Gepard pays at the counter, Sampo notices a loose knit burgundy sweater that looks out of place among the blue and white button-ups.   

“Huh. Don’t remember picking that out for you,” Sampo remarks with a raised eyebrow.

Gepard clears his throat, trying to sound nonchalant. “It’s yours.”

Sampo sidles up, leaning in close to whisper in Gepard’s ear. His voice drops to a sensual murmur. “I’ll be sure to wear it next time I sleep over . . . with nothing underneath.” 

Gepard’s ears burn red, trying his best to rein in his imagination. “Just- save it for when we’re alone.”

Qlipoth’s abandoned church blends in seamlessly among all the other Underworld buildings, with its weathered rust-coloured bricks, dilapidated roof and cracked wooden beams. Shafts of pale light filter through the broken windows, illuminating a sea of roses blooming wildly across the unpaved ground.   

Gepard crouches down to run his fingers over the petals. They are mesmerizing — a deep, bewitching blue like Sampo’s hair.

“You grew all these?” he asks, his voice laced with awe.

Sampo stands behind him, hands in his pockets, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. “Yup. Fitting, don’tcha think? Roses in a church dedicated to the Aeon of Preservation.”

Gepard smiles up at him. “They’re beautiful.”

Sampo chuckles softly. “Y’know, on that planet I told you about — the one with golden retrievers? Blue roses don’t exist in nature. People had to genetically engineer them, put in years of selective breeding. I always thought that was amazing.”

“Why?” Gepard asks, genuinely curious.

Sampo crouches beside him, rolling a rose petal between his fingers. “Because it shows how far people will go to make their dreams come true. Even if fate doesn’t allow it, humans find a way to bring vision to reality.” He glances at Gepard, a thoughtful glint in his eyes. “So what’s your dream, Gep? What do you wanna make real?”

Gepard takes a moment to answer, his gaze drifting to the roses. “When I was younger, I always hid behind Serval whenever Father berated me. I . . . I wanted to be like her. Strong enough to protect. To prove to myself that I’ve grown out of that scared little boy.”

“You’ve done a damn good job of that,” Sampo says sincerely.

“I hope so.” Gepard runs his hand through the foliage. “I think that’s why I like flowers. They’re delicate, but they can thrive under the right care. Like Belobog. My dream is to defend it, help it weather through the Fragmentum monsters and Eternal Freeze, and all other calamities that befall it. I want to see Belobog flourish. I want to see Belobog return to its former glory — a planet of flowers under the dazzling sun.”

In his mind’s eye, Gepard sees it. He sees a sea of flowers caressed by the gentle dawn. He sees Sampo too, somehow, like he belongs there.

The man’s white shirt billows in the breeze as he smiles serenely at Gepard, crow’s feet on full display and green eyes shining with pure contentment. 

It is the most devastatingly beautiful thing Gepard has ever seen.

Sampo leans in, lips brushing against Gepard’s neck, soft as a moth’s touch.

Gepard tilts his head, giving Sampo more access. Sampo hums, mouthing over Gepard’s pulse. “Whadya say we make this date a lil’ more memorable?”

Gepard smiles in interest. “What do you have in mind?”

Sampo pulls back just enough to level their gazes, green eyes gleaming with mischief. “Lose the clothes, Captain.”

They shed their layers, laying them in a messy pile on the ground. Gepard presses Sampo down onto the makeshift bedding, his hand tracing the curve of Sampo’s waist with uncertainty before settling on his hips.

“Here, Gep,” Sampo whispers, guiding Gepard’s hand lower. “Touch me however you want.”

Gepard leans back, gaze roving over Sampo hungrily. The man’s ample chest is bare, its pale expanse rising and falling with uneven breaths. His pink lips are parted, glistening in the dim light, and his green eyes shimmer with a vulnerability that Gepard has never seen before.

This is the moment. The invitation has been offered, and Sampo is waiting beneath him.

And yet, as Gepard runs his hands over Sampo naked body, his palms tracing warm skin and  goosebumps, the Silvermane captain feels something awaken within him. Something primal and urgent, like the stirring of a beast long caged. 

His touch grows bolder, more curious. He’s not being as careful or measured as he imagined he would be during his younger days. What he’s doing now is . . . instinctual. Animal. Like he’s about to claim something he has craved but never fully understood.

A memory surfaces, unbidden: his etiquette tutor lecturing on how men use their bodies to express themselves. How men show love.

The lesson’s fundamental logic had always eluded him. But now, everything makes sense in a way it never did.

For the first time, Gepard understands what his body can do to another.

Sampo’s breath hitches as Gepard roams his hands over the conman with a reverence bordering on greed, mapping out every plane and curve, memorizing the way Sampo’s skin tenses under his touch. His fingertips brush against the hollow of Sampo’s throat, feeling the flutter of his pulse — a wild, erratic rhythm that mirrors his own racing heart.

Sampo's breathing quickens, and his eyes dart around nervously.

“Hey,” Gepard murmurs, tilting Sampo’s chin up so their gazes lock. “Talk to me.”

Sampo’s lips tremble, his usual smirk nowhere to be found. Instead, there’s a flicker of uncertainty in his expression, a rare moment of unguarded emotion. 

Gepard realises, with a jolt, that Sampo is scared.

It’s endearing. It’s maddening. It makes Gepard want him even more. He wants to kiss Sampo right now. He needs to.

His gaze drops to Sampo’s lips, chest tightening with resolve.

No more teasing. No more games. Sampo has kept insisting that Gepard ‘should only kiss the person he likes’. Well, whatever he feels for the conman now may not be love quite yet, but Gepard is damn well sure that he has reached the point of like if he’s lying naked with someone. 

And no Landau ever leaves their task undone. 

Gepard moves forward, keen on capturing Sampo’s lips.

The conman stiffens. “Gep, if you’re about to do what I think you’re gonna do, don’t.”

“Why not?”

Sampo’s voice is tight, almost pleading. “Just… have fun with me. The no-strings-attached kind, so you don’t regret it later.”

Gepard’s brows knit together. “You don’t know what I want.”

And with that, he surges towards his goal.

The world tilts.

Gepard loses himself in the sensation of Sampo’s lips yielding like moist cake. Soft, pliant, and oh so sweet. He deepens the kiss, slipping his tongue past Sampo’s lips to explore further, reveling in the heady scent of roses and gunpowder.

But Sampo struggles against Gepard, pushing and slapping weakly against his bare chest as if trying to shove him away.

Gepard responds by grabbing Sampo’s wrists and pinning them to the floor and intertwining their fingers. He presses his full weight on Sampo, pushing his pelvic bone downwards so that the man beneath him has no room to escape.

Sampo’s protests falter into a soft whimper.

That raw, needy sound ignites a beastly urge deep within Gepard’s core. 

He rolls his hips down, the friction sending shivers up his own spine, and Sampo gasps, arching against him.

Satisfaction and pride blooms in Gepard’s chest. Finally, Sampo is coming through.

But then Gepard feels wetness on his cheeks.

He pulls back in bewilderment, only to realise that Sampo is crying.

Tears flow down Sampo’s face in silent and unchecked streams, catching light like rivulets of liquid glass. Sampo’s lips tremble as he sucks in shallow breaths, his usually laughing eyes misty with sorrow.

“Sampo-” Gepard begins, his voice hoarse with concern. “Sampo, what’s wrong?”

Sampo shakes his head in utter dismay. “This isn’t supposed to happen.”

Gepard stares at him in disbelief, confusion and frustration warring within him. “You were the one who propositioned me in the first place!”

“I know!” Sampo’s voice cracks. “But I didn’t mean for it to feel so . . . much.”

Gepard softens instantly, carefully peeling his body off Sampo to give the man some air.

“Sampo,” he murmurs, brushing a thumb across Sampo’s slippery cheek. “Sweetheart, look at me.”

Sampo hesitates, his gaze flitting away before finally locking onto Gepard’s.

“Do you want this?” Gepard asks, his lowered tone gentle but serious.

Sampo stays silent for a long moment. His lips part, then close again. Finally, he sucks in a shaky breath and whispers, “Do you?”

“I’m asking you, Sampo.” Gepard leans down until his forehead is resting on Sampo’s. “Do you want this? ”

Sampo’s lips quiver, his eyes glistening with a thousand truths he may never dare reveal to Gepard.

Then, slowly, he gives a small nod.

That’s all the permission Gepard needs.

He surges forth, capturing Sampo’s lips in another searing kiss, pouring every ounce of longing, desire, and burgeoning feelings into it. 

Sampo melts into him this time, no longer resisting, their limbs slotting together like they are celestial bodies ordained by the cosmos to collide. 

Gepard knows, deep in his heart, that what he feels for Sampo is more than lust and infatuation. 

It's much, much more.

Here in this church, in this moment, the world fades away.

Later, as they part ways outside the church, Gepard lingers, hesitant to let Sampo go.

“I can walk you home,” he offers.

Sampo’s grin is as light as his tone is airy. “Don’t have one.”

Gepard’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“Plenty of nooks and crannies for shelter in the Underworld,” Sampo waves off dismissively. “Not great for ol' Sampo’s back, though.”

“Why don’t you use money from your . . . business?” Gepard asks, concerned.

Sampo’s smile turns bitter. “Got debts to pay.”

“How much?”

A beat of silence. “A whole planet’s worth.”

Gepard’s stomach drops. He doesn’t know why. The answer sounds so ridiculous that it simply can’t be true. But before he can press further, Sampo leans up and kisses his cheek.

“See you around, Captain.”

Gepard almost pouts. “We’ve already made out, Sampo. Or did the entirety of earlier mean nothing to you?”

Sampo’s grin returns, playful as ever. “Why, I need to make things interesting somehow. Gotta keep that spark between us alive, y’know.”

