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The frosty air bites at his skin, and Dottore shivers, rubbing his closed eyes.
He wants to drift back into a sweet sleep, so he reaches out in search of that familiar, comforting warmth, but the other side of the bed is cool and empty. Slightly puzzled, Dottore props himself up on his elbows, opens his eyes, and discovers that the pillow and sheets are slightly rumpled, and the heavy down comforter lies on his side of the bed.
Sleep flees from Dottore as quickly as if he’d suddenly been washed over by an icy wave, and he throws off the comforter, sitting up on the edge of the bed. Suddenly, he senses the smell of cigarettes wafting in from the balcony. Dottore sighs and, grabbing a blanket from the armchair just in case, walks over to the balcony.
As expected, Pantalone is right there. He’s standing with his hands resting on the railing, exhaling acrid smoke from time to time. His figure, slightly hunched forward, is framed by soft moonlight, and tiny, barely visible snowflakes glisten in his hair.
Dottore steps closer, silently drapes the blanket over Pantalone’s tense shoulders, and presses himself against his back, clasping his hands on his stomach. Pantalone doesn’t even flinch, but Dottore can feel him hold his breath.
“What did I tell you about smoking at night, Feofan?” Dottore says quietly. “And on the balcony, too. In the cold,” he brushes Pantalone’s tangled hair away from his neck and leaves a brief kiss on his neck before standing beside him.
Pantalone, holding a cigarette to his dry lips, gazes at Dottore with a weary, slightly hazy look, his eyes reflecting the glow of the streetlights and the snow. Wearing a pajama shirt and pants, with his arms crossed over his chest, Dottore looks almost defenseless and small. The corners of Pantalone’s mouth twitch into a barely noticeable smile, and, pulling the blanket tighter around himself, he takes another drag and closes his eyes. Dottore frowns in displeasure but says nothing.
“What about you?” asks Pantalone, feeling the warmth spread through his body. Either from the blanket or from the fact that Dottore brought it to him. Pantalone isn’t quite sure.
“Don’t worry about me,” Dottore grunts, gazing at the haze of the city in the distance and watching as each exhalation turns into a ghostly wisp of steam.
He hears a soft rustling, and then feels Pantalone presses close to him, sharing the warmth of the blanket. Pantalone rests his head on Dottore’s shoulder, and while it’s not exactly comfortable, in exchange for the all-encompassing warmth of his loved one’s weight beside him, he’s willing to sacrifice any sense of comfort.
Dottore pulls Pantalone closer by the waist. Pantalone turns his head slightly to leave a dry kiss on Dottore’s neck. He smells like shampoo, the cold, and cigarettes.
“Will you tell me why you’re awake at this hour?” Dottore begins gently, running his hand up and down Pantalone’s side.
Pantalone tenses up again, and Dottore says nothing. He waits silently for Pantalone to decide to open to him.
This is far from the first night that Pantalone has jumped out of bed in the middle of the night to go smoke, without saying a word. This is far from the first time that Pantalone’s thoughts have weighed so heavily on his chest that he has had to let them out along with the cigarette smoke.
Dottore watches another snowflake drift by before it vanishes into the glow of the snow, which has blanketed the railing, and kisses Pantalone on the top of the head.
“It’s very cold,” he says. “If you don’t mind, let’s go back inside. The last thing I need is you catching a cold.”
Pantalone nods, clinging to Dottore’s pajama shirt, and they step back inside, into the enveloping warmth of the living room. Dottore closes the door to the balcony and leads Pantalone further into their bedroom, where moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains softly illuminates the furniture.
Even as Pantalone sinks onto the bed, he doesn’t let go of Dottore—suddenly needing his touch and warmth more than usual—and pulls him closer.Pantalone drapes a leg over his thigh, presses his forehead against his collarbone, and covers the exposed skin with kisses, immediately feeling much calmer. The smoke no longer burns his lungs, and instead of a bitter cigarette, his lips meet soft skin marked with scars.
