Archive of Our Own ^beta

When he died in his arms, the soldier thought he had nothing to compromise for; focus solely in his duty, his task, his mission, and his ideals.

Borys had nothing to hold him back now.

Oh he wished that were true, he wished it was as clear as the sky when the weather was bluer than a sapphire light.

When he died, he had nothing else but a cane to embrace. The smooth black object felt like the gloves he caressed during meetings and reports, the hand felt like the shoulders he would massage on stressful nights of overwork.

Then a soft hiss.

Borys stared at his reflection from the hidden blade, staring at his own eyes that held nothing but dark thoughts and internal resentment.

He hated his boss, Mafioso, to the depths of his heart. But he could never voice nor act on it as his love for his beloved was the strongest, to keep a dead man's promise.

The door to his bedroom disrupted his thoughts with a gentle knock, careful and practiced to not anger the russian soldier.

"Borys," Fazio called, his tone flat yet cautious. "The boss is calling for us." 

"иду." The combatant answered gruffly, brows knitted just as the presence of his comrade diminished.

Alone, once again.

Borys stared at the blade of the cane, admiring the clean and pristine state it remained in under his diligent care; after all, his beloved showered such a thing with precise attention, to remain sharp and useful at all situations given.

A sign of resignation left the man's lips before sheathing the blade, pushing forcing onto his knees to stand and walking to the head of his bed. With gentle care, he placed the cane on the wooden mount above his bed, his eyes never once leaving it as he pulled back.

A moment of peace, he gave a silent prayer, before he turned and disappeared out through the exit of his chambers.

Each step he made echoed in the dimly lit hallways of the mafia base, the soles of his shoes muffled by the carpet that stretched to the ends of the hall like a mere walkway.

Yet when he closed his eyes, he could remember a fond memory; walking side by side with his sunflower, exchanging obscure words and slight banters whilst carrying papers to the office of their leader. His lips beneath his bandana twitched, a smile threatening to carve itself upon his face as the warm memory echoed into his mind.

"You actually made it." The voice of Fazio broke the man out of his leisure walk through memory lane, the threat of his lips fell as his face fell back into a neutral deadpan.

"Mm." He grunted, taking his spot to stand between caporegime and the contractee. Both younge members glanced at the looming russian but made no other comment as they all faced forward, eyes set on the towering figure that stood before them with arms tucked behind.

Their leader and boss, Mafioso.

Both older folk gave each other a silent look, a quiet stink eye despite their roles of superior and subordinate.

Their dynamic of silent hate still remained, but kept under out of respect and duty.

"Maél," Mafioso called to the henchman with a tophat, causing the aforementioned male to step forth and bow. "Status report on the Nightmare activity."

Maél nodded, pulling out a small notepad from his pocket before beginning to read each and ever detail he took notice of.

"The nightmares have been more reoccurring as of late ever since the appearance of new visitors, it seems to follow a fellow named 'Chance' that has been accumulating a number of debts recently." He cleared his throat. "Ever since his appearance, the Nightmare Infestation has began to grow active, many sightings have been reported by other sleepwalkers of its growing swarms around Ten-mou and Pink Swamp. However, none have yet to cause any major trouble, the only concern at present is its alarming population rate that is slowly moving habitats as it is infesting other realms in Dreamsphere."

Mafioso nodded, a silent acknowledgement of his gratitude for the intel before facing his soldiers, all standing resolute to his awaiting commands.

"I want each of you to go to the main areas of concern at present; Ten-mou and Pink Swamp, make sure no bystander gets close to those things and exterminate Nightmare on sight. Do Not Hesitate." Mafioso firmly ended his task with a harsh reminder, the truth of the threat of their situation being more deadly than made to be.

All soldiers answered in unison, loud and clear to the orders given before being dismissed.

"Günther." Mafioso called out to the youngest member, causing the grunt to turn with determined eyes. "You're paired with Borys on this task," He assigned, causing the combatant to blink and stammer out his surprise.

"Borys? But I thought his partner woulda been Fazio?" The german couldn't help but ask, however a shake from Mafioso's head was his response as the leader placed his hand on the youth's shoulder, firm and tight.

"Not on this mission," He clarified. "Right now, you're the one most suited to be his partner on this run."

"I trust that you can handle it?" Mafioso questioned.

"Of course I can, boss! Leave it to me!" Günther answered with steeled-resolution.

Those were his determined words hours ago. But heavens, the german athlete couldn't compete.

"Borys!" Günther panted as he struck down another infestation, the report barely emphasized the population problem in Pink Swamp as more of them emerged from the dark depths of the water. The german turned to his side, witnessing the strength his senior held as he easily cleaved through each and ever nightmarish monster that one swing of his crowbar.

It was a man honed with training and experience.

Borys, however, was much more focused at his task in exterminating as much nightmares as he could— it was his mission, a given order rooted into his brain as he swung his weapon down, slicing through another skittish foe that dispersed into dark smoke.

Just a little more, he convinced himself.

He hated being around the infestation as it crawled into his mind, a reminder of the past 5 years prior to the present; the greatest war won, but a battle filled with loss.

Curling his fingers tight around the slim end of his crowbar, Borys promised himself to never commit an act that would to such past mistakes.

He didn't want another loss, another mistake to be made just because he loved too much.

Turning on his heel, the resentful russian charged towards Günther, assisting the struggling newcomer with a swing of his blunt force attack— the strength he honed, all done under excruciating training to erase the past, used in all of his blows to deal more damage to eradicate the problems that ruined his life.

His world, his everything.