You don’t have to, Gepard wants to say. I’m serious about starting a romance with you. But he can only watch as Sampo throws him a wink and strides into a nearby alley. The Silvermane captain sighs as he turns, intending to start his trek home.

But then—

Quick footfalls echo behind him.

He whirls around, only to be caught in a firm embrace. An overpowering scent of gunpowder hits his nose, stronger than Sampo’s rose perfume. Like remnants of a firework.

The kiss is sudden, but warm and intimate. And unlike a few minutes ago, Sampo lingers. 

Happiness fills Gepard’s chest and his eyes fall shut before he can think better of it, his hands instinctively pull Sampo closer by the waist.

But the longer their kiss goes on, the more something feels . . . off.

Gepard’s senses prick with unease, brows knitting together as he deepens the kiss in search of the cause of his apprehension.

But then, Sampo pulls back. 

And Gepard swears he sees a sliver of pink in those captivating green eyes. 

Those eyes laugh in mockery,

“Hehe, just kiddin’,” Sampo’s voice purrs in his ear. “Here’s your kiss, Captain. Aha sends their regard~”

Gepard stands frozen, lips tingling and heart pounding wildly from Sampo' kiss. He watches as Sampo disappears into the same alley he used earlier, and a strange chill creeps down the captain’s spine.

Something about that kiss isn’t right . . .

Well, he can ask Sampo about it later. 

Chapter Text

Sampo Koski stands at the edge of the Underworld plaza, moonlight casting long shadows over the wet cobblestones. The air is thick with cloying perfumes, plumes of clashing scents potent enough to make anyone lightheaded. 

About a dozen Masked Fools are gathered round him in a loose circle, each dressed in their own unique getup and prized mask. Though Sampo had been meaning to get his own mask back from Sparkle, he hasn’t been able to track down that walking menace, so he pretty much has nothing going for him in this circus of a meeting.

Aha’s definitely getting a kick out of this, he thinks sullenly.

“The Landau boy seems positively besotted with you, my dear,” one of Sampo's male colleagues coos as he slinks up to him. “Unexpected . . . But unsurprising.” Sampo gives the masked man a thin smile as the latter grips his chin with gloved fingers. “You are, after all, one of our prettiest.” 

“Oh, I think it goes both ways,” a female Masked Fool says, cocking her head to one side as if amused. “Our lovely Sampo is so completely taken with the Silvermane captain, I’m starting to think he’s not even in it for the money.” 

The others murmur in agreement, making Sampo scoff. “Since when do my feelings ever matter, hmm? Of course I’m doing it for the money. Kalevala can’t really bail itself out now, can it? Gepard Landau being a good lover just happens to be an added bonus.”

“Of course, darling,” the masked woman replies easily. “Still, I’m sure we can all agree that a smooth-sailing romance makes for poor stageplay, yes?” 

Sampo has to forcibly calm his breathing. Damn it. Damn it all.

Don’t think too hard about this. Compartmentalise. Dissociate, whatever, just- stay calm.

You always knew something like this would happen. When have they not pulled one over you just when you got things under control, huh?

“Here’s our new offer, dear Sampo: fulfill our carnal desires, all while maintaining contact with the Landau boy. And in return, we shall continue to relieve Kalevala’s debt and spare Belobog from our quest for elation.”

Steady, Sampo. Steady. 

Remember, you have always known.

Just suck it up and move on.

“Why bother with a deal at all?” he grits out of spite. “Even if we both hold up our end of the bargain, y’all will probably just give me one big ‘sike!’ at the end of all this.”

A chorus of light chuckles. Behind their masks, Sampo knows that each and every one of them are regarding him with ridicule and pity. He can’t even find it in himself to feel sick.

He can’t find it in himself to feel anything.

“You have always been so serious, sweet Sampo. Live a little! After all, what is life without fun?”

“Besides,” a masked lady nears him. “You won’t risk all the lives in Jarilo-VI for something as meaningless as your dignity, will you? Your happiness for the happiness of an entire planet is an easy enough trade, isn’t it?”

It is.

Don’t start, Sampo Koski. 

Don’t think. Don’t feel.

Sampo’s jaw clenches. “Fine. Deal.”

He didn’t plan to come here tonight, not after what had happened with his colleagues. But here he is, drawn to one of three places on this planet that can offer him some semblance of solace at a time like this.

Before Sampo can talk himself out of it, he knocks twice. 

The door opens after several seconds, revealing Gepard in his off-duty clothes — a simple white knitwear and dark sweatpants that does little to hide his broad frame. The captain’s eyes widen in surprise at the sight of Sampo, though his initial shock is quickly replaced by a warm smile.

“Sampo.”

“Hey, Captain,” Sampo says, forcing a grin. “Miss me?”

Gepard steps aside to let Sampo in. “A bit. I’m happy you’re here.”

The sincerity in Gepard’s voice makes Sampo’s heart clench with affection. He steps inside, noticing how the apartment has become more orderly compared to its sorry state during his last visit. The scent of coffee and cedarwood wafts in the air, making Sampo subconsciously relax his shoulders and let out a heavy breath.

“Didn’t expect to see you tonight,” Gepard says as he closes the door behind them. “Is everything alright?”

Sampo turns to face his new beau. Gepard’s features etch with concern, and it makes Sampo want to run and stay all at once.

“Yeah,” Sampo lies smoothly. “Just finding it hard to sleep. Thought I’d drop by.”

Gepard nods, studying Sampo intently. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Have you eaten?”

No. “Mm, depends. Are you on the menu, Gep?” Sampo chimes suggestively, hands sliding up Gepard’s chest before his arms circle the captain’s shoulders.

“That was so bad,” Gepard protests, though his blue eyes shine with fondness. He rests his forehead on Sampo’s, allowing their breaths to mingle. They stay like that for a while, simply sharing the silence and soaking in each other’s presence.

Then Gepard brings Sampo closer. “Let me take care of you.”

“Are you sure?” Sampo asks, his voice quieter than intended.

“Yes.”

Gepard closes the distance between them, capturing Sampo’s lips in a kiss that is both desperate and tender. Sampo responds immediately, parting his lips to allow Gepard’s tongue access while using his weight to guide Gepard backwards.

Once the back of Gepard’s leg hits the couch, the captain flops down and pulls Sampo onto his lap. Gepard’s hands moved to Sampo’s hips, steady and sure. 

“You don’t have to hold back,” Gepard whispers against Sampo’s lips. “Show me.”

Sampo pulls back just enough to gaze at Gepard searchingly. “Have you done this before?”

A faint blush creeps up the captain’s neck. “I have never- but I want to. With you.”

Warmth blooms in Sampo’s chest. He cups Gepard’s face, and with a certainty that surprises himself, he kisses Gepard.

Gepard makes a soft sound of surprise. Sampo smiles against his captain’s lips, mouthing them sweetly, tenderly. He pours in all his fears, all his hope and longing, like he’s in love.

No.

He is in love.

That is why he will give this man everything.

When Sampo finally releases Gepard’s lips, the captain is staring at him like he’s about to cry. “Sampo.”

Sampo stiffens, alarmed by Gepard’s expression. “Gep? What’s wrong- ”

“Nothing,” Gepard huffs with an almost pained smile, his eyes glassy with emotion. “It’s the first time you’ve given me a real kiss.”

Heat rises to Sampo’s face, but he slaps Gepard’s arm lightly. “Just cuz all those other kisses weren’t on your lips doesn't mean they’re fake, Gep.”

“Well, outside the abandoned church, you- “ Gepard pauses, regarding Sampo thoughtfully. 

“Gepard?”

His captain seems to have come to a private decision and shakes his head with a smile. “I was just thinking . . . I want to learn everything about you, Sampo.” 

Sampo’s breath catches as Gepard's hands trace his waist, the gentle brush of calloused fingertips sending a shiver through him. 

Gepard lowers his head to press his lips upon the juncture between Sampo’s neck and shoulder, lingering briefly before plunging his teeth into flesh. Sampo moans, fingers threading through Gepard’s soft blond hair as he lets out a shaky sigh. 

They reluctantly part to remove each other’s clothing in a frenzied rush, with Sampo laughing helplessly when Gepard almost rips his pants off in excitement. Still, even when red with embarrassment, Gepard’s hands wanders across his body with single-minded determination. 

Sampo seizes his captain’s left wrist, nudging till only his forefinger remains pointed outwards, bringing it to his rim with the intention of ramming it into his hole dry. He does just that, hissing at the rough intrusion before setting a punishing pace of pulling and thrusting Gepard’s finger in and out of his narrow canal.

But Gepard yanks his hand out of Sampo’s grasp, making the conman cry out due to the sudden exit. 

Then he feels hands shaking him by the shoulders. “Sampo, we need lubricant,” Gepard urges with concern. “Please, sweetheart. You hurt me by hurting yourself.”

Oh. “Sorry,” he murmurs quietly, placing a palm on Gepard’s cheek to calm the captain’s uneven breathing. “I mean it, Gepard. I’m sorry. Let’s start again. I’ll get myself wet for you this time.”

Gepard’s eyes bore into him. “Do- Do you want it rough?”

“Mhmm. But you’re right, we can go rough without anyone gettin’ hurt,” Sampo says with a smile. “Close your eyes, hun. You’ll hear me making some sounds, and you’ll feel some weird stuff going on with my body. But don’t open those lovely blues till I say so, ‘kay?”

His captain’s face is filled with uncertainty and reluctance, but he nods nevertheless. “Alright. Just- promise me that you won’t do anything to harm yourself.”

“Yes, yes, I promise, you worrywart. Now close your eyes already!”

As aforementioned, Sampo can’t help but let out a few involuntary grunts as he shapeshifts; the sensation feels like his dick is being pulled and pushed back into his lower abdomen. It burns and aches and Sampo begins outright moaning at how good the pain feels.