Dottore knows that Pantalone is trying to distract him. He’s trying to get Dottore to fall asleep and forget what happened.
The thing is, they’ve known each other for several centuries. They’ve been together for several centuries.
And Dottore is surprised that even after all this time, Pantalone still hopes to hide something from him.
He runs his fingers through Pantalone’s hair and pulls it back slightly, forcing Pantalone to look at him.
“Feofan,” he begins. “Will you tell me?”
Pantalone blinks, then closes his eyes and buries his face once more in Dottore’s shoulder. Hot breath scorches his skin.
Pantalone’s mind is a swarm of thoughts pounding against his skull. He feels a burning sensation start at his temples and squints, longing to dissolve into Dottore’s embrace. He blinks frequently, as if trying to drive away the unpleasant memories pressing against his retinas. Dottore remains silent, feeling Pantalone’s eyelashes tickle his skin. He simply pulls the barely trembling body closer to him.
And he waits. Because, despite everything, Pantalone never liked to show himself as weak in anyone’s eyes.
At some point, Dottore’s eyelids begin to grow heavy, and he drifts off to sleep.
However, a quiet voice, like an electric current, touches his skin and rouses him from his weariness.
“Am I really worthless?” Pantalone asks uncertainly, almost silently, and Dottore hates how broken his voice sounds.
Dottore opens his eyes in an instant. He tries to look into his face, but Pantalone only clings to him tighter and won’t let him do it.
“What are you talking about?” Dottore feels his mouth go dry.
Pantalone sighs, lets go of him, and rolls onto his back, his vacant gaze fixed on the ceiling, where moonlight and sparkles from the snow dance.
“I just…” he swallows and turns away so that Dottore can’t see his face. “My mother—though, haha, I’m not even sure I can call her that—she gave me away so easily, almost for nothing. It’s not that I was upset. On the contrary. It was one of the best days of my life. But, on the other hand, she sold me with such ease, as if I were a nobody. It’s not about the money. Although, of course, it’s about that, too. But then I was sold again, and I… and I… I don’t understand why it’s so easy to get rid of me? Once, twice. Who’s to say there won’t be a third time? A fourth?” Pantalone turns his head toward Dottore, his eyes glistening with tears. “What if you want to leave me in the future, too?”
A spark of sudden rage flares up in Dottore’s chest, and he props himself up on his elbows, looking down at Pantalone with an incredulous gaze. He frowns, but, seeing the slightest hint of fear in Pantalone’s moist, brightening eyes, he runs his hand over his face and forces himself to calm down.
He’d heard this before.
Yet every single damn time, Pantalone’s thoughts like these struck him right in the gut, knocked him off his feet, and forced him to swallow his anger, rage again and again.
Because how dare Pantalone think that Dottore would ever want to leave him?
How dare Pantalone think there was even a possibility that Dottore would stoop to his mother’s level and get rid of him?
Pantalone knew such thoughts were absurd. But they arose of their own accord. Fears appeared whenever they pleased and gnawed at him from within.
Useless, disobedient freak.
You aren’t worth a single coin spent on you.
But if a person can be sold for any price, does his life have any meaning at all?
Pantalone feels streams of hot tears beginning to run down his cheeks. He sobs, and the sound snaps Dottore out of his trance. Dottore reaches out to Pantalone, and Pantalone, automatically, almost unconsciously, reaches out to him in return and buries his forehead against the other man’s collarbone. Dottore feels his pajamas getting damp but doesn’t think much of it. He strokes Pantalone’s hair and waist. He moves back slightly so he can gently kiss the salty tears from Pantalone’s flushed cheeks.
“Don’t you dare say that,” whispers Dottore, covering every inch of Pantalone’s skin he can with kisses. “Don’t you dare say that,” he repeats, and Pantalone sobs again.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Pantalone’s voice trembles, and he rubs his nose against Dottore’s neck, trying to calm himself with that familiar scent, but his body continues to shake.
“Don’t apologize.”