Then he turned once more, crowbar raised in threat to deal another blow but froze.

What loomed over him was a beast he feared, a monstrosity he ignored since the moment he arrived with Günther by his side. He thought the young fool had dealt with it, but perhaps he was too wishful as he compared the figure to the exhausted state his comrade was in; wishing, praying that he didn't have to face it himself.

It moved, causing the russian to stiffen as it took a clearer form... Warmer, brighter, more familiar until its golden eyes settled itself onto him.

"Боже мой..." He rasped, his grip loosening around the slim metal bar he wielded with might, slipping through his weakened fingers as it fell with a clatter and a thud. But his ears were deaf to the sound, numb to his surroundings as the entity reached out, cupping his cheek with loving care.

It stung, his cheek felt like it was burning the moment it made contact, but he couldn't pull himself away when he stared at the face that smiled his way.

"My love..." It cooed, voice filled with gentle care as golden eyes softened the longer it stared. It's thumb caressed his cheek, tracing over the scar that dressed his tired face. "I've missed you, my berry..." It lulled a soft melody, breaking the soldier's resolve as his tense body slowly melted under the warm tone of his opponent.

His beloved.

"Matteo..." Borys croaked, his arms falling to his sides as he stood utterly still within the man's touch, not daring to move despite the slight ringing of his ears. "Matteo, honey..." He repeated, his tone much softer and quiet, his gaze more relaxed and loving as he gazed up at the man he had longed for in years.

He was back, finally back, like he always believed it to be.

"You're back..." He couldn't help but whisper, reaching up with a ghostly tremble, cupping the man's face whom smiled under his gentle touch.

As if he were but a fragile piece threatening to break.

"You're here... You're finally here..." Borys repeated, his voice losing its iron-will as he caressed Matteo's face under his fingers.

It felt so real, the smile on the man's face was like a ray of sun finally peering into his world of dark eclipse.

He couldn't help but smile, laughing shakily as he reached up and embraced him, a sob threatening to break out of his lungs as he repeatedly called out to his lover.

"Matteo... My honey... My beloved sunflower.." He called out repeatedly, the joy in his heart slowly rising as he felt the man returned his embrace just as tightly.

It hurt, it burned.

Borys didn't care if he felt suffocated by the strength of his lover's embrace, drowning in his arms and faint scent as he cried— cried years worth of hidden grief, the tears he couldn't shed when he lost his ray of sunshine within his own arms as he was cradled in such a familiar way.

He didn't want to let go,

He just didn't want to accept it.

"Borys..." It lulled, holding him tightly, tighter until he could barely breathe. "Come with me... Please..." It pleaded, its tone soft and sweet as it buried itself against the man's ushanka, pressing him close until he was flushed against the other.

"Borys..."

"BORYS!"

The russian stiffened, his face buried against Matteo's shoulder as he felt a sting within his mind throb. It was getting louder, ringing into his ears until he heard another cry of his name.

Someone was calling.

Borys slowly raised his head, pulling his face away but was stopped by a hand at the back of his head, pressing him back against the embrace with a hushed whisper.

"Rest.." It lulled, its breath cold against his ear.

The silent senior would have listened, he would've gladly listened and closed his eyes, sink into the embrace his lover drowned him in.

But the voice that nagged him just... Wouldn't let him be in piece.

Until a wooden blank was thrown, hitting Matteo square at the face, releasing Borys from its embrace just as the russian gasp from the sudden lack of company.

Suddenly the world became clear, no longer a blur of colors just as the deafening ring cleared up to reveal the sounds he grew to ignore.

"BORYS! DU HURENSOHN! WAKE UP!" Günther yelled out desperately, holding back the sudden influx of nightmarish infestation with his bare hands— corroding his skin which made his hiss in pain.

Borys rapidly regained his vision, blinking through the haze of hallucination as he glanced at Günther with shaken eyes before turning to— what he had believed to be 'Matteo'.

All that stood before him was a cheap copy of a silhouette of the man he loved, dripping with black tar that sizzled onto his skin.

Borys was quiet, realization washing over him as he chuckled.

God, how pathetic had he gone to be tricked by such cheap knock offs?

Bending down, the russian picked up his fallen crowbar with a heavy sigh of resignation. He had to apologize to the rookie for his own slip up, but now, he was back on track.

As far as he could control his grief.

"Сука... Tricking me with a knock off of my honey?" He tapped the end of his crowbar against his palm, his lips curving up to an angry smile.

His grief, his anger, his deep-rooted resentment.

"I'll take it out on you," He murmured, fingers coiled like a python around his weapon. "Kill every single of you filthy bastards!" With a roar of determination, Borys threw himself into the fray with the strength of a bloodthirsty warrior, saving Günther the energy as the warlord ravaged the battlefield with fury.

Deep in Borys' heart, he knew he'd never have him.

The smile that made his day, the hands that held his face, the voice that erased his woes, or those golden eyes that simply saved him from his own demons.

He'll never have it back, he'll never have him back as much as he tried to wish and believe.

He was gone, and he should've accepted that 5 years ago.

But he was just a man in love, so in love that he just couldn't bring himself to give up even in the face of reality.

Even when angry tears went down his face as he killed, even when his legs gave out to force him to kneel, even when he hunched down and punched the ground with all threats erased; even when his throat screamed out the grief he could never cry out for years.

He was gone.

His beloved, his honey, his cherished bright sunflower.

Gone from his life, forever.

And that was the hardest truth he had to accept, even if it meant killing the mimic that made him hope for it.

He just wanted him back, and that was a wish he knew would never happen.