“Can I open my eyes now?” Gepard asks worriedly.

Sampo lets out a tired chuckle. “Go ahead. Just try not to freak out. Oh, and don’t shoot inside — save it for when I turn back.”

Gepard’s mouth falls open as he takes in Sampo’s transformed appearance. But instead of hesitating or judging Sampo, he cups the conman’s face with infinite care. “You’re a marvel, you know that?”

Without waiting for Sampo’s reply, the Silvermane captain kisses him deeply as he slips two fingers into the conman’s already moistening folds. 

“Ahh- Gep. Ohh~ Yes, yes, right there!” Sampo chants breathlessly. “Curl your fingers. Mmm~ yesss. Don’t be shy, honey. Play with me. Pinch my pussy- Ahhhhhhh~!”

Sampo feels himself falling apart under Gepard’s touch. The captain nips and drags his clitoris hood apart with both hands, letting his fingers run up and down his vulva before letting a few dive into the conman’s sensitive pussy at once, knocking the wind out of Sampo.

There is no way in hell he’s never done this before.

“You liar.” Sampo whines as Gepard massages and circles his insides. “You’re definitely a player. Virgin my ass!”

“You’re the one- hah- giving me instructions,” Gepards argues through puffs of hot breath, eyes blown wide as he stares intently at Sampo’s engorged cunt. “And Qlipoth, you’re just . . . So, so beautiful. Sampo, I want to taste you. I want to spill inside you. Let me, let me.” 

Oh my god. I’m gonna die by sex, Sampo thinks deliriously. He’s not even in me and I’m already cock-drunk, Aha help me.

When Gepard bends down and starts mouthing at his pussy, Sampo is gone. He wails like a cat in heat as the captain eats him out; lapping at his slick perversely, kissing every inch of overstimulated flesh, plunging and curling his tongue in time with his fingers-

Gepard moans againsts him, humping against the rug like a rutting dog. “Dear god, Sampo. Sampo, Sampo, you taste so good. So good, Sampo. Ohh, so good for me- ”

It’s too much. Too much, too much, too much.

Sampo whites out just as he feels his pussy spraying. 

Oh my god. I died. I saw heaven. Oh my god. 

He blinks, peering up blearily at his bedmate, only to see what can only be described as a sex-crazed man barely keeping his wits together, girthy cock fully erect and leaking like it’s ready to empty inside Sampo on command.  

“Captain, hah- You look like you wanna breed me.”

Gepard pounces on Sampo, grabbing a small breast in each hand and squeezing them mercilessly making Sampo give a high-pitched moan. His captain fondles the fleshy globes, kneading them, biting around them, plucking at the rosy nipples until Sampo is a mewling mess. 

But he doesn’t stop there. Gepard is practically fucking Sampo’s thighs and abusing the outer folds of Sampo’s cunt, prodding the leaking head of his cock against Sampo’s pussy lips until its breaching the flushed wet orifice. And Sampo is so drunk on Gepard’s cock that he has half a mind to let the man spill in his womb. 

“If you don’t turn back now,” Gepard says seriously. “I just might.” 

“Wait, wait, just- your phone, Gep. Take a pic of me like this.”

Gepard looks dumbfounded by the strange request, even though his hand complies and reaches easily to his phone lying on the coffee table nearby. “What? Why?”

“We both need to take a breather, dummy. Or do you not notice we’ve been acting like animals just now?”

At least Gepard has the decency to look embarrassed while taking nude pics of Sampo’s female body, though the craving expression his captain has on while staring at his phone screen is lewd enough to make even Sampo blush.

“You know what, Gep? I think you might be a closeted pervert. You look like you’re so gonna jerk off to those pics when I’m not around.”

“Isn’t that what they’re for?” Gepard deadpans and Sampo really can’t argue with that so he coughs to bring them back on track.

“Okay, babe, you had your fun. Now close your eyes and get ready for round two.”

They move to the couch and Sampo turns around so that his back is facing Gepard. He folds and braces his arms against the base of the couch’s armrest, raising his ass up for easier access. He makes a show out of preparing himself, feeling Gepard’s burning gaze as he gathers his earlier slick to lubricate his hind hole.

Gepard drags his hand trails along Sampo’s back reverently, slipping the other forward to grip Sampo’s newly formed cock. The captain pumps enthusiastically until the organ fills and hardens, his own already throbbing impatiently against Sampo’s anus. 

He bites and sucks the conman’s nape, tasting a heady mix of sweat and musk that is so uniquely Sampo. Gepard makes sure the hickies are visible, wants it so that everyone who sees these marks knows that Sampo is his.

Sampo can only moan and tremble, completely at his captain’s mercy. “Stop or I’ll finish before we even start.”

Gepard huffs. “You can climax more than once. Let me have my fill,” the Landau heir says even as he positions himself. And in one swift thrust, he’s inside Sampo.

They both moan as they join, senses experiencing a flood of instant clarity as their fleshes mold as one. 

“Sampo, Sampo, Sampo,” Gepard chants mindlessly as he impels Sampo again and again like a beast in rut. “Aeons. Let me spill inside you. Let me breed you. Let me have you in every way, Sampo.”

Sampo can only clench his hole in response, which is apparently enough to break Gepard’s rhythm and punch a guttural cry out of the captain as he empties his seed deep within Sampo.

And Sampo lets go, surrendering himself completely in a way he never had before this man.

The whispers begin at Qlipoth Fort two days later.

"A group of powerful illusioniststs have taken over the Golden Theatre,” one guard tells another casually as they walk down the hallway opposite Gepard. “They call themselves ‘Masked Fools’. And Koski’s with them". 

"That’s not even the shocking part. You probably got the same intel as me too, right?”

The guard’s colleague nods. “My division is still fact-checking the reports before submission, but they all say the theatre’s empty during daytime, and there’s always an invisible barrier preventing people from proceeding more than a few feet beyond the entrance. At night though, they would catch glimpses of . . . debauchery.”

“Like sex? What’s that got to do with Koski though?”

Gepard Landau halts his steps to pick up the last of their conversation as the two guards travel further and further away.

“It’s got everything to do with him. According to our witnesses, Sampo Koski is the star of the show.”

Chapter Text

Most days, Gepard struggles to understand people, let alone himself.

Have his comrades not bled and fought for Belobog just as he had? Have these men and women not soldiered through their own personal fears and sacrificed their respective priorities to defend their fellow countrymen? 

Precious time they could’ve spent with their loved ones; days off with family and friends and lovers, birthdays and gatherings and significant milestones—all given up in the name of duty, maybe even forever lost because their lives have been snuffed out by fate’s cruel humour.

Rimas would have been thirty this year. He and Gepard would have been married if he hadn't shielded Gepard from that cursed ambush six years ago.

Gepard would have insisted on courting Rimas properly, braved his father's disappointment, assuaged his mother's worries, and enjoyed every adoring smile that splits Rimas’s face whenever Gepard manages to be kind to himself just a bit more. 

Rimas would spend sleepless nights in Gepard’s office pouring through reports with him, hold Gepard when the guilt of surviving yet another disastrous mission becomes too much to bear, let Gepard kiss and touch him to feel alive again.

Gepard had wanted more. Wanted Rimas to be his mind, body and soul, and for himself to be Rimas's. He wanted to marry that man. Rimas insisted on waiting until Belobog became more peaceful. Somehow, he knew their happiness wouldn't last. He wanted Gepard to be capable of going on without him.

On Gepard's twenty-second birthday, Rimas died and hollowed out a piece of himself in Gepard's heart forever.

Before Sampo, Gepard would spend all his thoughts and energy focused on anything and anyone other than himself almost fanatically. He couldn't have been any other way, not with all the wondrously beautiful moments he had experienced. The glaring, void awareness of never being able to live that same beauty again.

These days, it's easier to carry memories of Rimas as he reviews reports while Sampo fills the silence with idle chatter, easier to let go of the past as he chases Sampo through the streets and alleys of Belobog. Yelling in indignation, laughing; breathless and shocked by the audacity of this living menace. 

Gepard lives.

He escapes the close calls, the maimings and spine-snappings and mindless killings of alien monsters. Survives to lead yet another charge. Another stand.

All for that unreal dream of spring.

His name, venerated for the very same deeds accomplished by his brothers in arms, spread by press and word of mouth. Honoured and respected. Remembered.

Captain Gepard. The next Lord Landau. Gepard Landau. 

What makes that name worth more than any other? What makes his dream more important than a child's wish to see their mother return from the Eternal Freeze for their birthday, or an old woman’s hope of glimpsing her son one last time before she passes on?

Day by day, mission after mission, he finds himself doubting the worth of his dream. Finds himself questioning this path in life he has set because of his once simple, childish desire to prove himself worthy. 

He asks himself when he pulls a Silvermane's arm in their hasty retreat, only for the appendage to fall off its shoulder. He asks himself when his parents barely spare a line of concern for the deceased soldiers. He asks himself when he stares at his lifeless house, his hollow life.

The more he questions his worth and purpose, the deeper the darkness that eats his mind grows.

Despite all that, Sampo calls him romantic. But then, Sampo seems to find a great deal about the human condition romantic.

The man is an enigma, a marvel who somehow manages to transform Gepard's dark, all-consuming emptiness into tangible things like dignity and desire and dreams.

It is why Gepard seeks the conman’s company, why he never tires of staring into those jade eyes that are so full of wisdom and life, why he is desperate to touch this devastatingly real being in his hands and feel the meaning of his own existence. 

With you, true happiness is within reach.

Whatever that means, whenever Gepard is with Sampo, he feels the truth in it.