“I can’t help myself,” Pantalone says quietly, clutching Dottore’s shoulders with trembling fingers.
If Pantalone could, he would merge with Dottore into a single being.
And, as if reading his thoughts, Dottore cups his face with both hands and wipes away his tears with his thumbs.
“Look at me,” Dottore asks, and Pantalone opens his eyes.
They are so violet, soft, and bright that Dottore feels like sinking through the floor and dissolving into the cold night air. Here and there, capillaries have burst in Pantalone’s eyes. Now, in the moonlight, the circles under his eyes seem even darker and deeper.
Dottore gently pulls Pantalone toward him and covers his lips with his own, and Pantalone lets out a trembling, short exhale, wrapping his arms around Dottore’s neck. Dottore gently runs his tongue over Pantalone’s lips, bites him, and then licks the bite. Pantalone melts under his touch, letting his tongue trace the contours of his own, and feels tears suddenly welling up in the corners of his eyes.
“Zandik,” his voice cracks. “Zandik.”
“I’m here,” Dottore whispers between kisses, and then kisses Pantalone again. “I’m right here.”
Tears continue to stream down Pantalone’s cheeks. Somewhere in the distance, deep within the recesses of his mind, he can still hear the insults, threats, and screams, but they slowly fade as Dottore kisses him and enderly caresses him.
Your life is worthless, and I don’t care where you end up.
Pantalone bites Dottore’s lip and wraps his legs around his waist, pulling him closer.
No one will love you as much as I do, and yet you still think you have the right to be ungrateful.
Dottore hisses quietly from a sudden, sharp pain, but doesn’t stop showering Pantalone’s lips with kisses. When he starts to run out of breath, he moves lower, his lips brushing against Pantalone’s neck and exposed shoulders.
Pantalone is breathing heavily and thrusts his hips forward, but Dottore holds him by the waist, preventing him from moving.
“Not now,” he whispers, kissing him on the cheek.
Pantalone sobs again, and the sound tears at Dottore’s heart. He holds him tighter and strokes his hair.
In the future, there will be no one left to take care of you.
“Feofan,” Dottore calls.
No one will ever love a freak like you.
“Feofan…”
You’ll die alone, completely useless, unwanted by anyone.
“Feofan!” Pantalone feels a warm hand on his cheek and realizes his whole face is wet with tears. He sniffs and squeezes Dottore’s wrist tightly with his fingers, his frightened eyes looking at him and through him at the same time.
Dottore sighs.
“Has it quieted down?”
“I-it has,” Pantalone nods.
“Are you with me?”
Pantalone nods again.
Dottore smiles and kisses him on the forehead. He gently hugs Pantalone, making sure he feels safe in his arms.
“I’ll never leave you,” Dottore begins, tucking a strand of Pantalone’s hair behind his ear.
Red eyes meet violet ones, and it burns and stingslike frost all at once.
“Whatever you may think, it’s not true. You’re not nobody. To tell you the truth, you’re the most precious thing that exists,” Dottore continues, and Pantalone closes his eyes, unable to bear that gentle gaze, full of emotion and adoration.
“You’re only saying that because you love me,” Pantalone whispers, taking Dottore’s hand and clasping his fingers in his own.
Dottore smiles.
“You’re right. I do love you,” he says with a chuckle. “But I’ve known you for a very long time. I see everything you do. I hear what you say. I notice how you behave. I see how responsibly you approach every task. I feel how much you care for me. That’s why I can say yes, Feofan, you really are the most precious thing I have. And anyone who thinks you’re worthless is a brainless idiot.”
Pantalone’s eyes start to burn again, but Dottore pulls him closer.
“Don’t cry,” he says. “Accept this. Please. And don’t you dare think that I’ll ever abandon you. Either we’ll never die, or we’ll die only together.”
Pantalone laughs softly, and Dottore kisses him on the temple, thinking that he’d like to drink in the sound of his laughter as if it were the most precious elixir.
“Promise?” Pantalone whispers into Dottore’s skin.
“Promise.”