𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝘺𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘹 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍

comment for motivation! extra long chapter woohoo sorry if it's confusing

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THERE WAS MURKY DARKNESS flooding in Y/n's vision, spots dancing around his eyes. Beneath his skin thrummed a rocky sort of headache: muddling his head, constricting his thoughts and leaving a faint, distant hum rattling in his brain. The morning; afternoon, or night—Y/n no longer knew—felt like walking in a nightmare and pool of his deepest fears: the off-putting, swirling gray palette of walls, the burbling sense of tormenting unease, the prismatic instability of his lives, plagued with doubt.

Pain. All Y/n knew was that he was in pain. Suffering. He knew he had foolishly told Andrei that it didn't hurt, but truly it did.

It was almost like a punishment from god who knew who, really—and with this string of events, starting from the catalyst punctuating his old amorphous days, Y/n was starting to realize the enormity of his situation.

The doctor said your throat tore. That meant speaking would be hard for him, yet Y/n wondered if he would even try to do so if he had been intact. Blood was so occasionally spilled here, and up until—this event—it had never been his. Life in this manor had so far consisted of beautiful, well prepared meals: Y/n realized that such treatment would mean he would  grow more particular with foods, more slavishly hungry for bits and scraps of all things gastronomical, luscious, and savory. Because Andrei's food was undoubtedly delicious.

And now the infrequent altercation had become seriously ugly: because now his life—quite clearly—had been put to risk.

Staying here had put him in danger.

Yes—Y/n needed to leave, somehow. Admittedly, Y/n had to say it had been some sort of guilty pleasure to stay here: the weeks were dear, sweet, beautiful days. He had cherished every single one with a kind of bittersweet, grudging love, feeling each moment melt like chocolate. Yet...

Y/n blinked. He was on a plush bed, his head lying on soft pillows. His room, the one Andrei had given him.

"How are you feeling?" A warm hand brushed against his cheek, fingers pressing onto skin. They were firm, gentle nevertheless—in a moment of weakness, Y/n soaked into it. The poison had made him burn all over yet freeze to the point his bones felt icy, chilling; and now Y/n seemed for some heated touch to bring him comfort.

Y/n stilled, his eyes darting around the room. Then he finally raised his eyes to see green ones.

"It hurts," he managed to rasp out. Those words were the truth, after all. "The poison...is it..."

"We managed to feed you the antidote," Andrei used his fingers to tilt Y/n's head upwards inspecting him with the precision of a surgeon, "but of course, the poison's effects have already started to work in your body. You will only get better from now on, Moy Sladkiy, but—"