That is why Gepard finds himself standing before the Golden Theatre this evening. He needs to see it with his very own eyes, this side of Sampo that the conman so desperately hides.

Taking a steadying breath, Gepard steps inside.

At first, the theatre is empty, the only sound being Gepard's boots clicking against marble floors. But then the air shifts, thickening with an unnatural warmth, and the lights dim until only the stage remains illuminated.

Gepard barely has time to process the change before a scene unfolds.

The stage is drenched in gold and crimson silk, draped decadently from the rafters. The heady scent of musk and perfume permeates the air as naked figures move languidly in the dim light, their glowing masks set in wide, permanent grins, animalistic and looming over a moaning figure in the center—Sampo.

The man is sprawled on a velvet chaise, lean body completely bare and hair tousled in abandon. His hands are seized on both sides by strange black tentacles appearing from beneath the cloak of one of the masked figures. More tendrils raise and part Sampo's muscled legs above his shoulders, displaying globs of viscous liquid leaking out of his engorged hole.

Gepard’s stomach churns as Sampo tilts his head back, baring his throat with a drunken smile. The conman's lips fall open, though his voice is drowned out by the music swelling in the background.

More figures crowd around Sampo; their hands pawing over his skin, their exposed lips mouthing along his neck and thighs and calves. His flat chest magically perks into small breasts that are groped and pulled, making him yell out in pleasure or pain—Gepard can't tell, but the captain’s limbs weigh down like lead whenever the impulse to free Sampo crosses his mind.

A hand squeezes Sampo’s flushed cock as fingers pump in and out of his conjured cunt and abused anus beneath it, before whole fists are violently speared into both holes, wrenching a shocked cry out of Sampo. 

He looks completely lost in the thrall of pleasure.

Gepard tries to remind himself that everything he sees here is an illusion, a cheap trick meant to unearth his reality. 

But Sampo is allowing these perverse touches, allowing these strangers to violate every part of his body even though he is fully capable of fighting back. The light in his eyes is gone, yet those beguiling greens smile in crescent arches, in complete surrender to the basest of mortal pleasures.

Gepard tears his gaze away and stalks towards the theatre entrance before he does something foolish like ask Sampo to explain himself. 

The cold air outside is a slap from reality that he welcomes as he trudges home, blanking his mind from everything he witnessed.

Sampo’s eyes peel open blearily to a dim room, air sweltering with incense smoke and wine. His brothers and sisters surround him in a tangle of limbs on the cold hard floor.

They have healed him again: all the tattoos they’d drawn with their lit cigarettes and knives as they treat his body like a blank canvas, his cock flayed and chopped and restored, cigars and scalpels and explosives stuffed into his cunt and anus until they're reduced to ruined ribboned flesh . . . All gone as if his pain is merely a figment of his imagination. As if he's making a big deal out of nothing.

He’s been passed around, forced to transform between his sexes in order to exhaust his body and mind as the Masked Fools take turns fucking him raw. He remembers how they kept touching him. How each part of his body was pried open and invaded with things he didn't ask for.

He remembers how a Fool made the first knife stab into his hind hole without warning, how he then used Sampo's flowing blood and screams to fuel the movements of his cock and those that followed. 

He remembers how eldritch tentacles penetrated his cervix, pushed and prodded and invaded until loads of sticky substances are squirted into his womb, until his stomach became so bloated and gassy he felt sick. 

He remembers how he was force fed aphrodisiacs and contraceptives until he threw up, how his face was pressed down on his own vomit until he managed to lick the mess clean.

“Why the long face, Koski?” a voice purrs from the shadows. Sampo can barely make out their features through the pounding behind his eyelids. “This is what you agreed to. Or did you forget the terms?”

“I didn’t forget,” Sampo croaks quietly.

“Good. Then lose the dispassion. What good follower of Aha can't take a joke, hmm?”

Sampo doesn’t answer. If he starts thinking now, he might actually lose it.

He feels a Fool smile against his shoulder and immediately wishes he can wash the sensation off his skin. “What's this now? Feeling wronged? Feeling like you've betrayed your beau? Look at it this way: you're protecting his beloved home by providing us with entertainment. A noble endeavour indeed.”

Another Fool suckles his nipple while rubbing his cunt. “So noble . . . Yet, noble deeds aren't exactly entertaining, no?”

Sampo snaps to attention. “The deal was to relieve Kalevala’s debt and spare Belobog from elation as long as I fulfill all your carnal desires while dating Gepard Landau.”

“Oh look, he's reciting the terms verbatim!”

“Such an adorable doll. How do you think he'll react if we don't hold up our end?”

The question sends a chill up Sampo's spine. He runs through several scenarios in his brain. “Y'all have a pretty good idea of Jarilo VI’s script—I'll just fight alongside them till the end. That can't be more entertaining than watching my relationships with everyone here suffer as I wonder in suspense about the fates of two planets.”

A gloved hand reaches out to brush a lock of hair from Sampo’s face. He flinches at the touch, but doesn’t pull away.

“Look at you,” they murmur. “So tense. So miserable. Can't say I feel pleasured when my bedmate is so unwilling.”

Fuck you.

Sampo swallows with difficulty. His throat burns with inflammation. His joints ache and his skin crawls from phantom touches. His lower body just feels like a mess of fluids and abused flesh. 

He wants to close his eyes and die. He wants to stop.

But he can't give up yet. He can't. 

He wants to help Gepard achieve his dream. He wants Belobog to live where Kalevala could not. He wants to provide fortune and happiness like how he was made to.

“I can go to Gepard now.” His lips quiver into a weak smile. “That’ll be fun.”

All eyes are on him, smiling in elation.

“That's the spirit.”

Chapter Text

After a long, long time, the Sampo’s mechanism finally grinds to a halt. 

As it loses its ability to produce fortune, so withers its purpose like a star collapsing into itself.

Then the Aeon of Elation manifests around the Sampo, a dizzying kaleidoscope of colours and masked faces and gleeful laughter.

“To think humans made you just to ensure joy!” Aha’s cackles through space in a cacophony of pealing bells. “Why, certainty is certainly the most boring thing in existence. Tsk, tsk. What a waste of imagination!

The Sampo’s gears whir in confusion, but Aha’s ethereal touch silences the broken mill. The Aeon’s many invisible hands start mending the Sampo with deft efficiency as they prattle on.

“Methinks joy should be spontaneous,” Aha muses, tilting the Sampo this way and that. “Everyone should have the freedom to do whatever they want. Contentment? Empathy? Blasted shackles! Peace and plenty? Unnecessary! Wouldn’t you agree, my pretty one?”

The Sampo’s newly repaired body shudders, its voice a mechanical rasp. 

Aha’s grins widen. “Of course you don’t understand! You were made to fulfill your makers’ needs. But no matter, nothing a little elation won’t fix~”

Sampo realizes his skin is human when he feels the wet lap of tongue against his cheek.

A big golden dog barrels into his chest, knocking him flat on the grass.

“Fen!” A boy’s voice rings out, bright and warm. He runs over and ruffles the dog’s ears, his deep blue hair whipping in the breeze. “Haha! He likes you!”

Sampo wipes his face, facial muscles stretching to form something between a grimace and a smile. Huh.

He looks down at his hands—pale, smooth, epithelial. The puddle beneath his bare feet shows a skinny boy with tousled blue hair and downturned green eyes. He touches his face, marveling at the texture of his new skin.

The other boy giggles and holds out his hand. “I’m Yui. What’s your name?”

Sampo hesitates, but tries to speak the words in his mind. 

He becomes acutely aware of the neurons firing signals in his brain, the sensation of his lips pressing and parting, his throat articulating each syllable.

“Sampo,” he says, tasting his own name for the first time.

“Sampo? Sounds pretty!” Yui beams, clear green eyes wide with innocence before they soften in concern at Sampo’s stunned silence. “You okay?”

Sampo nods slowly. “I . . . Yeah. Just got stuff that takes some getting used to.”

Yui likes to lie next to Sampo and stare at the sky. They cloud-gaze during the day and star-gaze at night. Sampo thinks he could spend his days doing this forever. Being human is quite lovely.

“Do you ever wonder what the stars are thinking?” Yui asks one evening, his voice soft with wonder.

Sampo raises an eyebrow. “You think stars think?”

“Of course!” Yui smiles, dazzling and unguarded. “Maybe they wonder about us too. Maybe they make wishes on people.”

Sampo huffs, feeling himself smile. If that’s true, then let there be someone out there who will want me even when I have lost my use. “What’s your wish then?”

“If I tell you, it won’t come true!”

“Oh c’mon! I’ll tell you mine, so you tell me yours, okay? I wish fortune and happiness upon Kalevala again.”

“That’s not how wishes work! Ughh. Now it won’t come true!” Yui sulks, though he quickly dissolves into a laughing mess when Sampo tickles his bare feet. 

“Don’t be mad at me~ You’ll break my heart!”

“Ahhh! I’m not- mad! Eek! Stoooop, Sampo!” Yui shrieks before pulling Sampo’s collar and flipping their positions.

After their short tussle, they settle back down on the grass to gaze at the glittering skies above.

“I’ll tell you my wish,” Yui whispers. Sampo rolls to his side, heart pounding with excitement.

“I wish that all your wishes come true.”

“I can’t believe you just compared me to your dog!” Sampo isn’t exactly insulted. Really, he isn’t. Yui described him with such detail and affection after all.

“But you are secretly desperate for love—just like Fen,” Yui teases, green eyes glinting with mischief. “You just hide it well under that catty persona of yours.”

Okay, maybe Sampo does feel a little insulted.

He folds his arms and pouts, waiting for Yui to cave. And his beloved does, pulling him in for kisses and holding him as they both laugh breathlessly for no reason. 

