Archive of Our Own

4 Hours Until Judgement

An array of pinks littered the halls of the mall as the speakers blasted the normal pop music from the radio that irritated his ears. Couples passed him, holding hands and gifts of flowers, chocolates, and teddy bears. It was all so sappy it hurt him to even step foot in the mall during this time of year but there was no way he was leaving empty-handed again.

OBJECTIVE GAINED

Get a gift for Orlov         

For that stupid man who entered his life for what seemed years, he’d do anything for Orlov, even if it meant trudging through the mall’s Valentine's decorations and all the “lovey-dovey” couples that would walk at a snail’s pace. Each display window he passed looked the same, with some silly phrase relating to the holiday or just hearts. Some were just plain ridiculous:

SHARE THE LOVE

No thanks.

PUCKER UP

Never in a million years.

LOVE, KISSES, AND VALENTINES WISHES

..That was so stupid. Valentine's wishes? That seemed like something for Patrick’s Day, which has more to do with luck and wishes than some sappy romance, that wish would probably backfire ending up in a breakup. There’d probably be only one section with the cheapest things available.

He was right about the section, but it was bigger than he imagined; reds overtook a large corner of the decor store. It wasn’t incredibly large, and this wasn’t some retail store—it was inside a mall after all—but the point still stood. But he was wrong about the gifts being cheap. Everything looked… decent; there were real flowers and fake flowers were well done, hearts, mugs, and practically everything painted perfectly. 

There was a large variety, a choice overload of what he could pick. But what would past colleague like? What would be appropriate? Would getting Orlov a gift on Valentine’s Day even be appropriate? Well, he could do what he wanted--he's already gained a fair reputation--but would it be an abuse of power? Would Orlov even want a gift? Would he like it? What if he wasn’t able to find Orlov?

Too many questions in too little time. Whatever, he thought, I’ll just pick randomly .

…

A mug. 

A red mug with hearts decorated on it, a large one in the middle that was rainbow and stated “EQUALITY”

…

That was put back on the shelf.

He always put it behind the rest.

?̵͚̯̃ Months Until Judgement

The computer screen didn’t move, it didn’t make a single sound as it froze up; he didn’t know if hearing it malfunction would make anything better.  If this computer wouldn't do anything in the next minute he swears the lousy employee hired to maintain the computer would be-

“Mr. Vandeluer,” the familiar voice of his secretary rang through the speakerphone, “Mr. Orlov is here to see you.”

Turning away from the dingy computer, he sighed, “Let him in.” The door opened with a click as the brown-haired man walked through the room, the narrow opening allowed him to see Yukira, his secretary—who was much better than his last one. “Thank you,” he muttered to Yukira, although he only heard it.

“So, Seb-“

“Mr. Orlov,” He cut him off hearing the disrespect, “What is the reason you’ve requested to speak with me?”

It was quiet for a moment, deathly so, he was more used to it than the man who’d come to speak with him. At that moment, he took in Orlov’s appearance, from his messy mullet–probably not ready for this meeting–his suit that buttons desperately hold together–the man should button up his coat to hide that–his tattoos and scars peeking out from under said suit–again, the coat–his piercings that Sebastian can’t help but wonder what they feel like… unprofessional for Mr. Orlov.

The man himself was odd, and unprofessional from what he's seen online about him–partying, going out, not building his reputation as a politician seriously if he’s so willing to just.. show such things connecting back to him publicly! The photos always have him in the forefront, showing off his tattoos–even if unintentionally.

“…ⁱ'ᵛᵉ ᵈᵒⁿᵉ ᵐᵘˡᵗⁱᵖˡᵉ ᵖᵒˡⁱᵗⁱᶜᵃˡ ᶜᵃᵐᵖᵃⁱᵍⁿˢ, ᵃⁿᵈ ⁱ..”

The way he didn’t care–although he needed to at least care for his reputation, even if there wasn’t much of one to hold–the way his brown eyes shined hazel underneath the lights of partying.

“..ⁱ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ʳᵉᶜᵒᵐᵐᵉⁿᵈᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᵖᵃʳᵗⁱᵉˢ, ⁱᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ᵃⁿʸ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ⁱ…”

The way his smile always lit up the room, the way the people loved him, the way he-

“Mr. Vandeluer,” He blinked. “I’d like to thank you for giving me the time of day to ask to be political partners.”

Oh, right.

Yes.

This was a meeting discussing affiliations. “Well, Mr. Orlov,” How could he have forgotten? “I can figure something out. I believe your offer can benefit the both of us well, being political-”

It could never work out.

20 Minutes Until Judgement

There he is, standing in front of the small beige house. It shouldn’t be scary, not in the slightest, yet he still was nearly terrified. He couldn’t tell if his hand was trembling as it hovered over the doorbell. The bag in his hand felt as if it weighed tons, as if it was bricks he was carrying around and not a heated blanket.