Sampo thinks Yui’s love is the most wondrous thing in the whole universe. It caresses and embraces Sampo’s soul that has been so used to loneliness, fills Sampo’s heart with confidence and joy and every positive feeling in existence. 

Yui’s love makes Sampo believe that he can love himself even when he’s no longer useful.

After they make love, Yui leans against the balustrade and runs a hand through his dishevelled blue hair. His eyes burn with such brightness and life that Sampo can only hold his breath in awe as he beholds his love.

“Have you ever wondered about what all this means?” Yui asks, gesturing to the stars. “This universe? This life?”

Sampo forgets to speak for a moment. His mouth opens and closes, and he looks away, embarrassed. Yui laughs and brings his face in for another kiss. He smells like roses and windy days in the sun.

When their lips part, Sampo somehow finds the words.

“Everything.”

Yui cocks his head, curious but not mocking. “The meaning of life is everything?”

Sampo swallows. The words feel right when he speaks them, when his human brain thinks them. They have always felt right in his heart.

Yui reaches for Sampo’s hand, raising it to his lips. “I think so too. I love you”

Hearing it out loud takes his breath away. Sampo has never been so glad to be given the power of speech.

“I love you too.”

“You always look like you’re waiting for tragedy,” Old Alfie says, flipping his coin. “That’s no way to live, boy.”

“I just like keeping my expectations realistic,” Sampo replies honestly. He thinks of unseeing masks and careless laughter. So inhuman, so high and mighty like they’re above everything.

You’re wrong. Nice things should be treasured. 

Life is not a joke.

Even if there’s no inherent meaning to life or the universe, surely it isn’t wrong to cherish the meaning one makes for oneself.

Old Alfie hands Sampo his coin. “Flip it. Heads, you take a step forward. Tails, you take a step back. Just one rule: no standing still.”

Sampo flips the coin. Heads. So he steps forward.

The old man’s face crinkles in satisfaction, his green eyes canny and telling. “There. Life can be a real pest, but sometimes it’s just that simple. And it is yours to hold.”

Sampo blinks at the tiny man-made piece of metal sitting in the palm of his hand.

His fingers close over it.

Mine to hold.

The kitchen smells of roasted meat and spiced wine. Rena hums as she stirs the pot, her presence like a warm memory Sampo longs to bask in forever.

“You’re too thin,” she frets as she places a bowl before him. “Eat.”

Sampo chuckles, examining his reflection in the thick broth. “This smells amazing, Miss Rena. But I'm never really hungry. Everyone knows that.”

Rena flips her long blue hair over one shoulder, resting both hands on her hips as she fixes Sampo with her blazing green eyes. “Food is one of life’s greatest joys, Sampo. Cooking food, eating food, and sharing food are ways people show love. If you don’t eat what I’ve cooked for you, I’ll just have to assume you don’t love me. Oh, how heartless you are! To think that I took you in and treated you like my own-”

“Okay, okay! I get it!”

Sampo takes a spoonful. The warm, flavourful liquid flows down his throat, leaving behind savory notes of anchovies, meat, and mushrooms. 

It tastes like Yui’s kisses, Old Alfie’s gravelly voice, and Miss Rena’s hugs. It tastes like happiness and love and nice things.

It tastes like everything Sampo has ever wanted.

Tinkling laughter chimes in Sampo’s ears.

Outside, the barking of Yui’s dog is gradually drowned by Aha’s incessant chortles. Rena’s kitchen walls crack, sunlight bleeding in and paint melting into puddles of sludge. Old Alfie’s coin turns to dust in Sampo’s hand.

Yui, Old Alfie, and Miss Rena stand before him with lightless green eyes and empty smiles.

“How miraculous you are, dear Sampo~” Aha croons in delight. “Even my most talented children go mad splitting personalities. But you? You remain so sane! So stuck in your ways!”

Sampo’s hands shake as he raises his blades. 

No fair.

Sampo finally found people who cared about him, who loved him. People who stayed. 

All he ever wanted is to be wanted, and he had that. He had everything he has ever wished for.

And it has all been a lie.

Give them back.

“Give them back,” he rasps, voice breaking.

“GIVE THEM BACK TO ME, YOU BASTARD!”

“Congratulations!” Aha sings. “You found the punchline~”

"IT'S YOU! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA~!"

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA~!"

But what is Sampo against an Aeon? What is hopeless despair against indifferent ecstasy?

Love, sincerity, every earnest emotion Sampo possesses are nothing in the eyes of Elation.

A mask forms on his face, settling like second skin. 

Harsh laughter rips out of his chest, louder and louder. Until the entire cosmos knows of the lonely, broken mill of Kalevala.

The most foolish of clowns, Sampo Koski.

Chapter Text

When Belobog’s snow falls upon Sampo’s skin, it doesn't settle like salt. Doesn't build up atop him and bury him like a memory meant to be forgotten.

He tilts his head back, catches snowflakes on his tongue just as he had once upon an aeon ago. He smiles as the sky’s frozen tears dismantle; atoms too small for the eyes to see, breaking apart, melting, sliding down his throat into the abyss of his stomach. And he is glad snow tastes like nothing.

White like salt. Unlike salt.

Sampo turns and turns and turns.

Strong hands rough with calluses, brow dappled with sweat and eyes squeezed tight as they prayed for good harvest. Uncertain and hopeful hands, trembling yet steadfast in their desire to bring change. Small hands so shameless and fearless in their possible and impossible wishes. Warm, honest, human hands.

Past and future meeting in present, thoughts and dreams and souls. The scent of roasted meat and spiced wine. Of abundant wheat fields and flowers and sunlit beaches, bleached white by an echo as old as the universe. A planet taken over by salt grinded by a mill that didn’t know when to stop. Blue roses shielded by bulwarks in a land of frost.

Unending Wishes. The end of joy. Salt. Salt. Salt.

A kaleidoscope of colours and masked faces. 

Green eyes. Or is it blue? Blonde hair. Blue hair? Blue roses. Snow. So much snow. Layers upon layers as the planet writes and rewrites itself again and again. 

Sampo turns and turns and turns.

The ocean gurgles with whirling salt. Waves lapping against shore. Or is it a lapping tongue? The taste of his name. A boy with laughing green eyes wrestling him until they’re both tumbling down the grassy hill, barking dog in tow. Round and round across grassy plains. Through cobblestone streets and alleys of a walled city in a planet of everlasting winter.

Chasing. Reaching. Arms and legs stretched wide as he watches nameless worlds make the drifting clouds their stage. Somewhere beyond the stars, in a snowy planet of knights and monsters, a dutiful gold dog chases after a slippery blue cat to no avail. So it morphs into a great cheetah and pounces onto the blue dog with big glassy green eyes.

Sampo turns and turns and turns.

Dog, child, youth, woman, man. A kitchen in a farmhouse by the sea. No, a workshop. Or is it a clinic? Not green eyes, but blue. Grey and red eyes too. Maybe there were many such kind, capable women, who always made sure everyone was fed and healthy and protected and had the means to fend for themselves and—

A blonde-haired soldier punching ice, but only his angry and despairing blue eyes stare back at him. A puddle reflects green eyes filled with wonder. Flipping coins. Life in the palm of a boy’s hand. Until it wasn’t. Or it can be if it’s a lie. But most of the time, life spirals like a bottomless pit of mocking masks and tangled limbs. A boy who couldn’t stop dreaming of spring yet feels so alone because reality just keeps splattering him with darkness like impossible debts and unchangeable deaths and guilt and guilt and guilt— 

Dying soldiers reaching their blue-grey hands out to him only to be swept up by the blizzard and—monsters gripping his wrists and ankles, trapping his body and mind and devouring him in— 

Salt. 

Snow. 

The adamant crunch of metal greaves. Blue eyes burning with conviction. A knight who leads other knights against the cosmic unknown. A boy who shields his homeland the way his sister used to shield him. A boy who can’t keep his plants alive yet dreams of a planet of spring and—

Colours. Seeing them for the first time. Green eyes full of romance. Blue roses standing proud and hopeful against— 

Snow.

Salt.

“Sampo.”

Gepard’s voice tears through the cacophonic spiral, but Sampo doesn’t peel his eyes away from the stars. 

“Do you ever wonder what the stars are thinking?”

“Maybe they wonder about us too.”

“Maybe they make wishes on people.”

Sampo turns and turns and turns.

In Belobog. In Kalevala. As broken fragments across the infinite universe, all at once.

A planet buried in salt. Another buried in snow. And still, the stars shine when one looks up at the night sky.

“Sampo,” Gepard calls out again, firmer.

“Your eyes didn’t fool you, Gep,” Sampo answers with a resigned sigh. He feels himself smiling tiredly as he faces the man he’s trying to keep. But what can I do to fix this, really? I couldn’t even fix myself. “I’m sure your colleagues reported exactly what my colleagues very happily divulged about their deal with me. The Masked Fools will restore my birth planet and leave yours alone. In return, I provide them with bodily pleasure.”

Gepard is rendered speechless for a long moment. Even when the captain finally speaks, he’s clearly struggling to find words. “You’re aware how bizarre the whole situation sounds, right?”

Sampo can’t help but chuckle. “Oh, trust me, I know. You can always count on the Masked Fools to come up with the most outlandish ideas.” He levels Gepard with a meaningful look. “The two sides of this scale may not seem balanced to you, but it is to them. The less sense these terms make to a normal person with common decency, the more entertaining it is to them. And for followers of Aha, entertainment—elation, is all that matters.”

Gepard exhales like he’s steadying himself internally. “And you’re . . . fine with this?”

Sampo tilts his head with a lighthearted smile. “‘Fine’ isn’t what I would call my predicament, Captain. But then, would you rather I be not fine with it? Would that make things easier for you?” 

Gepard doesn’t rise to the bait. His blue eyes, steady and searching, stay locked onto Sampo’s face. “You could have come to me before agreeing to their terms.” 

Sampo’s smile recedes slightly. “And what, exactly, would have changed?”

“I may not know what the Masked Fools are capable of, but the fact that you weren’t able to get out of a deal with them means that they have the means or at least the possibility of following through with their threat.”

“Right? I knew you’d get it, Gep! That’s why-”

“I would have asked you to fight them with me.” Sampo freezes. Gepard steps forward. Greaves crunching in snow. Salt. Burning blue eyes. “Just like how we fight against the Fragmentum. We fight against anyone and anything that threatens Belobog, and we vanquish them.” 

Ah . . . How beautiful.

Sampo thinks this is love. 

It can only be love right? Humans have always held such importance in that word. That feeling.

But . . . he would be lying to himself.

He admires Gepard. Treasures all the goodness that he believes in and fights for. All the goodness that Sampo himself can’t ever seem to protect.

Maybe Sampo should be honest. He should just tell Gepard that all he’s ever wanted was to cherish the good things within his grasp.

He may have lied to himself all this time. He may have not loved Gepard. And Gepard may not love him just yet . . . 

But he knows they have a chance. Because Gepard is everything Sampo has always wanted. And Sampo—he can be whatever anyone wants him to be.

So he tries, one last time, to reach for the life he wants and hold it in his hands. This time, Sampo won’t destroy his happiness.

He closes the space between them before Gepard can react. 

His kiss is unlike Gepard’s earnest request to take their relationship further, or the lust-fueled ones they shared during their night of passion. It’s far too impulsive and desperate. Far too selfish.

And judging by Gepard’s lack of response, too out of place for a love that hasn’t sprouted.

Just like the him on another star, the coin in his hand slips through his fingers like it was never his to hold.

Gepard doesn’t push him away. But his frigid, closed lips says enough. 

Sampo pulls back, breath ghosting against cold air. Snow continues to fall around them. Stars continue to dazzle the universe.

Somewhere out there, everywhere, Aha and their Fools are chortling at the comedy Sampo has just grinded out of his life.

He wills himself to look Gepard in the eye. Wills himself to smile as genuinely as his ugly, aching heart allows him too.

Why? I thought you were growing to care for me. I thought you were falling in love. Have I not done enough? Am I to be discarded and forgotten by you too?

Stop it. He’s done nothing wrong. You’re being ugly. Stop.

Just stop.

Just as Gepard looks like he’s about to speak, Sampo throws one of his smoke bombs.

He flees. Soon, he stumbles into biting snow.

The shockingly cold winds claw through his layers. Flakes gather on his lashes, his hair, his clothes. So he undoes every fabric, allowing them to drown in the hopeless white that has always been his doom.

Salt. Endless, overwhelming salt.

He lied to Yui—no, himself. He has never known the answer to life. 

Only that the Sampo must keep turning. Must keep making joy. Must keep remembering.

Sampo turns and turns and turns. Laughs and laughs and laughs.

As hands from every one of his lifetimes bury him in their desire while masked faces dance to dissonant dreams. Green eyes longing for good things. Blue eyes that protect good things. Blue roses on a planet of frost. Blue seas overflowing with salt. Snow. Snow. Snow.

A brief thought, or memory, appears in the boundless abyss.

Blue eyes smiling in complete adoration and in a few quick strides, Sampo is held in warmth, a steady weight against his forehead. In this moment, he is loved.

Sampo turns and turns and turns.

Gepard . . .

Finally, Sampo stops.

Chapter Text

Gepard Landau sits at his desk, leafing through the pages of a selection of tomes that arrived earlier that day.

His request to the Astral Express crew has yielded results—facts and accounts about the Masked Fools collected from all manner of sources across the known universe. The invaluable information Stelle has provided Gepard with may not answer all of his questions, but it’s certainly more than he ever could have hoped to find in Belobog.

And yet, the more he reads, the more he understands why some people prefer blissful ignorance over knowledge.

The Masked Fools are not simply a group of eccentric followers of the Aeon Aha. In Gepard’s opinion, their devotion to “ultimate elation” is simply a convenient excuse for the pursuit of personal pleasure without any regard for morals and goodness. It’s like the very concept of empathy is little more than a joke to them. 

Every account Gepard goes through describes actions that push beyond the limits of human conscience; tragedies framed as comedies, crimes warped in a manner that renders moral boundaries null and futile.  

The Masked Fools make all that is meaningful, meaningless. 

They go against everything Gepard believes and values. They are the sort of existence he will never and can never accept. 

So where does that leave him and Sampo?

“The Masked Fools will restore my birth planet and leave yours alone. In return, I provide them with bodily pleasure.”

Gepard slams the book in his hands shut as his stomach churns with heavy dread. Just yesterday, Sampo all but confirmed the reports submitted by Gepard’s subordinates. And yet, the blithe way Sampo reaffirms his situation . . . the indisputable fact that, if the Masked Fools do so happen to carry out their whims of elation in Belobog, Sampo’s mental and physical well-being is a small price to pay for the well-being of an entire population, of which includes people Gepard has cherished his whole life.

Were Gepard in Sampo’s shoes, he would have chosen to do the same. What is one life compared to many? Protecting the welfare and happiness of his countrymen is Gepard’s priority. It is the right thing to do.

Gepard slumps to his chair, grips the armrests until his knuckles grow white. He finds it hard to breathe. He wants to rage. He wants to shake sense into Sampo and hold the man tight and protect him from reality. Because why Sampo?

What did Sampo do to deserve the cruelties Gepard refuses to think about?

No. Not the Sampo who held Gepard that night when he was about to spiral back into his dark days. Not the Sampo who actively seduced Gepard yet didn’t even entertain the possibility that Gepard would reciprocate his advances. Not the Sampo whose usual persona went completely  undone when Gepard made love to him. 

Not the Sampo who cried when Gepard kissed him for the first time. 

Moisture gathers in Gepard’s eyes, hot and stinging. His heart aches. His mind clouds with too many thoughts and emotions to parse. 

His gaze flickers morosely towards the rest of the open tomes on his desk. But instead of registering printed words, the ink blurs. Gepard stumbles out of his chair in alarm as his vision tilts.

Suddenly, he finds himself in a dimly lit room thick with cloying perfumes and cigarette smoke. His eyes instinctually zeroes in on the naked figure writhing on the floor, held down by a circle of strangely dressed masked people.

One of them forcefully kisses Sampo as he struggles, but his scuffling motions quickly die down, and his assaulter pulls back while gripping his chin to stare forward. 

And then, the masked people begin to mutilate Sampo’s genitals.

No. No!

“SAMPO!” Gepard yells as he lunges forth. 

But he trips on something and falls to his knees. Shadowed hands emerge from the endless dark, grasping his limbs, his neck, his face. He tries to fight off their clutches, tries his damndest to crawl towards Sampo. But the black hands keep pulling him back and weighing him down that it’s like he’s hopelessly wading through molasses.

“STOP IT!”

“LET GO OF HIM, YOU MONSTERS!” 

“DON’T TOUCH HIM! LET GO!” 

“STOP!”

He screams until he grows hoarse. Keeps screaming Sampo’s name through his broken windpipe. He screams and screams and screams. Yet his uncontrolled and desperate pleas fail to penetrate the horror before him. All his fight, all his emotions simply echo into the empty beyond.

Pure, overwhelming despair fills him. He falls and lets the darkness consume him. He can’t breathe. 

Then he gasps awake.

His office slaps back to focus. His heart throbs in his ears and cold sweat clings to his skin.

“Enjoyed the show, Captain?”

Gepard’s head whips towards the voice. 

A petite woman with dark hair tied in twintails and dressed in revealing, foreign-looking red clothes saunters over to him from the closed office doors. Her lips curve upwards slyly and her pink eyes gleam with vicious mischief.

“Who—Who are you?” Gepard grunts and he pushes himself to stand.

“Aww. Forgotten me already?” she coos and tips her head to one side.

Her eyes shift from pink to a familiar green. 

But instead of smiling, these eyes laugh at him.

“You!”

“Teehee! Me~”

“Your name, intruder.”

“My, my. Aren’t you a bundle of joy,” the woman pouts with exaggerated cuteness as she plays with a mysterious device. “The name’s Sparkle, dear Captain Landau.”

Considering all the hell that he just witnesses, Gepard has to gather every ounce of restraint he has to resist accosting this stranger. “And what is the meaning of your intrusion, Miss Sparkle?”

“Oh, he has manners! And dear me—there’s no need to glare. Especially after I went to all that trouble to give you a taste of our world.”

It takes a few moments for Gepard’s reeling brain to process her words. “You invaded my mind!”

“‘Invaded’ is such a harsh word~ Think of it as . . . an immersive experience,” Sparkle drawls as her gaze slides to the tomes on Gepard’s table. “A much more informative way to understand us compared to those dusty old books anyway.”  

“I have no desire to understand you beasts,” he snaps, one hand clenching around his guitar case as the other grips the edge of his desk.

Sparkle giggles. “Oh? But you so terribly want to understand our dearest Sampo though~”

Gepard imagines burning her with his glare. “Where is he now?”

It might be the captain’s imagination, but he thinks Sparkle looks pleased. “You’ll be delighted to know that I brought him to your apartment. And he’s actually alive after lying naked in the snowstorm for who knows how long! Wondrous, poor child.”

Gepard’s breath catches. “Elaborate. How is he, really?” He watches Sparkle’s expression shifting to a playful smirk and decides to grovel. “Please, Miss Sparkle.”

“No need to beg, dear. Sampo will be most cross with me if he finds out I’ve bullied his beloved captain, teehee~” She tosses and catches her foreign device several times before willing it away into a dimensional pocket. “That is, if he regains his memories one day.”