It’s only a blanket; it’s not like he bought chocolates in a heart box with a cute card that said “xoxo” inside. But if Orlov looked out his window, would he even open the door? While they weren’t at the same party anymore, they were on decent terms. And Orlov could hold a grudge, though; both knew that well.

But.. Would he even accept the gift?

If he did accept it who’s to say he wouldn’t lie and toss it out once he left?

But Orlov never wanted the gift and he didn’t even let him know he was coming-

Would he even be home? 

Would he be mad for that?

Would he,

Would he...

Would he...

Would he...

Would he-

He wouldn't.

“Seb!”

The door opened.

“It’s good to see you!”

He didn’t press the doorbell.

Did his hand tremble?

He swallowed his fears, “Hey… it’s good to see you too…

‘ ‘I miss you so much.’ ’

                                                               Swansea.”

25 Days Until Judgement

SWANSEA ORLOV HAS SENT A FRIEND REQUEST

The notification lay in his inbox, even after he’d accepted the request days ago–and yet somehow, it was always at the top.

He clicked on the profile, it being practically his hundredth time doing so, scrolling for minutes, passing by photos that shouldn’t be posted onto public accounts that tied back to his political career–does the man not even care after going separate ways? It wasn’t like he cared to begin with. 

Some of it was normal.

And some was weird.

It was the man he knew. The man who maybe one day he could spend time with, not in their meetings or during campaigns, just… leisure time. Just the two of them.

Although now, it’d be impossible; both parties alike in dignity yet so different in every other aspect. And a “hey whats up?” text didn't seem appropriate–nor was it his style.

10 Minutes Until Judgement

The warm, plain mug sat in his hands, warmth fleeing from the green tea. Eyes gazed down at it, he wondered how it would taste–favouring coffee rather than tea as work demanded much more than what he could offer without the caffeinated drink. It would taste… earthy. It’s green after all.

“Don’t wait too long, tea’s better hot,” Swansea advised, snapping his attention to him instead of the tea. Which, of course, he knew–he wasn’t stupid after all. The reason he only stared was… well… how could Swansea just push everything aside just for him? He’d dropped their plans as it wasn’t going to end up well with how everything was turning out for him, he hadn’t talked to him in days, he’d looked at Swansea’s social media too many times to count, he didn’t even have the decency to say he was going to be at his house.

He's everything but an acquaintance, a friend.

Why does he have tea?

Swansea drank his tea–almost empty by that point–as he warmed up underneath the heated blanket.

Swansea who is under a blanket with two swans on it.

Swansea who made him tea that took him almost 7 minutes to make.

Swansea who he

So many words in so little time.

                                     wanted to be colleagues with again.

It took seven minutes, drink it.

Tea warm with another small sip, he looked over to Swansea.

Who knew tea could be so complex?

“Sorry if it’s not that good. I haven’t made dragon pearl tea all that often.”

Not well?

If anything it was amazing, perfect; the grassy, buttery taste with a bitter undertone blending well together. Nothing overpowered the other or didn’t leave a harsh aftertaste even with the largest of sips. Each sip was perfect–like beaches at sunset with the waves dancing with its light as it crashed against the soft, cooled sand, leaving a beautiful trace of what was before leaving once again with a warm hug…

The warmth lingered, wrapping around the room–reluctant to leave, carrying the aroma of placidity itself. “..It’s perfect.” He confessed, voice hushed, gaze never once looking Swansea directly in the eyes. Swansea could never make something he’d hate; being near the man for years and he’s never been truly disappointed. Never by Swansea. Only by him. “Thank you... for this.”

“Of course,” and Swansea smiled, of course he did; A smile like a candle on the gloomiest of days, enveloping him in a light that would guide him even when it seemed the sun wouldn’t shine anymore.

Yet someway, somehow, the light always snuffed. Disappeared right as it was just in his reach, leaving only a fleeting warmth and joy that was once always present, always happy, always lovely… Gone. And he was left there, saddened and confused, wondering why. Why could it not stay for just one second longer?

His hand burned; reflection in the water.

He knew why.

It was so fucking stupid but he was so fucking scared.

The red hand on the clock moved every second, keeping track of the time.

His mind moved every second, keeping track of his endearment.

The minute hand moved to a minute for every sixty seconds.

His affection moved to affection for every bubbling thought.

The hour hand moves to twelve.

Oh god.

“Swansea,

He loves him.

                  I’m sorry.”

4 Hours Until Judgement

The mug’s back was the only thing visible, hidden behind the regular plain ones with the occasional quote printed on the front. Collecting dust, sitting as no one peered back to look at it once again.

“I love you.”