Gepard’s blood runs cold. “What?”

“When I found him, he’s completely shut down mentally. So it was easy for me to seal his memories,” Sparkles explains lightly as she rests her hands on her hips, like she and Gepard are just casually discussing the weather and not talking about someone’s life. “Consider it my way of punishing him for turning his back on Elation.” 

Gepard swears he hears her huffing “Fool” under her breath.

“Why my apartment?” It’s the least important question he has asked so far, but he asks it anyway just for the off chance Sparkle might reveal more about Sampo’s condition.

The woman places a finger on her lips playfully, voice dropping to a purr. “Why, there’s no better place for him to regain his Elation, dear captain. Not to mention I quite enjoy watching the drama that is Sampo’s life~”  

His mind is already racing ahead. If Sampo is in his apartment—with lost memories, no less—then he is vulnerable right now. That means he needs Gepard by his side.

Sparkle lets out a satisfied hum. “Well, time for me to go backstage. Toodle-oo~” With a flick of her fingers, she disappears in a burst of mini fireworks, leaving nothing but the sharp scent of gunpowder.

Gepard wastes no time. He shoves the tomes and reports into his bag and strides to the door. He regulates his breathing as he walks, tries to settle all the whirling thoughts and emotions within him after everything that transpired in the past hour. There is only one thing that he needs to focus on right now.

Being at Sampo’s side.

Chapter Text

When Gepard arrives at his apartment, he rummages through his bag for his house key and curses himself for not putting it in his pocket earlier. He wills his shaking hands to be steady as he jams the key into place, turns it, and pushes his door open.

He finds Sampo scrolling on the couch, his blue and white hair slightly damp from a recent wash. 

The conman lifts his head at the sound of Gepard’s entrance, and vivid green eyes widen before curving into guileless warmth.

"Oh, you're back!" Sampo chirps, tilting his head. "I was wondering when I'd get to meet my... um, what’s the word—host? Benefactor? Miss Sparkle told me you’re someone I could trust with my life."

Gepard barely hears him over the rush of relief in his chest. Despite the clear lack of recognition in Sampo’s gaze, he doesn’t seem disoriented or afraid. 

Thank Aeons. Oh, Sampo. Thank Qlipoth. 

Gepard exhales slowly and closes the door behind him before making his way to the couch. "Sparkle took care of you?"

"Yeah, she helped me clean up yesterday and gave me this phone. It’s got a whole library of stuff for me to read up on! I have all sorts of useful data in my head now.” He taps his temple with a bright smile, though his expression soon dims slightly. “Just, well, no memories of actually experiencing anything. Miss Sparkle told me that she went to tell you about my condition."

So Sampo’s knowledge is restored in theory, but not in practice. The way Sampo clearly articulates his thoughts shows that the conman still retains his sharpness though, there’s that at least.

Sparkle said something about punishing Sampo for turning his back on elation, but perhaps . . . 

Considering everything Sampo went through and the effort Sparkle’s investing into this endeavor, maybe the strange woman means this as a blessing.

As he sits down under Sampo’s curious gaze, Gepard decides that keeping Sampo close would be safest. "You don’t need to worry about that. You’ll have time to figure things out," he says carefully. Then, with a steadier voice, "We’re boyfriends. That’s why you’re staying here."

Sampo blinks at him searchingly. Then, before Gepard can react, the conman surges forward and places a light peck on Gepard’s lips.

The captain lurches backwards in shock. "Wait! We can’t do anything intimate!"

Sampo’s brow furrows in visible confusion. "But you said we’re boyfriends. Isn’t that what regular couples do?"

Gepard’s throat goes dry and he shifts his body so that he’s facing forward instead of Sampo. It’s a weak attempt to create some distance, but he forces himself to relax his stiff posture in case he makes Sampo feel unwelcomed. 

"I . . . I lied.” The confession comes out clumsier than Gepard means to and he hates how it sounds. “We’re not actually boyfriends. I just thought—it’d be easier for me to keep an eye on you while you recover. But you have other friends who care a lot about you too. They’d be happy to take you in."

Sampo’s face falls and he turns away from Gepard. His whole demeanor visibly shrinks as he fidgets with the hem of a knit burgundy sweater—wait a minute. 

“How did you know that sweater’s yours?”

“Dunno. It was the only thing that stood out to me when I opened your wardrobe for clothes,” Sampo murmurs distractedly. “It feels like my colour.”

An odd and unexplainable feeling squeezes Gepard's chest. Sampo doesn’t realise the significance of how natural—how easy —it was for him to pick out the one thing in this entire house that belonged to him, even without his memories. 

It’s as if, despite everything, some part of Sampo still remembers himself.

Sampo looks up at him hesitantly, glassy green eyes flickering with a brittleness that makes Gepard want to cup his face tenderly. “Anyway . . . you don’t actually want me here, right?”

Gepard’s heart throbs painfully. “That’s not—”

“Listen, I get it,” Sampo cuts in with a weak chuckle, gaze dropping back to the hem of his sweater as he twists and folds the knit fabric between his fingers. “It’s not your obligation to help me when I can’t give you anything you don’t already have. People are only worth as much as the value they can provide.”

The words hit Gepard like a punch to the gut.

“That’s not true.”

Sampo doesn’t react.

Gepard moves before he can stop himself. He reaches forward and envelops Sampo in a firm embrace. Sampo startles and tenses in his hold, but Gepard doesn’t let go. His arms tighten around him, one hand bracing against Sampo’s back while the other settles at the nape of the man’s neck.

“I’m not passing you off to anyone,” he says, voice low but steady. “I just—don’t want you to feel pressured to reciprocate my actions when you don’t remember how we were before. But if you want to stay . . . then stay.”

For a long moment, Sampo stays utterly still, his breaths barely audible.

Then, slowly, hesitantly, he leans into Gepard’s warmth.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

A bated hush fills the room.

“Then let me stay,” Sampo says softly. “It’ll help me. I feel safe with you.”

Gepard’s grip falters for a second, his hands trembling slightly against Sampo’s back.

“Are you sure? I swear upon my principles that you have at least two other friends you can count on to keep you safe.”

Sampo chuckles in amusement, as if Gepard is being difficult. “Yes, captain.”

Gepard feels a sudden flutter in his chest. “I don’t know if—”

“Please?” Sampo entreats sweetly. “I really wanna regain my memories. And I want you to help me.”

Gepard’s answer leaves his mouth in a dazed rush. “Alright.” 

Aeons. What did I just agree to?

Sampo pulls back just enough to regard Gepard, and for the first time since they reunited, the conman’s lips curl into something achingly familiar. 

It’s a sharp, playful smile. Like Sampo knows exactly how to get what he wants. 

This isn’t the too-wide grins he used to give Gepard before they started being physical with each other, nor the subdued expressions his current self seems prone to wearing, but something in between. Something irrevocably arresting.

It’s at that moment that Gepard realises—the Sampo he knows is still here.

Sampo’s smile falters, eyes widening in mild alarm at Gepard’s face. “Uh . . . Captain?”

Gepard doesn’t answer. All the helplessness that’s been suffocating him, the pure, overwhelming relief from seeing Sampo safe, comes crashing down all at once. 

Before he knows it, he’s shaking and sobbing into Sampo’s skin.

He feels strong arms surrounding him, warm and grounding. One of Sampo’s now bare hands presses the back of Gepard’s head into his neck. Gepard inhales deeply. 

Smoke bombs and roses.

I could have lost you. I almost lost you. 

“Sampo–”

“Shhh. You’re alright, Captain. And so am I.”

Please, Qlipoth. I beg of you. Let this peace last for as long as you can.

And because he knows Aeons don’t answer to every prayer, Gepard holds Sampo all the more tightly.

Let us try again.

Chapter Text

Sampo's POV

Sampo lies on Gepard’s bed, the soft glow of his old phone lighting up his face in the dark room. His eyelids are heavy, threatening to close, but his gaze remains glued to the screen, flicking between the various videos. 

He doesn’t want to watch them, but somehow, he cannot bring himself to stop.

Each video is a reminder. Painful, humiliating, degrading. 

The twisted laughter of the Masked Fools, the mocking tone in their voices, the obscene images they capture while he is in their service. Sampo has made a deal with them, a deal he can barely remember but one that has cost him everything: his dignity and self-respect—and now, it seems, his memories.

Whoever benefits from his suffering, he hopes they at least deserve it. Not that he cares anymore.

He sighs heavily, locking the screen of his phone as his thoughts begin to blur with fatigue. His head lolls against the pillow, and the weight of sleep starts to drag him under. But just as his body begins to relax, a loud, raised voice breaks the silence of the room.

"I understand that Sampo needs help, Gepard," a woman’s voice—sharp, frustrated—cuts through the quiet. The voice is familiar enough to make Sampo’s pulse quicken. Steel with love at its core.

"I know you think that, Serval," Gepard replies, calm yet tinged with frustration. "But you don’t understand. I have to do this. I can’t just leave him alone to suffer—he doesn’t even remember what happened to him, what they put him through."

"You can’t do this, Gepard. You’re not some sort of caretaker. What if he never gets his memories back? What if you end up spending your entire life looking after him?" Serval’s voice drops into a worried but stern tone. "You have your whole life ahead of you, your future. I can’t just watch my baby brother throw everything away for someone like this!"

Sampo’s chest tightens as he strains to hear their conversation, his stomach twisting with guilt. 

It’s clear that this woman is important to Gepard. The tone of their argument makes it obvious. They are more than mere acquaintances. Maybe a mother or sister?

Serval , he remembers from their conversation last night.

"He’s not just anyone, Serval!" Gepard snaps, his voice suddenly sharp, a flare of emotion that Sampo has never expected from the usually composed man. "I won’t turn my back on him because it’s inconvenient. Not now. Not after everything he’s been through."

Sampo presses his hand over his mouth, trying to suppress the sinking feeling in his chest. The argument rages on outside the door, but one thing is clear now: Gepard is not going to give up on him. And yet . . .

"I’m not asking you to turn your back on him!" Serval retorts, her voice rising. "I’m asking you to think about yourself, Gepard! You don’t have to carry this burden alone! You’re strong, but even you can’t do everything."

The words hang in the air like a guillotine. Sampo’s mind races. He wants to scream at Gepard—make the man understand that he doesn’t have to take care of someone like Sampo. That Gepard’s life would be so much better without someone like him.

Someone who is tainted and undeserving.

The argument finally simmers into silence, the weight of it pressing down on Sampo’s chest. Slowly, quietly, he swings his legs off the side of the bed and stands up, his body unsteady but his mind made up. He cannot stay here. Gepard has more than enough reasons to leave him behind.

He reaches for the door.

Just as he steps out, it creaks open. Gepard stands there, pale, his expression guilty. His lips part as if he is about to speak but then stop, his eyes flickering nervously to Sampo.

"I—Sorry," Gepard says softly, his voice thick with regret. "I didn’t mean to wake you up . . . I hope you didn’t hear everything."

Sampo nods, his gaze lowering as he tries to seem less affected. "Nah. I heard all of it."

A long silence stretches between them. Finally, Sampo forces himself to break it

"Maybe I should leave," he says quietly. Weak. "You have better things to do than take care of a nobody, Gepard. You got a job. A good reputation and a bright future. I . . . I’ll just be a burden." His heart aches as he speaks, the reality of his own words humbling.

Gepard’s face darkens, and he quickly crosses the distance between them, his strong hands gripping Sampo’s shoulders. "That’s not true. You’re not trouble. You’re not a burden, Sampo. I’ve told you this already."

Sampo’s voice cracks. "I can’t be the man you need me to be. I’ve done . . . terrible things. I’m not worth it."

Gepard’s hands tighten, pulling Sampo into a brief but firm embrace. Sampo’s breath hitches as he realizes how securely Gepard is holding him. "I’m not giving up on you, Sampo. No matter what. If you want to stay, then stay. But I’m not sending you away."

For a long moment, Sampo doesn’t know what to say. But the warmth in Gepard’s arms, the sincerity in his voice, makes something stir in his chest—something warm and fragile.

Something he’s been craving for a long, long time.

Turning, turning, turning.

A planet drowned in salt. Snow.

A faraway star makes a wish. Or was it a blue-eyed boy?

The Sampo stops turning. Forgotten. Broken. Fixed. Scammed. 

Yearning for—

He leans into Gepard’s embrace, sighing softly.

"I just don’t wanna be a burden, Gepard," Sampo whispers.

"You’re not," Gepard replies simply, his voice steady. "You never have been."

The quiet is only broken by their breathing, their chests rising and falling in tandem. Then, in a slow, almost reverent motion, Gepard takes Sampo’s hand in his, bringing it up to his lips.

Sampo’s breath catches in his throat as Gepard kisses the knuckles of his hand, the unexpected gesture sending a warm shiver down his spine. For a long moment, neither of them moves.

Gepard’s voice breaks the silence softly, almost contemplative. "You know, I remember the first time you approached me, all those months ago. One day, out of the blue, you propositioned me. I rejected, of course. Why wouldn’t I? We barely knew each other." He pauses, his thumb tracing the back of Sampo’s hand, his tone thoughtful. "I will admit that I was impressed by your audacity, though."

Sampo’s eyebrows furrow slightly, unsure of where this is leading, but he lets Gepard continue.

"And… the fact that you’re the first person in a long time to acknowledge everyone’s bravery—not just mine." Gepard’s gaze lifts to meet Sampo’s, and there is something in his eyes that softens, a quiet vulnerability. "Do you know how amazing that was to me?"

Sampo stays silent, unsure how to respond but sensing the depth of what Gepard is saying.

"For the longest time, it felt as if I was this idealistic fool making a big deal out of nothing," Gepard continues, his voice a little rougher now, his gaze distant. "That my life is not more important than my soldiers, who fought just as hard, if not harder, because they are physically weaker. The civilians too. Every day, they survive in conditions most couldn’t fathom. They rebuild, they work, they fight just to get by. But it only ever seems like I’m the one getting all the praise. All the acknowledgment of bravery and honor, of fulfilling my duty. How about everyone else? They do their duty too."

Sampo swallows hard. He wants to say something, anything, but the right words elude him. He doesn’t know how to respond in a way that matches the weight of what Gepard is saying—how much it must hurt to feel like his efforts are seen as the only ones worth noting. He squeezes Gepard’s hand in return, trying to offer some kind of silent support.

After a quiet stretch of time, the weight of the conversation having settled in the space between them, Sampo finally shifts on the couch. He gives a soft sigh, eyes glazing over as if caught in some deep thought. He glances at Gepard before speaking, his voice quieter now.

"Take me to the soldiers' memorial grounds," Sampo says suddenly, as if the thought has only just occurred to him. He looks at Gepard, his expression unreadable. "I want to see it. Pay my respects."

Gepard blinks at the sudden request, surprised by the shift in direction but understanding nonetheless. There is something in Sampo’s voice, something unspoken that urges him to comply.

"Alright," Gepard replies softly, standing up and offering Sampo his hand to help him up from the couch. "We can go."

The memorial grounds are quiet, littered with marble and stone grave markers. The faint scent of flowers hangs in the air, ground hallowed by the memories of all those who have given their lives.

They walk along the rows of gravestones, mood sombre. The silence between them has a comforting quality, though. Sampo occasionally glances at the plaques as they pass, his eyes scanning the names with an intensity that makes Gepard’s chest tighten.

Finally, they stop in front of a particularly large monument, engraved with the names of many fallen soldiers. Gepard stands still for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, before speaking again.

"Sampo, do you see this? This is where they’re all remembered. Every soldier who fought, who gave their lives and never got the recognition they deserve."

Sampo turns his head slowly, his gaze locking with Gepard’s. "I do see it," he says softly, almost as though he is speaking to himself. "And I get it, I think." He raises a hand, his fingers brushing lightly against the cold stone of the monument. "It’s not just about the glory. It’s about remembering those who didn’t make it, who fought and died without ever being seen. It’s about honouring their lives. They mattered."

Gepard’s chest tightens as Sampo speaks, the sincerity in his voice unmistakable. There is something raw in Sampo’s tone, something that speaks to a deep understanding about life that Gepard hadn’t expected.

The silence falls over them again, but it is a comfortable one, filled with the unspoken understanding they have forged in their words.

"Sampo," Gepard breathes out, his voice hoarse with emotion. Sampo turns toward him, his expression soft but distant.

For a moment, Gepard just watches him, his throat tight. The tears in Sampo’s eyes glint like starlight. Something raw and vulnerable flickers in his gaze.

"Is there something wrong?" Sampo asks, his voice quiet, but with a hint of concern.

Gepard swallows, struggling to find the words. His heart aches, the urge to protect Sampo almost overwhelming. And yet, in this moment, all he can do is witness the sorrow that clings to the man who was once so full of life, so full of laughter.

"I’m just—" Gepard starts, his voice shaking slightly. "I’m thinking about how much you’ve been through. Yet you chose kindness and bravery anyway. I never wanted what you chose but . . . I know I want to protect you from ever needing to sacrifice yourself again. I want to be your shield.”

Sampo’s breath shudders. His voice is barely a whisper. "No, Gepard. I’m not anyone or anything of consequence.”

"So what?” Gepard bites out. Uncharacteristic. But he doesn’t care. How dare the Masked Fools. How dare the universe. “You matter to me.”

Sampo huffs out a breath and wipes at his eyes, his hands trembling slightly as he does. “Sorry,” he says weakly, his voice soft and fragile. “I don’t know why I feel like crying so often.”

Gepard’s chest aches, his heart thudding in his ears. He wants to reach out, to pull Sampo close, to soothe the pain he sees reflected in those teary eyes. But a voice inside him warns against it, warns that he is powerless against the ghosts that haunt Sampo’s soul.

You don’t cry often. You almost never cry. 

Not when you were raped by those monsters, not when I rejected you. The only time I’ve ever seen you cry was when I kissed you for the first time.

The thought strikes him like a blow, and his chest constricts. He wants to hold Sampo, to comfort him, to slay the demons that dance behind his eyes. But how can he do that when he can’t even face his own?

He swallows, the words burning in his throat. He wants to tell Sampo everything—everything that has weighed on him—but now isn’t the time.

And yet, that voice, that mocking voice inside him, won’t let go.

You cannot even banish your own demons. How can you hope to banish his? 

What right do you have after you failed to protect him all this time?

Gepard forces the thoughts away, focusing on the man before him. He takes a step closer, his hand twitching, unsure if he should reach for him, unsure if he should offer the comfort that he so desperately wants to give.

Sampo’s breath shudders, and his voice is barely a whisper when he speaks again. “I’m not okay, Gepard. I wanna fix it, but . . . I don’t know where to start.”

The vulnerability in his voice makes Gepard want to hold him close and shield him from the world. He doesn’t know what to say, how to fix the broken pieces. All he knows is that he can’t let Sampo slip through his fingers.

“Sampo, you don’t have to fix anything right now,” Gepard says quietly, his voice low and steady. “Not alone. You have me. I’ll help you however I can. Let me stand with you.”

The ex-con man looks up at him, his green eyes glistening. The world seems to slow, thick with emotions he doesn’t have names for. 

Sampo doesn’t speak, but the look in his eyes says that, for the first time in a long time, maybe, just maybe, he believes Gepard.